"How is it any different?" Apollo asked, his tone measured as he gestured toward another boutique nearby. "I’m showing you alternatives, pieces that may not carry a luxury label but are just as well made as the ones you’re used to. Look closely, the design, the craftsmanship, the materials... they’re comparable. We’re not just buying for the sake of a name. We’re choosing what actually suits you."

"I don’t want them," Ophelia shot back, her voice rising as her composure cracked.

"They’re unknown brands. If my friends see me wearing something like that and realize it didn’t even come from an auction, just some random label, do you have any idea how ridiculous I’d look? They’d laugh at me." Her tone sharpened with each word, frustration flaring openly now as she bristled at the direction the conversation was taking.

"But isn’t that exactly the problem?" Apollo countered, his tone steady but edged with quiet insistence.

"Most luxury brands are overhyped, marketed to look expensive so people believe they are. Strip away the label, and what’s left isn’t always any better than what you’d find elsewhere."

As he spoke, he lifted both hands slightly, drawing attention to himself. "Look at me. Am I wearing branded clothes? No loud branding, no need for it. Do I look cheap to you?"

"Brother, you’re not making any sense," Ophelia shot back, her words slipping through clenched teeth as her temper flared, a faint redness creeping into her eyes. "Look at you. That bespoke suit you’re wearing costs more than a haute couture piece or even something custom from Armani. Do you really think you can fool me?"

She wasn’t wrong, and that was exactly why she was furious.

Their wardrobes had never depended on commercial luxury brands to begin with. Everything they wore was custom-made, crafted by master tailors who once catered exclusively to royal circles.

Each piece was handmade with meticulous precision, using only the finest materials, designed to fit them flawlessly down to the smallest detail. For families of their standing, that was the standard, not labels, not logos, but exclusivity and perfection.

In fact, those same families often looked down on the very brands being sold in boutiques. To them, such items were nothing more than overhyped, mass-produced goods dressed up in prestige.

True distinction lay in wearing something no one else could replicate, something singular, something entirely their own. Some even employed personal designers to collaborate with their tailors, ensuring every piece remained one of a kind, so that when they stepped out, there was no risk of sharing the same look with anyone else. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

And Apollo knew all of that.

Which made his argument feel all the more infuriating to her.

As for Ophelia, her choices had never really been about taste, they were about image. She gravitated toward recognizable luxury brands, especially haute couture, not because she valued their craftsmanship, but because they carried names her circle could understand.

Most of her friends didn’t come from old aristocratic families; many were nouveau riche, newly introduced to wealth and still measuring worth through labels and price tags.

Their knowledge was shallow, their judgment quick, and anything unfamiliar was dismissed outright. If Ophelia wore something they couldn’t identify, it would only take a day for the gossip to spread, turning curiosity into ridicule.

And yet, she stayed among them.

Because her options were limited.

True aristocratic circles were rare, tightly bound, and nearly impossible to penetrate. Those born into long-established lineages guarded their ranks carefully, and to them, Ophelia was an outsider.

She carried the Gildenvale name, but not their blood, and that distinction mattered more than anything else. No matter how wealthy or influential the Gildenvales were, she couldn’t simply claim her place among them, not in the eyes of those who truly belonged.

They saw through it, saw through her, and regarded her with quiet disdain, as if she were little more than a pretender playing dress-up.

Only those with narrower perspectives, like her current circle, accepted her without question, elevating her as the cherished sister of the Gildenvale brothers, never probing deeper.

It was a fragile illusion, but it was still something.

And for Ophelia, that was enough.

Because moving alone, without any circle at all, was far worse. Even shallow companionship offered a kind of support, limited, perhaps, but still preferable to standing completely on her own.

The argument spiraled faster than either of them expected, voices sharpening until restraint snapped. In the end, Ophelia stomped her foot, her temper breaking free as she turned and stormed off, leaving Apollo standing alone in the middle of the mall. He didn’t even know where she had gone this time.

A weary sigh slipped past his lips.

He knew, in the quiet that followed, that he wasn’t entirely blameless. Part of what he said had been reasonable, but the way he forced it onto her wasn’t.

He had tried to impose his own logic without truly understanding hers, and that gap between them was exactly where the clash had ignited. The truth was, he didn’t fully understand Ophelia at all, and perhaps that made him more hasty, more rigid than he should have been.

He was aware of her circle, too.

He had seen through them long ago, how they clung to her, benefiting from her generosity, riding on her name to gain better treatment, small privileges, and quiet advantages. He had never interfered, never questioned it, not when Ophelia seemed content among them.

But that didn’t mean he was blind. He knew the smiles they showed her weren’t always genuine. He knew that behind her back, they gossiped, twisting her image as they spread rumors behind her back.

Part of his insistence earlier hadn’t been about money at all.

It was about distance.

If she stopped chasing brands and shopping endlessly, she would naturally spend less time with those so-called friends. That had been his intention, to redirect her, to steer her toward something better, even if he hadn’t said it outright.

He would rather have her clothes tailored, like the rest of them — quiet, refined, removed from the shallow competition she had fallen into.

But perhaps that, too, had been a mistake.

Because no matter how well he understood the situation around her, he still didn’t understand her. And without that, every attempt to guide her only sounded like control.

And control was something Ophelia would never accept without a fight.

Apollo exhaled heavily, pressing his fingers to his temple as the tension lingered, before turning and making his way back to where he had parked.

As expected, Ophelia was nowhere in sight. He paused for a moment, scanning the area out of habit, then let the concern ease. She had options. Either she had already called one of her friends to pick her up so she could cool off away from him, or she had simply left on her own.

It wasn’t as though she lacked the means.

Every member of the family received a monthly allowance on top of their own income, and Ophelia’s was far from modest.

Half a million dollars, adjusted over time to keep pace with her spending habits. Even then, it was rarely enough for her taste.