Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN HE NEVER ASKED ABOUT
Adrian recovered first.
He always did.
That was one of his gifts.
You could catch him in a lie with the evidence still warm in his hands, and within thirty seconds he would act like everyone else had misunderstood.
“Celeste,” he said smoothly. “This is just a mix-up.”
Celeste looked at him.
“I wasn’t speaking to you.”
That got a few quiet laughs.
Vanessa stood.
“Oh, I’m happy to move.”
She wasn’t.
I could hear it in her voice.
Celeste looked at her.
“Yes. You are.”
The assistant stepped in immediately.
“Ms. Hart, we have another seat for you.”
Vanessa glanced at Adrian.
He didn’t meet her eyes.
That was the first crack.
Small.
But I saw it.
Vanessa unclipped the emerald necklace.
I held out my hand.
She stared at it.
“What?”
“My necklace.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“Claire.”
I didn’t look at him.
“Now.”
Vanessa slowly placed the necklace in my palm.
Her fingers were cold.
She leaned closer.
“He said you never wore it.”
I looked at her.
“He says a lot of things.”
Then I sat in Seat A1.
My seat.
Vanessa was escorted three rows back.
Adrian remained beside me.
He leaned toward me.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I looked straight ahead.
“Watching the show.”
“Don’t play games.”
“I learned from you.”
His face hardened.
Then the lights dimmed.
Music started.
The runway came alive.
Celeste’s collection was called RETURN.
Most people thought it was about returning to clean silhouettes.
Returning to craftsmanship.
Returning to old-world tailoring.
They were wrong.
I knew what it was really about.
Seven years earlier, before Adrian’s company had exploded, I had spent almost eighteen months drawing.
Late at night.
At the kitchen island.
On airplanes.
In hotel rooms while Adrian met investors.
Clothes inspired by my mother.
Her gloves.
Her coats.
Her emerald necklace.
I had studied design before marriage.
I left the industry when Adrian’s first company nearly failed because one of us needed steady income.
Then my mother got sick.
Then life happened.
Years passed.
But I never stopped drawing.
Celeste had seen those drawings by accident.
Three years ago.
At a charity dinner.
She noticed a sketch sticking out of my notebook.
She asked to see it.
Then another.
Then all of them.
“I want these,” she told me.
I laughed.
She didn’t.
For the next two years, we worked quietly.
No press.
No announcements.
No Adrian.
I wanted one thing in my life that belonged to me before people attached his name to it.
We signed contracts through my maiden-name LLC.
Linden Studio.
Adrian never asked where I went every Wednesday afternoon.
He assumed yoga.
That was how much attention he paid.
The final model stopped in front of us.
She wore a deep green gown.
At her throat was an emerald-shaped collar made from hand-cut glass.
The room erupted.
Celeste stepped onto the runway.
She thanked her team.
Her atelier.
Her staff.
Then she smiled toward me.
“And finally, the woman whose drawings made me remember why I started designing in the first place.”
Adrian stopped breathing.
Celeste held out her hand.
“Claire Linden Vale.”
Cameras swung toward me.
Applause hit like a wall.
My legs felt numb.
Adrian whispered, “Linden?”
He knew my maiden name.
But not the company.
Not the contracts.
Not the money.
Not the work.
I stood.
Celeste pulled me onto the runway.
As flashes exploded, she whispered:
“Smile. We deal with your husband after.”
I looked at her.
“What did he do?”
Her smile never moved.
“He didn’t just steal your seat.”
A cold feeling moved through me.
“What are you talking about?”
Celeste kept waving to the crowd.
May you like
Then she said:
“Adrian tried to sell my investors your designs yesterday.”
