All Chapters of The Stranger Hidden in My Sketchbook: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

That night, Lyra filled twenty pages describing his appearance. Not because he was the most important person there. Many influential figures attended. Award-winning designers. World-famous models. Celebrity actors. International investors. Yet somehow, Arsen remained the person she remembered most clearly. The same thing happened during Fashion Week. Then the next Fashion Week. And the next. Year after year. Season after season. Eighteen separate fashion seasons. Thousands of designs. Hundreds of collections. Countless industry icons. Yet Arsen somehow appeared in nearly every notebook she owned. Not because he attended every show. But because Vale Group had become impossible to separate from modern fashion. Ironically, fashion had never been part of the company's original vision. For decades, Vale Group had dominated the entertainment industry. News media. Publishing. Artist management. Television production. Streaming platforms.

The meeting officially ended twenty minutes ago. Yet no one seemed eager to leave. Small groups of designers lingered around the conference room, discussing future projects, exchanging business cards, and sharing ideas that had emerged during the summit. Executives moved in and out of the room. Assistants gathered documents. Staff quietly prepared the space for the next meeting. And through it all, Lyra Avelline remained seated. Her notebook was already packed. Her tablet was inside her bag. There was absolutely no reason for her to still be there. Except one. Arsen Vale. He stood near the panoramic windows on the opposite side of the room, speaking with several senior executives. Every now and then he nodded while reviewing documents handed to him. Calm. Collected. Effortlessly commanding. Just as he always was. Lyra looked away. Then looked back. Then looked away again. Her heart refused to cooperate. It had been acting irrationally ever since he spoke to her d

By the time Lyra arrived home, it was already past nine in the evening. Most people would have changed into comfortable clothes, ordered dinner, and spent the rest of the night relaxing after a long day. Lyra had other priorities. The moment she stepped inside her apartment, she headed directly toward her study. Not the kitchen. Not the bedroom. The study. Specifically, the printer. Her newest photographs of Arsen Vale were already waiting inside her phone. The photograph from the meeting. The photograph where they stood side by side. The second photograph where his hand rested lightly on her shoulder. And finally, the candid image she had shamelessly taken from her car in the underground parking garage. She should have felt embarrassed. Instead, she felt excited. The printer hummed softly. One photograph emerged. Then another. Then another. Lyra watched each page appear with the same anticipation most people reserved for birthday gifts. A few minutes later, she ca

Dinner continued. Arsen discussed upcoming creative initiatives. Magazine expansion plans. New international collaborations. Fashion programs. Model development. Business. Always business. Yet somehow his relaxed appearance transformed everything. He seemed younger. More approachable. Less like a chairman. More like a man. Which somehow made things worse. Much worse. Because Lyra already struggled enough. Now she had to deal with this version too. Wonderful. At one point someone made a joke. The entire table laughed. Including Arsen. Lyra froze. She had seen photographs of him smiling. Many. Hundreds. Perhaps thousands. But laughter was different. Real. Natural. Unscripted. The moment lasted only seconds. Yet she memorized it instantly. Stored away like treasure. Another photograph for her mind. Another memory. Another problem. Near the end of the evening, several guests began requesting group photographs. The m

The next afternoon, Lyra found herself sitting in one of the most expensive cafés in Bellevaux. Not because she had chosen it. Because her best friend had. As usual. The café occupied the highest floor of a luxury department store, offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead while soft piano music drifted through the air. The desserts were outrageously expensive. The coffee was excellent. And every table looked like it belonged in a lifestyle magazine. Exactly the type of place Amelia Hart adored. Lyra's best friend sat across from her, happily taking photos of a six-layer strawberry mille-feuille before eating it. Actually, "eating it" wasn't the correct description. Amelia practically worshipped food. "Don't touch it yet." "I'm not touching it." "Good." Click. Click. Click. Several photographs later, Amelia finally nodded. "Perfect." Then immediately took a giant bite. Lyra laughed. "You spent five minu