MILAFrances and his assistant poured over the portfolio like it was a rare manuscript. I shifted in my seat, resisting the urge to glance at my watch again. There was too much riding on today–too much to still do.Frances finally looked up, his eyes twinkling behind those sleek, gold-framed glasses. “This is truly something special,” he said, tapping the edge of the page. “And the technology?”I straightened a bit, proud. “Smart fabric. Reactive threads that shift color based on light exposure and body temperature. The effect is subtle, elegant—like your vintage diamond collection. Sophisticated, but with presence.”Across the table, Emily’s jaw tensed. I caught the flicker of annoyance in her eyes and smiled, just a little.Frances chuckled. “Indeed, Mademoiselle. You’ve captured the season in a way that feels... alive.” He flipped another page, his gaze sharp but admiring. “I must admit, I’m surprised. After everything that’s happened lately, I expected something more... reserved.”
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