Chapter 6

“So, like I said before,” she clicked the remote, changing the slide. “The collection is for spring and summer next year, titled Ease.”

A few heads around the conference table nodded, studying the clean silhouettes projected on the screen.

She clicked again. “If approved, it will be built around one idea—modern women want clothing that works with them, not against them or for them—”

“And what about the men?”

The room stilled.

All eyes shifted to Solene, seated at the far end of the long table.

She didn’t look up. Her fingers just scrolled leisurely across the tablet before her. Then she nodded once and handed it back to Mae, who stood beside her.

“Well, um…” the woman faltered, forcing herself to maintain eye contact with Solene. “This collection is supposed to—”

“Miss Wells,” Solene interrupted, her voice calm—too calm. “What did I tell you about this concept when you brought it to me?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “You said I should expand my ideas, ma’am. But I—”

“And what are you presenting now?” Solene leaned back in her chair.

Miss Wells tugged at her collar. “Well, um…” she moved over to the laptop resting on the table. “I can make adjustments to the project. It won’t be an issue.”

But Solene looked unimpressed.

“How exactly is this company supposed to move forward if people like you refuse to expand their scope?” she said evenly. “Focusing on one gender cuts out potential hits. Don’t you know that?” A pause. “Do you want to get fired, Miss Wells?”

“Certainly not, ma’am.” Miss Wells answered quickly, sweat gathering at her temple. “I’m sorry.”

Solene exhaled and glanced at the time on her phone. “I have an event to attend.” She rose, pushing her chair back. “This meeting is dismissed.”

With that, she turned towards the large doors, Mae already following behind.

“The show is in twenty minutes,” Mae said. “That’s enough time to stop by Mr. Sanchez’s office.”

Solene pushed open her office door. “I’m going straight to the event. Diego can wait.”

“All right, ma’am,” Mae replied as the door closed.

Solene crossed to her desk, her gaze catching the calendar—tomorrow’s date circled in red. She picked up a bottle of water, took a slow sip, and sighed as it went down.

Her phone buzzed on the table.

She picked it up and clicked on the photo she’d just received. It was a picture of the venue.

The place was already packed—filled with prominent people from all over the state who were ready to suck in whatever was going to hit the runway.

And she was one of the investors.

Three years. Three years it’d taken her to get to this point, and this live event was going to be one of its highlights.

And if her product developer could put her head together and come up with stronger designs before the end of the month, there was a high chance the brand could attract international partnerships—maybe even global investors.

Her eyes dropped to the caption beneath the picture.

“Fifteen minutes, love.”

She clicked the phone shut and shoved it into her bag, straightening the burgundy two piece she wore.

Then, tucking her hair behind her ear and straightening her ring, she stepped out of the office.

*****

“Ma’am, we’re here.”

Solene looked up from her phone to the chaos beyond the car door.

The red carpet swarmed with reporters, who the crowd controllers did their best to keep away from the main ground.

Cameras flashed from every angle, almost blinding even Solene who hadn’t stepped out yet, and almost every person spoke, throwing personal questions at important guests even though they barely got any audience.

Solene turned back to her phone and dialed Mae. “Meet me at the entrance.” She said simply and ended the call.

Then, taking up her handbag, the driver opened the door, and she stepped onto the carpet.

“Oh my, Miss Solene, quick question. What are your expectations for this evening?”

“Do you think the opulence showcase could be a hit again, like it was last year?”

She ignored them all, smiling briefly for a few cameras as her bodyguard guided her forward.

“Solène Ferdinand—also known as Miss A.”

Solene paused, spinning on her heel towards the reporter who had spoken, as every other voice drowned out.

She hadn’t heard anyone say that name in years.

The woman met her gaze, confidence sharp in her posture. “Care to explain what the ‘A’ in Miss A stands for?”

Solene swallowed, her gaze fixed on the lady, unable to move.

“People guess Alvarez, but you used that A already before your rise to fame. Care to clear the air?”

Two assumptions in one. Solene’s jaw ticked.

“Solene.”

Solene turned towards Mae, standing at the mouth of the entrance, tapping her wristwatch, and all the noise returned once more.

“This way, ma’am.” Her bodyguard instructed, clearing the way for her.

She snapped out of it quickly and smiled for one last camera before walking to where Mae stood.

“Solene A—Fredinand.” Solene said at the front desk.

The man srolled through the list and smiled. “Welcome. Your table is to the left of the runway.”

Momens later, Solene was seated at the front with other investors.

She exchanged polite greetings with some of them, and from where she sat, her eyes roamed over the buyers, brand executives, photographers, influencers, even the royalty who just came for the entertainment. And then down to the sponsors.

Her eyes caught someone. He turned and their eyes met.

She froze.

But then the light dimmed, and she turned away towards the emerging model.

‘Of course not. It can’t be,’ her mind whispered. ‘It’s not possible.’

The models strutted out, and Solene tried to ignore the burning sensation at the back of her neck and the way her stomach made a flip.

Applause rippled through the crowd after each line, and buyers were getting ready for the bidding section.

But Solene mustered her self control to not turn her neck.

Instead, she shifted her gaze to the pamphlet resting on a table and picked it up, scanning the logos printed beneath each section of guests.

Then her eyes rested on the one logo she hadn’t seen in years.

The background was diamond shaped with that magnificent glint she could never miss.

And below it was written Crawford Atelier.