CHAPTER 13 — THE FIRST CUT

At 9:59 AM, twelve men in suits were staring at me.

At 10:00 AM, one woman walked in late and stared only at me.

Seraphina Vale.

She was not in jail. She was free. In a white dress. Hair perfect. Lips red. The police had only taken her for questions yesterday. Now she walked like nothing had happened.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, smiling at the board. "Traffic. You know how it is."

No one laughed.

Lorenzo stood up. "You are not on this board."

"But I am still Mrs. Blackwood," she said sweetly. "Until that annulment paper you keep talking about. Which I have not signed. So legally, I have the right to be here when my husband's company decides to hire his ex-wife."

She said ex-wife and looked at me.

I did not stand. I was S. CEO of Atelier S.

"Ms. Vale," I said, my voice cold, not rude. Cold is more expensive. "This is a closed meeting between Blackwood Global and Atelier S. You are not Atelier S. You are not Global. You are a guest who did not get an invitation."

Her smile cracked for one second.

Lorenzo stepped between us. "Marcus, escort Ms. Vale out."

Marcus came in. The same driver who held my cheap suitcase with red eyes three years ago at JFK. Now he held Seraphina's arm.

"This is not over," she whispered, but only I heard it because she walked behind my chair. Her hand brushed the back of my coat — the first coat I ever made in Shoreditch.

I felt a small tug.

I did not think anything of it then.

The meeting ended at 11:00 AM. I won.

Atelier S would stay in New York to save the Paris show. Blackwood Global would pay 40% upfront. My name would stay Sinclair. Not Blackwood. CEO, not wife.

Lorenzo tried to talk after. "Aria"

"S will send the contract," I said, and walked out.

I took a black car back to The Pierre. Not his car. Mine. Atelier S paid.

At 11:43 AM, I opened my suite.

My dresses were on the rack. Twelve dresses for Paris. Three already cut from London the ones I sewed from bedsheets.

Three of them were now cut again. Clean cuts. Down the seam. From shoulder to waist. The opening dresses.

Not a mistake. Sabotage.

The tug I felt.

Seraphina.

My hands started shaking. Not from fear. From three years ago — Mrs. Patel's knock, no money, sewing until fingers bled.

I called Rhys. "She cut them."

Rhys came in twenty minutes with Leo. Leo was holding his red toy car and a small drawing. Mama as queen with crown.

"Do not touch them," Rhys said, looking at the dresses. "Leave them like evidence."

"I will not show broken dresses in Paris," I said. "I will make better ones from the broken."

That is when my phone buzzed.

A G****e alert. I had set it for Atelier S.

@NYC_Blogger_Gossip: *EXCLUSIVE: Atelier S founder is a BAD MOM? Sources say Aria Sinclair left her 3-year-old son alone in London council flat for 6 months to chase Vogue deal while neighbor Mrs. Patel called CPS! Is this the feminist icon we want? #AtelierS #BadMom*

200 comments. Then 500. Then 1,000.

"She left her child?"

"Gold digger, now bad mother."

I knew that story. Because I lived it. I never left Leo. Mrs. Patel brought soup when I sewed. Rhys brought food when I bled. But a blogger paid with money can make London bedsheets sound like abandonment.

Leo tugged my coat. "Mama, why is that lady angry?"

Which lady?

"White dress lady," he said. "She took my picture at park yesterday. Said she likes my car."

My blood went cold.

At 12:07 PM, Rhys's phone buzzed. Then mine.

An email from Vogue PR head:

Aria, have you seen this? Daily Mail just got this.

Attached was a photo.

Leo. Yesterday at Central Park. In his red toy car t-shirt. Grey eyes very clear. Playing with his car near the fountain.

The photo was zoomed. Professional lens. Not a mom photo.

Caption under it in the draft article: *"IS THIS THE SECRET BLACKWOOD HEIR? Grey-eyed boy seen with Atelier S founder S. Source claims child is Lorenzo Blackwood's hidden son. Exclusive at 6 PM."*

Leo's photos leaked to press.

Rhys locked the suite door. "They have a photographer on him. White car again."

Leo was still holding his car, not understanding.

I knelt down and held his small face. "My king, did anyone scare you yesterday at park?"

He thought, serious for almost three. "Lady white dress said she knows dad. Said dad will be sad if I don't say hi."

Seraphina.

At 12:15 PM, the suite phone rang. The Pierre reception.

"Ms. Sinclair, Mr. Blackwood is downstairs. He says it's urgent. About your son."

I looked at the three cut dresses. At the blogger calling me bad mom. At Leo's leaked photo with grey eyes.

My mask broke for one second.

Then I fixed it.

"Tell him to come up," I said, my voice ice again. "S has a leak to handle. And Blackwood Global has a board member who needs to be removed before Paris."

I picked up my scissors.

If she wanted to cut, I would cut better.

Outside, the elevator dinged. Lorenzo's footsteps. Fast.