As if reading her thoughts, he said, “They won’t help.” He walked toward her and she backed up until she was against the wall. He touched her face and she held still, though she badly wanted to slap his hand away. “I’m bringing in a few shopkeepers to fill out your wardrobe. They’re well paid to sell their wares and not question their clients.”

Over the next several hours, Yasmin was given a crash course in how much corruption money could buy.

When the first shopkeeper came to the penthouse, pushing two racks of clothes into the living room, Yasmin had thrown caution to the wind and yelled at him that she’d been kidnapped and to go get help. He’d ignored her while Volkan, who was on the phone, shook his head disapprovingly at her.

The man pushed his clothing racks into place before turning to snap his fingers. Two women walked through the door and began modelling the wardrobe choices that had been picked out for Yasmin.

Still, she couldn’t give up. “You have to listen to me!” Yasmin begged them to take her seriously, to leave and call the police, but it was like they couldn’t hear her. Like there was a glass wall between her and them.

Yasmin sat down, shock inundating her system until her legs no longer held her. She’d expected a scene. She’d expected the man or his assistants to run from the penthouse and call the police, who would then bust down the door and arrest Volkan. None of that happened.

The models displayed each item of clothing for Yasmin, all while the shopkeeper calmly explained the details of their design, fabric, and creation. Yasmin couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. She could only watch in horror as her former life was stripped from her one designer outfit at a time.

Still on the phone, Volkan came to sit next to Yasmin, wrapping his arm around her waist and pinning her. She tried to move away, but his grip tightened. When she refused to choose any of the clothes, he made choices for her, going between whoever was on the phone and the shopkeeper.

Bitterly, she noted that all his choices matched her style, only these clothes were fancier than she was used to. No one mentioned any prices, so she assumed Volkan didn’t care what anything cost.

When the man and his assistants left, Yasmin thought they were done choosing clothes, but she was wrong. Volkan didn’t want to get her just a few things, he wanted to replace her entire wardrobe. Three more clothing representatives and several more models paraded through the penthouse, followed by a shoe person and then someone with every high-end brand of purse imaginable.