Chapter 6: The Devil in Prada

Liliana was in her element. She moved through the pre-event chaos with a serene, unshakable authority, a clipboard held like a royal scepter.

“No,” she said calmly to a flustered lighting technician. “The uplighting on the west columns should be a soft champagne, not that ghastly yellow. We’re creating an atmosphere of timeless elegance, not a crime scene.”

“And you,” she said, turning to a catering manager, “the canapés will be served on silver trays, not wood. This is a billion-dollar launch, not a rustic barn wedding. Please correct it.”

Her team moved around her with a quiet, focused energy. They worshipped her. She was demanding, yes, but she was also brilliant, and she never asked for anything she couldn't do herself. For the first time in days, since Sebastian had re-entered her life, she felt completely in control. This was her kingdom.

“Impressive.”

The low, familiar voice behind her sent a jolt straight through her. She didn't have to turn. She could feel his presence, a magnetic pull that disrupted the very air around her. She refused to give him the satisfaction of looking flustered. She finished making a note on her clipboard before slowly turning to face him.

Sebastian was leaning against a marble column, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her. He was supposed to be in a meeting.

“Are you lost, Mr. Blackwood?” she asked, her voice pure ice. “The executive offices are on the fortieth floor. This is where the actual work gets done.”

A slow, appreciative smile touched his lips. “I canceled my meeting. I decided I’d rather come and observe the master at work.” His eyes roamed over her, from her neatly pinned hair down to her practical yet elegant dress. It was a look so intense it felt like a physical touch, a slow, deliberate caress that made her skin tingle.

“My work is not a spectator sport,” she said, turning back to her plans. “If you’re not here to contribute, then you’re in the way.”

“Oh, I intend to contribute,” he murmured, pushing off the column and walking toward her. He stopped beside her, pretending to look at the seating chart she was reviewing. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his suit jacket, smell that same devastating scent of sandalwood and bergamot. Her heart began a frantic, traitorous rhythm.

“I see you’ve placed the investors from the pension fund at table three,” he said, his voice a low rumble near her ear. “Bold move. They hate the CFO from table four.”

“Exactly,” Liliana said, forcing herself to focus on the chart. “Which is why I’ve placed them at opposite ends of the room and assigned my most charming hostess to their table to run interference. It’s called foresight.”

“I call it brilliant,” he whispered. His hand came up, and for a terrifying second, she thought he was going to touch her. Instead, his finger traced a name on the chart. His knuckle brushed against her hand.

The contact was electric. She pulled her hand back as if burned.

“Don’t,” she breathed, her voice low and furious.

Before he could respond, another voice, as cold and sharp as breaking icicles, cut through the air.

“Sebastian, darling. I thought I’d find you here.”

Liliana’s blood ran cold. She looked up and saw her worst nightmare walking toward them. Eleanor Blackwood, elegant and terrifying in a Prada suit, looking as if she had just stepped out of a cryogenic chamber. And clinging to her arm was a beautiful, blonde woman in her late twenties with a smile that was all teeth. Delilah Baskin. The chosen one.

“Mother,” Sebastian said, his tone instantly becoming more formal. He didn't move away from Liliana.

Eleanor’s eyes swept over the ballroom, a look of faint disgust on her face, before they landed on Liliana. They narrowed. “Well, well,” she said, her voice dripping with condescending sweetness. “Liliana. I’m almost surprised to see you working in a place like this. I always thought you were better suited for… quieter, domestic pursuits.”

The insult was clear, ‘You belong in the home, a place you failed at’.

Liliana lifted her chin, her professional mask firmly in place. “Hello, Eleanor,” she said, refusing to use the formal ‘Mrs. Blackwood.’ “Times change. Some of us find our true calling. I’m glad you could take time away from your… quiet, domestic pursuits to be here.”

A flash of anger in Eleanor’s eyes. A point for Liliana.

“This is Delilah Baskin,” Eleanor said, pointedly ignoring Liliana’s retort and pulling the younger woman forward. “Delilah, this is Liliana Dawnson. She’s the… decorator… for Sebastian’s new project.”

‘Decorator.’ Another deliberate cut.

Delilah gave Liliana a smile that didn't reach her cold, blue eyes. “A pleasure. The room looks… very promising.” It sounded like a threat.

Sebastian, who had been watching this exchange with a dangerous stillness, finally spoke. “Liliana is not the decorator, Mother,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “She is the architect of this entire project. The success of the launch rests entirely on her shoulders.”

He had defended her. Again. Liliana’s heart did a complicated, painful flip.

Eleanor’s smile tightened. “Of course. Well, we’re just here for a quick walkthrough. Sebastian, darling, Delilah had a marvelous idea for the …”

As his mother tried to pull him away, Sebastian’s eyes met Liliana’s over their heads. His gaze was dark, intense, and held an apology she didn't want to accept. He gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head, a silent message: This isn’t me. This is her.

Liliana simply gave him a blank, unreadable stare in return and turned back to her clipboard, dismissing all three of them as if they were nothing more than a minor logistical snag. She would not be a pawn in their family drama again.

She walked away to speak to the orchestra conductor, feeling the weight of three pairs of eyes on her back. She could feel Eleanor’s hatred, Delilah’s jealousy, and Sebastian’s consuming, complicated focus. The room, which had been her kingdom just moments ago, now felt like an arena. And the lions had just been released.

***