Chapter 119
The black four-door Audi sedan slowly came to a stop. The driver quickly got out and politely opened the door. Renly stepped out, raised his head, and took in the surrounding street view: red brick walls, tall oak trees, and lush green ivy climbing the walls. The air was filled with a serene atmosphere, completely devoid of the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. On either side of the street were parked black, silver, and grey cars that looked unremarkable at first glance, but to a true connoisseur, it was clear that these were custom-made vehicles, very different from the mass-market models.
With just a brief glance, Renly knew they were in the Upper East Side.
Undeniably, Fifth Avenue gathers the world’s top luxury brands, and many famous personalities are drawn there to shop. However, the truly high-end, private boutiques are not found on Fifth Avenue. Instead, they are hidden away in some back alleys of Greenwich Village, treasures that the average person can’t easily find. Special connections, professional business cards, or introductions from insiders serve as the real keys to accessing these places. Away from public view, they discreetly provide top-tier services.
Though Renly hadn’t visited these high-end custom shops since coming to New York—partly because he didn’t have any occasion to wear such attire, and partly because his financial situation didn’t allow it—he wasn’t completely in the dark. In high society, information about these elite tailors is passed around by word of mouth. However, Renly hadn’t known that there was one here in the Upper East Side.
According to usual practice, placing a shop in the Upper East Side was far too high-profile. It was clearly aimed at the upper-class clientele of this area, making no secret of the fact that it was a private custom shop with class, taste, and prestige. For proud, aloof high-end tailors—or rather, for the reserved and dignified British—it seemed too commercial, too focused on fame and fortune, and far too direct.
Even if it was hidden within a private courtyard.
“This time, the schedule is tight, so we couldn’t make more detailed arrangements. But this designer has been quite prominent over the past couple of years and is trustworthy,” Andy explained briefly. His admiration was evident from his tone, despite the shortness of his words. Andy looked Renly up and down—today, he was dressed simply in a T-shirt and jeans. “Let’s suit you up!”
Behind a veil of ivy, one could faintly see a wrought iron gate with intricate designs, along with a bronze doorbell button beside it. It was clear that this was modelled after British high-end residential designs. After pressing the doorbell, a voice came through the intercom: “Who is it?”
“Andy Rogers.”