Settling in

"HAVEN," you say, still standing in the doorway with the afternoon sun warm on your shoulders. "I'd like to update my profile. Change the name on file from Chloe to Riley."

There's a pause—barely a second, but noticeable.

"I'm sorry, Miss Chloe. Resident profile modifications require authorization from the primary account holder, Mrs. Vanessa Ellison. The resident recognition database and associated naming protocols are locked to the registered profile. Would you like me to log a request for Mrs. Ellison's review upon her return?"

Of course it can't. Of course.

"No," you say. "Never mind."

You step back inside and let the door close. The foyer is cool and quiet, afternoon light slanting through the tall windows. You pull out your phone and open your text thread with Chloe.

Hey. Can I ask you something kind of serious?

You stare at the message for a moment, then send it. Three dots appear almost immediately.

Serious?? Is everything ok at the house??

Everything's fine. I've just been thinking about some things. About myself. Making some changes.

Ooh cryptic. Spill.

I will. Eventually. But right now I just need to know—will you be supportive? No matter what?

The typing indicator appears, disappears, appears again. Then:

Riley you're literally house-sitting a mansion for free. You could tell me you're converting to a cult that worships smart toasters and I'd be supportive. What's going on?

You smile. Type back: Nothing dramatic. Just... figuring out who I am. I'll explain when I'm ready.

Take your time. I'm here. Also the toasters at that house ARE pretty smart so like... understandable.

You pocket your phone feeling lighter. Then you sit down at the kitchen island with Margot's book and your phone's notes app, and you start planning.

Okay. Tomorrow. Trial shift. What does 'comfortable clothes' mean when your entire wardrobe belongs to a fashionista?

"HAVEN," you call out. "What does LUXE have in the catalog that would be appropriate for working retail? Something elegant but practical. Not sexy. Professional."

"I can query LUXE's catalog for suitable options, Miss Chloe. Shall I display recommendations on the kitchen screen?"

"Please."

The screen above the counter flickers to life with a grid of options. You spend the next hour cross-referencing with Margot's book—checking fabric weights, considering how a structured cotton-blend will hold its shape through a full day of moving, folding, reaching. You reject a fitted bodycon dress (too restrictive for bending), a silk wrap dress (too delicate, snag risk), and a pleated midi skirt (too much fabric, will catch on displays).

Finally, you settle on it: a dove-grey A-line dress in a cotton-silk blend, three-quarter sleeves, modest V-neckline that will work with the breast forms. Pair it with nude ballet flats from the catalog—low, stable, practical. A thin leather belt in soft tan. Minimal jewelry: small gold hoops, a simple chain. Hair in a low twist. Light, natural makeup.

Elegant. Approachable. Like you belong behind the counter of a curated boutique.

You program the look into LUXE's morning queue, then spend the rest of the afternoon finishing chapters nine and ten of Margot's book—learning about how to read a customer's body language, how fabric weight communicates formality, how color temperature affects mood.

Dinner is a simple pasta HAVEN prepares—nothing fancy, but warm and filling. You watch an episode of a cooking show, half-studying how the host moves in her kitchen, the way she holds her shoulders, the economy of her gestures.

At ten, HAVEN reminds you it's time for your evening routine. You go through the motions—cleanser, toner, serum, eye cream, night cream—and when you climb into Chloe's bed in the silk chemise, you lie still for a long time in the dark.

Tomorrow. First day living on purpose as a woman.

The thought doesn't frighten you. It feels like standing at the edge of a diving board—not the terror of falling, but the quiet certainty that you're about to jump and the water will be there.

You fall asleep with a smile on your face.