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Twenty one

Author: Ranya Vale
last update Huling Na-update: 2025-07-08 09:41:15

The car slowed to a gentle stop in front of the boutique just after noon.

The sky above was overcast, a muted silver light resting softly over the city. No sun broke through, only the suggestion of light filtering through layered clouds. It made the storefront glass gleam without glare, every surface polished and still. Inside the display windows, Capsule Seven stood exactly as intended. Structured, refined, composed. The palette was quiet but assured. It did not beg for attention. It held it.

I remained seated, hands resting lightly in my lap. There was no speech prepared. No press conference waiting. Just a single appearance. A presence. My name had returned to the guest list the night before, placed without ceremony. One line. No title. No context. It was enough.

Julian reached across the seat, his fingers moving carefully as he adjusted the cuff of my coat. It was a simple motion, but not casual. He moved with intent, his touch light but anchoring. I glanced at him and saw the
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  • He Chose my Cousin, so I Chose Revenge    Thirty seven

    The rain hadn’t started yet, but the air outside the boutique smelled like it would. That sharp, metallic scent clung to the pavement and the windows, thickening the stillness. I stood in the upstairs studio, staring out across the skyline. The city lights flickered in the distance, dull behind the clouds, like even they were unsure whether to shine or wait.Behind me, the low murmur of voices filtered in from the design floor. The staff was finishing final adjustments for Capsule Eight’s media trial. Every stitch, every texture, every campaign shot had been tailored to reclaim something. Not just elegance, but truth.Julian’s voice came softly from the doorway. “They’re ready when you are.”I turned to face him. He hadn’t changed out of the charcoal button-down he wore during the internal alignment meeting. The sleeves were still rolled up, his collar open just enough to reveal the bare line of his throat. There was something grounded in the way he stood now. Not the sharp edge of te

  • He Chose my Cousin, so I Chose Revenge    Thirty six

    The boutique felt colder than usual that morning. The kind of cold that had nothing to do with temperature. It lived in the walls, in the silence that hung between unfinished mannequins and fabric bolts waiting for hands that hadn’t yet arrived.I had arrived early. Earlier than even Simone.The floor was spotless, untouched, but something inside me churned. Not with nerves, not quite with fear, but something adjacent. I stood near the back window, coffee untouched on the table behind me, and stared at the muted skyline as if it might blink first.Julian’s voice didn’t startle me when it came. It never did.“You didn’t sleep.”It wasn’t a question. I turned slightly, enough to catch him in my peripheral. He had the sleeves of his black shirt rolled to his forearms again, and his jaw was tense, but his presence was grounding.“I didn’t try,” I answered.He crossed the room slowly. “The assistant is confirmed?”I nodded. “Her name is Isla. She was with Alessia for six years. She’s not o

  • He Chose my Cousin, so I Chose Revenge    Thirty five

    I arrived at the loft’s conference room a few minutes early. The folder in my hands felt heavier than its physical weight, loaded with more than pages and signatures. It was full of reckoning. Simone sat at the round table, leather tablet open in front of her. She looked up from her work and met my gaze with steadiness that anchored me.“You’re right on time,” she said, voice quiet but steady.I took a seat, hands folding around the folder. Marcus stood on the edge of the room, watching us, his posture calm yet anticipatory. Claudia, the boutique owner who had believed in me before this storm began, stood by the window, arms folded lightly across her chest. The morning light fell on her face in a way that made her look steady, hopeful.Moments later Julian entered, sliding into the chair opposite me. His presence felt like calm water in a turbulent sea. He lifted his coffee cup in greeting.“I have the notes from last night,” he said softly as he slid a stack of papers across the tabl

  • He Chose my Cousin, so I Chose Revenge    Thirty four

    The first whisper came during a midday investor call.Simone was seated across from me in the glass conference room, tablet in hand, when the client on speaker asked, too casually, “And will Juliana Cross be available to lead the Capsule Eight Q&A next quarter? I heard there was… some movement on the board.”Simone didn’t flinch. I met her eyes, then leaned forward, voice even.“I’ll be leading it. Capsule Eight is under my direction. There’s no ambiguity about that.”A pause followed. The client laughed, too quickly. “Of course. Just making sure we’re aligned.”After the call, Simone didn’t speak. She just locked the tablet, her jaw tight.“They’re talking,” I said.“They’re whispering,” she corrected. “But it won’t stay that way.”I leaned back in my chair. “That’s exactly what we need.”“Visibility?”“Pressure.”The truth wasn’t enough. Not on its own. We needed momentum. Conversation. Questions that forced people to look past the polished emails and into the rotted decisions behin

  • He Chose my Cousin, so I Chose Revenge    Thirty three

    Simone stood just inside the office when I walked in, the leather folder already in her hands. She didn’t say anything right away. Just offered it to me, her eyes steady. I took it, opened it, and let the pages speak for themselves. There were emails. Time-stamped call logs. Memos with deliberate omissions. Financial reports with discreet reallocations. Alessia’s fingerprints were everywhere, but so were Roman’s. The paper trail wasn’t just messy. It was deliberate. Calculated. One email caught my eye. It was dated two weeks after I was forced out. Roman had signed off on the reassignment of my direct reports. Staff who had been loyal. Silenced. Removed. It wasn’t just about me anymore. They had dismantled the team. The structure. The legacy I had built from the inside out. I closed the folder slowly. “They didn’t even try to cover it,” I said, my voice low. Simone nodded once. “They assumed you’d never get this far.” “And if I had?” “They assumed you’d be too afraid to act.”

  • He Chose my Cousin, so I Chose Revenge    Thirty two

    The boutique was quiet when I returned the next morning. Not empty, just still in a way that felt different from the usual rhythm of the space. The lights had already been dimmed to their softer evening setting, casting the walls in a warm golden hue. I could hear the low hum of the air system and the distant shuffle of Simone’s heels upstairs, but beyond that, the world had taken a breath.I walked toward the main floor and stood in front of the newest display. The mannequin wore a piece from the capsule, the one I had stitched myself. It wasn’t about the fabric or the silhouette anymore. It was about what it meant. Survival, reclaimed. Power, redefined.My fingers brushed the edge of the collar. It felt like touching a piece of my own skin.Simone appeared a few moments later, tablet tucked under her arm, eyes alert but soft. She paused when she saw me standing still.“They’ve sent over the full coverage package,” she said quietly. “Press embargo until next week, but we’re approved

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