Bitterbite: [What a forsaken family]
Shesevil: [Who are they anyway?]
Kessyisagoodgirl: [Eww, I would disown such a drunk. I still can't believe he was the CEO of the Gray company.]
Thatgirl: [He used all his money to purchase beers]
Deku: [No one's talking about the daughter. Is she okay?]
Sisyisyourworstenemy: [I think I should visit the café and get a good view of her. She looks sufferable]
Anonymous baker: [She's a home wrecker!]
OrewaAndy: [I heard she's a dropout]
Myskirtisblack: [What's the need of posting this please? This is someone's private life and you can be sued for it.]
Bitch: [Who's suing who btw?]
Akingishere: [They're too poor to afford decent meals, you're talking about suing?]
Elena couldn't help but chuckle, a small, malicious sound that echoed in the quiet hotel suite, as she kept reading the venomous comments on a viral post about Alina. The post—a grainy, old photograph—had inexplicably resurfaced online, drawing a fresh wave of public scrutiny and savage, anonymous judgment. A cruel, delighted curl tugged at Elena's lips. She felt a profound, almost carnal satisfaction in witnessing Alina's life being dissected and ridiculed in the public forum. She couldn't help but wonder who the poster was and what deep-seated grudge Alina must have earned to incite such brutal online warfare. It was delicious. She was so engrossed, reveling in the schadenfreude, that she physically restrained herself from adding a cutting remark.
To comment now, even under a burner account, would feel too petty, too needy—like admitting the depth of her own frustration and the stinging loss of Damian. She wanted to appear above the fray, even as she secretly drank every word.
At that moment, the jarring ring of her phone sliced through the silence. It was her mother. After the volcanic confrontation the previous night, Elena hadn't been able to face her parents' disappointed, judging gazes. She had retreated to a luxurious, reserved room at the city's most exclusive hotel, cocooning herself from their unspoken accusations.
"Mother," she answered, her voice immediately dropping into a familiar, injured cadence.
"Mommy's here, baby. How are you really doing?" Elizabeth's voice was instantly laced with the honeyed concern she reserved solely for her daughter.
Elena was more than a child; she was Elizabeth's ultimate creation, her greatest asset, her pride and most priceless possession. Elizabeth's life was dedicated to ensuring Elena's happiness and triumph. Years ago, when little Elena had expressed a desire to be 'friends' with Damian, Elizabeth had orchestrated every introduction, every subtle maneuver to place her daughter perpetually in the foreground, ensuring no other woman could ever trespass into that coveted space.
The fact that an unknown, low-born girl had somehow breached her perfect defenses and stolen Damian from her daughter was an unbearable failure she was still struggling to comprehend.
"I'm not fine at all, Mother," Elena replied, the words thick with self-pity, perfectly embodying the petulance of a deeply spoiled heiress.
A heavy, calculated silence hung on the line.
"Come home now, Elena. I have something of vital importance to discuss with you. And it concerns taking back what is rightfully ours." Then, without waiting for a reply, the line went dead, leaving Elena staring at her phone, a flicker of cold interest replacing her smug amusement.
***
Alina took her seat with a composed obedience that belied the frantic drumming of her heart. She gently placed the box of her designs on her lap, still completely disoriented by the unexpected and swift turn of events. She was grappling with the dizzying possibility of a mix-up; surely she wasn't the designer Soléne Couture sought.
Director Barnes offered a small, knowing smile, the faint, elegant lines of aging crinkling beautifully at the corners of her eyes and lips. "I know you must be terribly confused about my identity, dear," she began, her voice a low, confident register.
Alina offered a brief, respectful nod, consciously avoiding prolonged eye contact. This was the Director, her potential employer, a titan in the fashion world, and she was determined to project nothing but utter deference.
"My father, bless his traditional heart, was certain he wanted a male heir before a female. I arrived instead. So, he named me Elliot," she laughed softly, shaking her head as if recalling a cherished, absurd memory. "It was… challenging, growing up.
