Saturday morning

Saturday morning arrives with HAVEN's gentle wake-up chime at seven-thirty. You stretch in Chloe's bed, the silk sheets cool against your skin, and pad to the bathroom. LUXE is already humming when you step into the closet chamber.

"Good morning, Miss Chloe! I have your Makeup Mastery tutorial queued and ready. Shall we begin with Module One: Foundation and Skin Prep?"

"Let's do it."

The session is nothing like you expected. LUXE doesn't just apply products—it teaches. A holographic overlay appears on the mirror, highlighting zones of your face while the robotic arms demonstrate technique on a floating silicone pad. You learn about primer versus moisturizer, about the difference between liquid and powder foundation, about concealer placement and blending direction.

"Now, Miss Chloe, watch the pressure of the beauty blender. Bouncing, not dragging. Think of it like tapping a pillow."

You practice with your own tools, LUXE correcting your angle, your pressure, the amount of product. By the end of the ninety-minute session, you've applied a full face yourself—light coverage, dewy finish, soft contour, a natural eye with taupe shadow and brown liner, a tinted lip in muted rose. LUXE finishes with a setting spray that settles cool and fine against your cheeks.

"Excellent work, Miss Chloe! You have a natural hand. Module Two: Eye Techniques will be available tomorrow."

You dress in a casual Saturday look—high-waisted denim shorts, a white cotton blouse with a tie-front, canvas sneakers LUXE produces from somewhere in Chloe's athletic section. The breast forms go on with practiced ease. You catch yourself in the mirror and smile.

After breakfast, you wander outside. The golf cart sits in the garage annex, battery now fully charged, but you picture yourself driving it down the country road into town. A twenty-one-year-old woman arriving at a fashion boutique on Main Street in an estate golf cart.

Absolutely not.

The bicycle, though. You find it in the garden shed—sleek white frame, drop handlebars, thin tires completely flat. You squeeze one experimentally. Nothing. The chain is orange with rust.

"HAVEN, do you have Theron Calloway's contact information? He's the estate landscaper."

"Certainly, Miss Chloe. Mr. Calloway's mobile number is on file. Shall I display it?"

You copy the number into your phone. Your thumb hovers over the call button for a full minute.

You fantasized about this man. You're going to call him and ask him to fix your bike. While dressed like this. As Riley. As the girl he met at the door.

You press call.

It rings four times. Five. You're about to hang up when—

"Hello?" His voice is low, slightly rough, like he's been awake for a while but not fully.

"Hi—Theron? It's Riley. From the Ellison estate."

A pause. "Hey, Riley. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. I just—there's a bicycle in the garden shed that needs some work. Tires are flat, chain's seized up. I was wondering if that's something you could help with, or if you know someone who could."

Another pause. Longer this time. You hear something in the background—a coffee mug being set down.

"I can take a look. I'm not a bike mechanic, but I've kept my own running for years. When were you thinking?"

"Whenever works for you. I just got a job in town and the walk is kind of long."

"Congratulations. Where at?"

"Petal & Thread. The boutique on Main Street."

"The fabric place. Nice." You can hear him moving—probably getting up. "I could swing by this afternoon if that works. Around two? I've got some errands in town anyway."

"Two is perfect. Thank you, Theron. Seriously."

"No problem. See you then, Riley."

He says your name differently than anyone else does. Softer. Like he's testing how it fits.

You hang up and stand in the garden shed, heart hammering, staring at the dead bicycle.