Inside the boutique’s soft lighting, Chelsea held up her phone, displaying a photo of the ruined jacket.
“Do you still have this piece in stock?” she asked the sales associate, her voice low with urgency.

The associate studied the image, then nodded. “We do. But that garment can’t be machine-washed. Why on earth did you wash it?”

Guilt prickled sharply at the back of Chelsea’s neck.

“I—I didn’t know,” she murmured.

The associate sighed. “It’s written clearly on the care label. Why didn’t you check? And this jacket costs over a hundred thousand. What a terrible waste.”

Chelsea’s eyes widened. “Over a hundred thousand?”

In the past, that number wouldn’t have fazed her. Her daily allowance alone easily exceeded it. But now, she had only a few tens of thousands left in her account, and every dollar suddenly felt precious.