The Paris atelier was a disaster zone.Crystal walked through the double doors and stopped cold. Bolts of ruined silk lay scattered across the cutting tables like casualties of war. The fabric—pale gold, blush pink, midnight blue—was stained and discolored, the chemical spill having bled through the protective wrap like poison through skin.Her head designer, a petite Frenchwoman named Elodie, rushed toward her, wringing her hands."Ms. Laurent, I am so sorry. The warehouse shipped the wrong batch. By the time we realized, the contamination had already spread. Every piece for the show—everything—it's all destroyed."Crystal closed her eyes.One week, she thought. One week until the show."Show me what's left."Elodie led her through the wreckage. The samples. The backup fabric. The emergency reserves. All ruined. Every single bolt.Crystal's chest tightened. But she didn't panic."Get me the list of every fabric supplier within two hundred kilometers. Anyone who carries silk in these
Last Updated : 2026-04-28 Read more