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Chapter 22: A Spark of Motivation
Fecha de publicación:
2026-08-30 19:11:54
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My Statue Husband Chapter 58: The Semi-Final Challenge
Vivian povThe fluorescent lights of the studio hummed with a low, grating vibration that seemed to settle right behind my teeth. On the cutting table before me lay six yards of midnight-blue raw silk, smooth as liquid shadow, beside a tangle of weathered metallic thread—the few scraps of my grandmother’s estate I had managed to drag across borders and through years of desperate starting over.TIMELESS HERITAGEThe theme was etched onto a glass display board at the front of the hall, glowing in sharp, unforgiving white LED light. To the twenty-one other designers sweating through their linen shirts in the arena, it meant archives, antique lace, and clever reinterpretations of Victorian corsetry. To me, it felt like an invitation to dig up a grave.Around me, the frantic scraping of heavy steel shears against oak tables and the sharp clack-clack of tailor's chalk filled the cavernous room. Across the main aisle, Julian—the golden boy whose family owned half the silk mills in Lombardy—w
My Statue Husband Chapter 57: Denial And Resolved
Vivian povlow hum of fluorescent lights in the studio did nothing to warm the chill in my bones. Spread across the long mahogany drafting table were swatches of crushed velvet, silk chiffon, and the charred remnants of my spring collection sketchpad.Three hours ago, my lead workshop manager called to tell me the east wing of the atelier had suffered an electrical fire. Half of the prototype gowns for the upcoming Paris showcase—the showcase that was supposed to secure my brand's global expansion—were reduced to ash.I sank my palms onto the wooden edge, breathing through the acrid scent of smoke still clinging to my clothes. I had built Vivian Vance Couture from a tiny, basement apartment with nothing but a pair of shears, unpaid electric bills, and sheer spite. I wasn't going to let a bad wire ruin me. I couldn't.My phone buzzed against the table, the vibration rattling a silver tray of pins.I picked it up, expecting another frantic call from my press secretary. Instead, the scre
My Statue Husband Chapter 56: The Fullmoon Deadline
Vivian povThe moonlight didn't fall on Stan’s skin as it did on mine; it pooled in the cracks.I sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, my fingers trembling around a silver etching tool I hadn’t used since my last fashion line flopped. Across the room, Stan stood motionless near the French doors, bathed in the pale glow of the midnight sky. From a distance, he looked like a masterpiece—chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, a man carved by gods. But up close, if you dared to touch him, his flesh felt like cold marble.And tonight, the silence between us felt heavier than stone."You're hiding something," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, cracking under the weight of the dread that had been pooling in my chest all evening. "Stan, look at me. You haven't looked at me since the sun went down."He didn't turn around. His gaze remained locked on the sky outside, where the moon hung like a suspended crescent, sharp and unforgiving."Vivian," he began. His voice sounded lower than usual, carryi
My Statue Husband Chapter 55: The Secret Revealed
Vivian povVivian’s fingers trembled as she pressed the cold, damp rag against the rough marble of the statue’s jaw. The dimly lit basement studio smelled of wet clay, old wood, and the faint, unmistakable metallic tang of dry blood—her blood.She winced, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear as she looked down at the tiny cut on her thumb. Just a nick from her chisel ten minutes ago. A momentary lapse in focus brought on by sheer exhaustion and the crushing weight of a deadline that was going to ruin her. If she didn’t deliver a flawless piece to the gallery by Friday, her fashion house wouldn't just lose its funding; she’d lose everything she’d spent six years bleeding for.She turned back to the figure standing in the center of the room.It was a striking piece—a life-sized carving of a man in ancient, flowing armor, his face etched in an agony so intense it felt almost cruel to look at. She’d bought the hunk of raw, unworked stone from an obscure antique auction three weeks
My Statue Husband Chapter54: The Cold Touch
VIVIAN POVThe high-strung hum of the sewing machine was the only thing keeping me grounded, its rapid, rhythmic thrumming echoing off the cold brick walls of the studio. It was two in the morning. My eyes burned, raw and bloodshot, as I guided a strip of charcoal silk under the dancing needle.Just one more seam, I lied to myself. Just one more stitch.If I stopped moving, the silence would swallow me whole. The unpaid rent notices piling up by the door, the cancelled showroom bookings, the rumors whispered behind my back by people I used to call friends—all of it was waiting in the shadows, ready to drag me under the second I dared to breathe. I had built my design house from nothing, thread by thread, only to watch it unravel in a matter of months.I paused, easing my foot off the pedal. The silence instantly rushed back, suffocating and heavy.With a ragged exhale, I rubbed my temples, leaning back against the wooden stool. My gaze drifted across the dimly lit workshop, past the s
My Statue Husband Chapter 53: The First Kiss
Vivian povThe heavy wooden door of my studio clicked shut, cutting off the rhythmic, suffocating rumble of the city outside.I leaned my back against the panel, my eyes closed, letting the quiet wash over me. But the silence didn't bring peace. It only opened the floodgates to everything I’d been frantically pushing down all evening—the high-society whispers, the fake smiles, the bitter realization that no matter how hard I bled for my designs, people like my ex-fiancé would always treat me like a stepping stone.My body ached. My feet throbbed from hours in heels, but none of that compared to the raw, jagged hollow behind my ribs."You're home early."The deep, low timbre resonated through the quiet room, vibrating in my chest before I even opened my eyes.I looked up.Stan stood near the edge of the softly lit studio. Standing tall, impossibly still, with that breathtaking, chisel-carved perfection that always made my breath catch. In the warm glow of the corner lamp, he looked les
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