Grace shot Raphael a playful glare, then let out a cold little huff as she plopped down into his office chair. Arms crossed and lips jutted in a pout, she looked every bit the queen throwing a royal tantrum.
Raphael, on the other hand, looked perfectly put together again—his shirt crisp, his cuffs neat, as though nothing had happened. Not that it ever got too disheveled to begin with. But her?
Her torn stockings sat pitifully to the side. Luckily, she hadn’t come in just that dress—she still had her long white coat that reached her ankles. If she hadn’t… she might’ve murdered him on the spot.
It was because of that one line—"I miss you."—that Grace carried it with her for an entire day, unable to shake it. She clutched a pillow on the soft hotel bed, rolling around like a lovesick teenager—sometimes squealing, sometimes burying her face in the duvet.The words echoed in her head on repeat, lingering until Wednesday night, when her flight finally touched down at Le Bourget Airport in Paris.The moment she stepped off the plane, she saw him—tall and poised, standing below in the soft night breeze. The wind tousled his hair, and under the amber glow of the runway lights, his features looked even more striking. His gaze locked onto hers, magnetic and unwavering.Her heart instantly kicked into high gear
Grace went all out during her first two days in New York. There was just too much to eat, too much to see, too many quirky little things to buy—it had her wondering, just for a moment, if she should ditch everything and move to this fast-paced, fashion-forward city.Her father spent the first day and a half handling business. The rest of the time, he quietly trailed behind her and Evelyn as they shopped, explored, and splurged—only stepping forward when it was time to pull out the black card from his pocket to foot the bill.From Saturday to Monday, Grace dressed to the nines every day—draped in shimmer and sparkle.She even turned Evelyn into her personal doll, dressing her up head to toe. Bu
On a sunny Saturday afternoon, Grace stepped aboard a private jet bound for New York, the flight path already cleared in advance. Her phone was still connected to a call with Raphael.On the line, his voice was gentle, full of reminders and concern.“I’m only gone for a few days. I’ll be back Wednesday,” Grace said.“Alright. I’ve got to fly to Germany on Wednesday too—but I’ll be back that same evening.”Neither wanted to hang up. They exchanged a few more reluctant words before ending the call. It would be the longest they’d been apart in recent memory.Raphael had insisted she reply to his messages every day—and absolutely
Grace shot Raphael a playful glare, then let out a cold little huff as she plopped down into his office chair. Arms crossed and lips jutted in a pout, she looked every bit the queen throwing a royal tantrum.Raphael, on the other hand, looked perfectly put together again—his shirt crisp, his cuffs neat, as though nothing had happened. Not that it ever got too disheveled to begin with. But her?Her torn stockings sat pitifully to the side. Luckily, she hadn’t come in just that dress—she still had her long white coat that reached her ankles. If she hadn’t… she might’ve murdered him on the spot.
The moment her heel grazed the inside of his thigh, Raphael let go of her. Just like that. The hand on her stockinged leg withdrew, and he stepped back—gentlemanly, composed.Grace blinked, disoriented. Just seconds ago, she’d been melting into his kiss, wrapped in that warm, pine-scented embrace of his. Now, suddenly pulled away, a wave of loss swept over her.She hadn’t meant to push him away—not really. It was just that his touch on her thigh had made her go all soft and tingly, and her instincts had kicked in. But now she was sure she must’ve hurt him.“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”“It’s fine. Not your fault.” Raphael’s voice was low and rough, still edged with breathlessness. But his eyes… dark, stormy, unreadable. Like fog that refused to lift.Grace didn’t know what to do. She shifted slightly, legs swinging a little as she sat on the desk. One of her heels now dangled precariously off her foot, ready to fall at any second.Raphael couldn’t look away. His throat bobbed with a vis
Following her lawyer’s advice, Grace submitted a request to have a well-respected, independent institution evaluate the authenticity of the other designer’s sketches. She also invited him to provide the original paper drawings for handwriting and carbon ink dating analysis.At first, the designer refused, going on social media to protest: “Why should I agree to some exam just because you doubt the date on my sketch? You’ve got all the money—who’s to say that lab isn’t in your pocket?”In response, Grace offered to let him choose the verifying institution. Still, he stalled.Meanwhile, she quietly reached out to the buyer who had purchased the asymmetrical pearl earrings the previous year, and respectfully requested to borrow them for submission to the National Jewelry Craftsmanship Association for review.By then, public opinion had begun to shift in Grace’s favor. Many noted how transparent and cooperative Élan G was being, while the so-called "victim" designer grew increasingly evas