Five

I saw the headline before I even opened my eyes.

My phone lay on the nightstand with its screen lit, beckoning me from the darkness. I reached for it without thinking, immediately confronted with a tabloid notification I had not expected. A splash of glossy text and a grainy photo of someone who looked like me, complete with lipstick and designer sunglasses behind dark lenses. The headline screamed my name in all caps and stated flatly that Noelle Vale was undergoing treatment overseas, supposedly for burnout or something darker.

My chest tightened. My breath paused. I sat up so quickly that I nearly hit the wall.

They had done it. They had spun the story into public fantasy. I was not abroad. I was here. I had just walked away from everything to rebuild with intention. I was not broken. I was not lost. And yet, here I was being erased, framed as fragile, as needing saving.

The room smelled like lemon cleaner and new beginnings, but it also held something colder now. It felt like a trap. I propped myself against the headboard and scrolled through the article.

They claimed I had been admitted to a private clinic in Switzerland, essentials shipped weeks in advance. They quoted an anonymous ‘close source’ who implied I had been whistleblown or worse. They said Roman and Alessia made the decision to protect the company’s reputation and her personal well being.

There was no line in the article suggesting this was a rumor. It read like fact.

I closed the tab and dropped my phone onto the bed.

I had to move fast.

I dressed without thought, pulling on black stretch trousers and a cashmere sweater. As I tied my hair back I could feel my heart still pounding. The studio was silent as I left the apartment. Julian greeted me at the loft door with coffee, already waiting.

“My face is in rumors,” I said, handing him the phone.

He read the article quickly. His face remained composed, but I saw a shift in his eyes as he closed the phone.

“They branded you as insane and overseas,” he said quietly. “They gave the rumor wings.”

I took a slow breath. “It sinks faster if we let it sit.”

He nodded. “What’s our move?”

I thought for a moment. I was not going to give them the storms they expected. I would leverage their own silence against them.

“Keep the studio running,” I said. “We still have the prototype orders scheduled for delivery. No delays.”

He looked at the half‑built samples, the raw edges of a design still finding its form. He nodded again.

“And then?” he asked.

“We release,” I said. “Release the line quietly in under twenty‑four hours. From a local boutique partner. No mention of me. We present craftsmanship over personality.”

He pointed to the phone. “But they already attached your face.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Let them have my face. Let them show me fragile. And then I will show them the work.”

Julian typed quickly on his tablet. “I will coordinate with the boutique. We have the designs ready, yes?”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “They will receive the shipment tonight with delivery scheduled for tomorrow morning.”

He nodded. “I see what you are doing.”

I wanted to test it. I wanted to know if their story could withstand pure substance delivered without context. I had to know if the world still cared more about what it saw than what it felt.

“Mara needs to know,” I said. “Tell her she does not respond to any media inquiries. No pushback. Let the silence speak.”

The tabloid would have to circle back. They would have to swallow or retract. And every hour of unanswered rumor would serve them poorly.

Julian tapped his replies. I took the coffee he handed me and felt the warmth settle against my chest.

Outside, the city carried on. Unaware that halfway across town someone was about to test a truth buried beneath manufactured stories.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sat at the desk, tracing the grain of wood with a calm hand even though my pulse raced. The studio smelled of linen and fresh lavender and hard work. Outside, the city remained oblivious, but here everything mattered. Plenty depended on these next hours.

Julian was already at the tablet, coordinating logistics. He looked at me once, eyes steady and resolute, and gave a small nod. No words were needed. I moved to the garment rack and hovered my fingertips over the prototypes. They were unfinished yet daring. The lines were structured in places and fluid in others. They spoke of quiet strength, not of loud labels. That was intentional. That was perfection.

He tapped a message. Delivery van arrives at midnight at The Gilded Rose. Boutique partner to begin rollout first thing tomorrow.

I swallowed hard. My breath felt light but steady. Good.

I tapped through my phone and found a secure chat with Mara. No response. We release today. Maintain silence. I sent it off without emotion.

The faint sound of tires on pavement drifted through the open window. It was nearly midnight. I walked to the glass and leaned my forehead against the cool surface. The sweeping lights on the bridge shimmered in waves of blue and gold. For a moment I let myself breathe.

They had shown me fragile. They had imagined me faint. I would show them that steel could weather everything and still shine.

⸻

At seven the next morning, a series of photos began circulating. They were simple and unstyled. A dress on a mannequin in soft hallway light. A blouse draping elegantly on a wooden hanger. A sculptural coat pinned with stark clarity. No person modeled them. No names were mentioned. The credit went to The Gilded Rose.

I saw it happen in real time. Mentions on social media. Fashion insiders tagging their friends. E‑mail alerts from style forums. Each mention carried curiosity and admiration. The garments spoke for themselves. It felt exquisite.