Even my schoolteachers couldn't help but find me a bit of an anomaly. A girl with a boy's name. But over time, everyone around me finally got used to the name, and what matters now is who I am and what I've achieved." Director Barnes leaned forward, her gaze intense and direct.
"And here I sit, as one of the most influential figures in the fashion world. Your name alone does not define you, Alina. It is who you are, what you create, and what you've achieved that matters. When those same people who jested and judged hear amazing, undeniable things that you've accomplished, they will be the very same ones scrambling to cheer you on and applaud you."
A genuine, radiant smile broke out on Alina's face as she absorbed every resonant word. There was an undeniable, galvanizing truth in the woman's statement. Most of the petty critics who might have made jest of her or her father's failures likely weren't even close to the elevated position she was being offered now. That was the brutal, beautiful irony of life.
A sudden, sharp thought hit her; What was she going to be remembered for? Was she destined to forever be the tragic daughter of a disgraced drunk, or the woman who redefined style?
"Now, let's move on to the actual business at hand," Director Barnes suggested, her posture straightening decisively in her chair. She pulled open a mahogany desk drawer and retrieved a crisp, printed paper. "I've heard… stories about your former place of employment. VXN Apparel, wasn't it?" she asked, scanning the document with an unnerving professionalism.
"Yes, ma'am," Alina replied, her voice firm. She was acutely aware that she mustn't sabotage this miraculous opportunity. Bringing her design portfolio had been a calculated and, apparently, correct move. She didn't fail to notice the Director's immediate, knowing glance at the plain box, confirming they were expecting a designer's portfolio—perhaps a final, subtle test of her readiness.
"May I see your designs, please?" she asked, placing the paper neatly beside her computer. "I know you must still be perplexed as to how you actually got this interview."
Alina nodded, a faint blush creeping up her neck. "I didn't directly apply for it. I suspect… my husband must have done it," she murmured, the thought of Damian's quiet advocacy causing a ridiculous, unwanted flush of heat. Why was she suddenly so flustered thinking of him, especially here?
The Director laughed, a warm, rich sound, and shook her head. "Young couples these days, always full of surprises," she replied with an appreciative smile, dabbing her eyes with a pristine white kerchief.
"Actually, we received an incredibly detailed email from a Mr. Damian Thorn. The content zeroed in on a specific design that was once worn by an upcoming model on her first public show."
"Yes. It was my only design that actually sold, but not particularly well, I was told," Alina admitted, careful to present the information factually.
Melinda had harshly criticized the design's perceived failure, an experience that still stung. She was cautious not to reveal any sensitive, proprietary information that Soléne Couture might exploit against VXN.
Director Barnes appeared momentarily taken aback by the casual dismissal of the design's success but quickly masked her expression. Reaching for a thick, glossy magazine on her table, she slid it across to Alina.
"Take a look at this, dear," she instructed, pointing to a full-page spread featuring Alina's dress on the model. "That dress, Ms. Thorn, didn't just 'sell.' That dress sold out completely and generated approximately ten million dollars in revenue within the span of three days. VXN Apparel, for reasons that are becoming increasingly clear, refused to disclose the designer's identity. I believe you were completely unaware of the design's monumental success."
Alina's jaw dropped. The truth, stark and shocking, was staring her in the face. VXN Apparel had always been notoriously vague in their dealings with junior designers, barring all but a select few from accessing sales data. She had been led to believe her work was a minor failure. Ten million dollars in a few days? Her mind reeled in stunned disbelief.
"I bet you weren't given any commensurate bonus either," Director Barnes added dryly, speaking with the authority of someone who had a complete, comprehensive dossier on VXN Apparel's shady operations.
"Soléne Couture has been searching relentlessly for the designer of that dress ever since. Then, two days ago, I received that email from your husband, immediately followed by a surprising letter of recommendation from your manager, Melinda."
"From… Melinda?" Alina's question was laced with genuine disbelief. Her manager, who had relentlessly berated her and dismissed her talent, had recommended her? It was impossible to begin with.
