Victor’s jaw tightened. “You told me everything here was imported. Exclusive. Hand-selected.”
“It is,” the woman said, regaining some of her calm. “These hands are very skilled.”
Victor looked around again—really looked this time.
The tired eyes. The silence. The hidden door.
The music box.
“Why the music?” Lila asked.
The old man finally looked up at her. His eyes were kind, but heavy. “So we remember time is still passing,” he said. “Otherwise… we forget.”
The room fell into a deeper silence.
Victor swallowed.
For the first time in years, he didn’t feel powerful.
He felt… exposed.
Lila tugged his sleeve again. “Daddy… I don’t want a dress from here.”
He looked down at her, then back at the room.
And something shifted.
“Neither do I,” he said quietly.
The elegant woman stepped forward, voice sharp. “Mr. Hale, I assure you, this is standard practice. Every luxury brand—”
“Stop,” he said.
Not loudly.
But firmly enough that she did.
Victor reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and placed it on the nearest table.
“Pay them,” he said. “Properly.”
No one moved.
“That’s not how this works,” the woman replied.
Victor met her gaze. “It is now.”
For a moment, it seemed like nothing would happen.
Then one of the workers stood.
Then another.
Slowly, uncertainly.
The old man closed the music box with a soft click.
And in the silence that followed, something changed—just a little.
Victor took Lila’s hand again.
As they walked back through the boutique, the chandeliers didn’t seem as bright.
The dresses didn’t seem as beautiful.
At the door, Lila looked up at him. “Did we do something good?”
Victor hesitated.
Then nodded.
“We started something,” he said.
Outside, the night air felt different.
Behind them, deep within the boutique, the music box remained closed.
But time—
time had started moving again.
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