The phone buzzed again. Client contact confirmed the shipment arrived intact. They are preparing in‑store feature.

I tapped Reply: Excellent. Thank you.

Now the question would be how quickly the boutique’s photographer would assign them to influencers. How soon would someone connect the dots.

Within the hour, the reference came. A stylized flat‑lay appeared on a micro‑blogging page, featuring the blouse with the caption: Waiting on fall coats. Loving this line. So calm. No fuss. And then a comment from an industry writer: This might be the quietest debut of the season.

I smiled. I held the phone for a moment longer before placing it on the desk.

It was not my first victory, but it was my first public footprint.

The next alert came from Mara. Web chatter picking up. Not linking back yet. Board murmurs of interest.

My pulse shifted. This was confirmation. This was the moment.

I stood and walked to the window again, scanning the street below. A jogger passed. A delivery worker leaned on a bike. The world was ordinary, and yet today it was not.

It was witnessing.

⸻

Back in the studio that morning I reviewed the overnight stats. Hits, shares, saves. Nothing viral, but steady. Real engagement. Genuine interest. No celebrity posts yet, but that would come. They were the ripple, I was building the wave.

I turned to Julian. “They are talking,” I said. “Quietly, respectfully. They are curious.”

He placed the tablet in my hand. I read the lines. Mystery brand making ripple among boutique circles. Elegant minimalism in design. Fine craftsmanship and versatile silhouettes.

I nodded. “Let it grow.”

He fed in a few new toggles for micro‑ads in fashion circles under a coded brand name.

We worked for hours while the city outside warmed in sunlight. We reviewed contract offers from independent retailers, all local. Nothing national yet. No interviews. No announcements. Just quality paired with anonymity.

Then Mara’s face appeared on the encrypted video feed.

“I have something you need to see,” she said.

Her face was sober. Professional. She gestured toward the screen behind her.

The video began. It showed a boardroom filled with empty chairs. Soundless. Then Roman’s silhouette appeared, walking in slowly. He was speaking to someone off screen. Then Alessia entered. Papers were on the table. She spoke. She gestured.

The feed looked masked, shaky. It came from one of the hidden cameras—an office Juliet had approved but the board did not know I was monitoring.

I watched as Roman spoke in low tones. I could not hear everything. But I saw his fingers tapping the table in rhythm and his expression was intense. Then Alessia leaned in. They shared a look. Something decisive passed in that moment. Roman turned, pointed to empty chairs, and Alessia flipped a page in her notes.

They were planning a total media sweep. A full erasure of my identity. They were going to wipe evidence. They were preparing a public explainer. They were moving into emergency mode.

When the video stopped, Mara had shut the feed and slid the tablet across my desk.

“They are planning an all‑out campaign,” she said. “Roman wants to bury every mention and they want to claim that the brand was at risk if leadership had not intervened.”

I closed my eyes for a moment and gathered myself. This was the proof I needed.

I reached into a drawer and pulled out a hard drive. On it were the leaked board emails, confirmation that I had appointed Mara in authority, copies of every internal memos about missing shipments, contract terminations, and stock option offers.

I connected it to the laptop and began drafting a secure message to select board members and key clients.

Subject: Urgent Clarification Requested

Body:

You have received commentary implying I have left the country for medical treatment and that leadership steps have been taken in my absence. That commentary originated from statements authored by Alessia Vale and approved by Roman Vale. I have not left the country and remain fully capable of fulfilling my role and responsibilities. I have initiated private but legitimate divorce proceedings and intend to return to active leadership soon. Please await further details. All internal documentation is available upon request.

I paused. I blinked a few times. This was the public piano string I would strike if necessary. For now it would hold back the tide.

“I want this ready to send,” I said. “But not yet. Let them build first on doubt. I want it delivered when their campaign rolls out in full sentences. I will meet it with facts.”

Mara nodded. “Understood.”

She shut the video call. Julian looked at me. His eyes told me he admired the timing. That he understood control.

“The tide will turn,” he said.

“Yes,” I said. “But I will not rush. I will let them drown in their narrative and then surface with clarity.”

⸻

I spent the rest of the day overseeing boutique arrangements and finishing pattern adjustments for the next capsule installment. I reviewed the photos the boutique planned to release. I approved them. They looked strong and understated. No branding, but unmistakable quality. I thought about the path we had paved. It was small and contained, but it was real.

That night, I sat by the window and watched as night fell again. I thought about Roman and Alessia at the boardroom table. I thought about headlines and whispers and public opinions and private truths.

I thought about me, lost once, but now tuned and focused. I thought about how vengeance was not what I wanted. I wanted justice defined by my own terms not by their spectacle.

And tomorrow would bring the reaction.