Director Barnes nodded slowly. "I am as stunned by that development as you are. I trust Kelly informed you about our highly anticipated weekly design display, where we debut our most cutting-edge pieces?"
"She did. The styles are truly breathtaking," Alina whispered, a secret wish forming in her mind—that one day, her own creation might grace that prestigious mannequin platform.
"Here," the director handed the printed paper across the desk. "These are the benefits of joining Soléne Couture. We believe in meritocracy and transparency. We don't employ rigid, long-term contracts for our designers; we pay based on performance and revenue generated. Only our top models are on fixed contracts."
Soléne Couture Designers' Benefits:
* Position: Junior Fashion Designer
* Base Salary: $8,000
* Off Days: Five days off in a month.
* Bonus: If a design is sold out within seven days of its display, the designer receives 10% of the revenue generated, paid alongside their monthly salary.
* Perks: All-expenses-paid travel to international fashion shows where their designs are worn, opportunities for styling high-profile celebrities, and a personal assistant as fame and influence grows.
Alina's eyes widened, then scanned the list again, her breath catching. Was this a genuine, life-changing opportunity, or a sophisticated mirage? She raised her gaze to meet the Director, who was still smiling warmly. "Are you truly serious about this? For just a Junior Fashion Designer?" she probed, needing absolute certainty.
"Soléne Couture is committed to being completely transparent with its staff. This benefit package is the standard for every Junior Fashion Designer. However, it isn't as easy as it looks. There are many highly talented junior designers who find it incredibly difficult to secure a bonus because the rate of competition here is exceptionally high. Only a lucky, or exceptionally talented, few consistently succeed."
Alina nodded, a cold wave of realization washing over her. This wouldn't be a quiet, uninspired workplace like VXN Apparel. It was going to be an elegant, high-stakes battleground, a fashion war zone where only the best designs claimed victory. "I accept, ma'am," she replied, a sudden, fierce fire igniting in her eyes. She was ready to pour her entire being into this challenge.
Director Barnes nodded, her approval evident. "I admire your spirit. We also have a very successful niche in pet shows, bespoke pet designs, and even model-plus-pet shows. When you officially resume on Monday, more details about these unique opportunities will be disclosed." She rose fluidly from her seat and outstretched her hand, her expression warm.
"Welcome to Soléne Couture, Alina Thorn. I sincerely hope you have a truly wonderful and rewarding work experience here. Please leave your design box. I will personally go through them in the meantime."
Alina firmly shook the director's hand, a genuine, joyful smile lighting up her face. "I am immensely looking forward to working here," she replied, already eager to start the next phase of her life. She was already mentally calculating the wardrobe budget for her fierce, furry muse. Petra was definitely going to have to pull her weight and stop shedding furs all over the apartment.
She placed the precious design box carefully on the polished desk and quietly made her way out of the imposing office, feeling lighter than air. This was more than just a job; it was validation.
Her phone vibrated insistently in her jacket pocket. It was a message from Damian.
"Congratulations, wife. Knew you could do it."
Alina smiled, the warmth of his quiet pride spreading through her as she stepped out of the elevator and onto the bustling floor below, only to collide abruptly and forcefully with someone.
"Oh! I am so sorry," she apologized immediately, bending down to help the person gather the scattered stack of documents that had exploded across the marble floor.
"Is everything alright, Alina?" Kelly's voice called out from her station behind the sleek reception counter, a note of immediate concern in her tone.
"Here," Alina said, handing the thick bundle of papers to the girl, who snatched them back with a swift, aggressive jerk of her arm. The girl's eyes were narrowed into venomous slits, her stare radiating pure hostility.
"Bitch!" the girl spat out, the insult loud and raw, before she turned on her heel and marched away, leaving a lingering, sour tension in the air.
Alina watched her retreating back, the sudden, unwarranted outburst a sharp contrast to the professional joy she had just experienced. The war had begun sooner than she thought.