chapter 55
Elena's POV:
I went very still for a moment, the kind of stillness that came from genuine surprise.
Sebastian settled beside me on the cushioned bench, and I could feel him studying my profile in the golden light.
"What, already feeling reluctant to let him go?" he asked, unable to resist the gentle provocation.
I turned to give him a look that I hoped conveyed both exasperation and fondness.
"Don't be ridiculous, stirring up jealousy where there's none to be found. The man has a fiancée now."
I drew my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. "I was just remembering that afternoon when your grandmother and Lady Morrison sat together in the Blue Room, going through those portfolios of suitable young ladies for him."
A shadow must have crossed my features as another thought occurred to me. "I wonder if this is truly his choice, or if..."
I didn't finish the sentence, but I knew Sebastian understood the question hanging in the air—whether Adrian had chosen freely, or if family pressure had finally worn him down.
Sebastian's gaze held mine, steady and certain. "He's a grown man, Elena. No one can force him to make choices he doesn't want to make."
The words hung between us, delivered with such casual confidence that for a moment I almost believed them.
My lips parted, ready to agree—of course, Adrian was an adult, capable of making his own decisions, free to choose his path regardless of family expectations or societal pressures.
But then the reality of my own situation crashed over me like a cold wave.
I closed my mouth, swallowing the agreement that had almost escaped.
---
An hour later, Alfred announced their arrival.
Sebastian rose smoothly, and I followed him to the foyer.
Adrian stood in the doorway, but this time he wasn't alone. Beside him was a young woman with warm brown eyes and a gentle smile, her hand tucked comfortably in the crook of his arm.
"Sebastian, Elena," Adrian began, a hint of nervous pride in his voice, "I'd like you to meet Charlotte—my fiancée."
The word hung in the air for a moment. Fiancée. I studied Adrian's face carefully, searching for any sign of reluctance or coercion, but found only a quiet contentment I'd never seen in him before.
Relief washed through me. Here was Adrian, not broken or bitter, but whole and happy with someone who clearly adored him.
Charlotte extended her hand to me first, her grip firm and friendly. "I've heard so much about you, Elena. Adrian speaks of you often."
Heat crept up my neck as I took her hand, my smile suddenly feeling strained. What exactly had Adrian told her? The awkwardness of our shared history—his feelings, my inability to reciprocate, the complicated tangle with Sebastian—pressed against my thoughts.
I searched Charlotte's face for any hint of resentment or forced politeness, but found only genuine warmth.
"All good things, I hope," I managed, trying for lightness while silently willing Adrian not to have burdened this lovely woman with the messy details of our past.
The last thing I wanted was to be a shadow over their happiness, a name that caused tension between them.
Adrian must have sensed my discomfort because he quickly added, "Charlotte knows everything, Elena. We don't keep secrets from each other." His voice held a quiet confidence that surprised me.
Charlotte squeezed his hand gently, her smile never wavering.
"Adrian told me about his feelings for you, about your history together," she said simply, without a trace of jealousy or insecurity.
"I appreciate his honesty. Besides," she looked at Adrian with such open affection, "I know where his heart is now."
Relief flooded through me, warm and unexpected. This woman's grace, her security in her relationship with Adrian, lifted a weight I hadn't fully realized I'd been carrying.
As we moved toward the living room, a thought struck me—I should offer her something, a gesture to mark this first meeting.
"Actually," I said, pausing mid-step, "I have something for you, Charlotte. A small welcome gift, if you don't mind waiting a moment?"
I returned from my studio carrying an elegantly wrapped box, the distinctive Harold's packaging unmistakable.
Charlotte's eyes widened as I placed it in her hands.
"This is from the exclusive collection that just launched," I explained, suddenly feeling almost shy. "I thought you might enjoy—"
"Oh my God," Charlotte interrupted, her composure cracking into pure excitement. "Is this the Midnight Garden perfume? I refreshed the website for hours trying to get one! They sold out in minutes—I even asked my assistant to try from her computer, but the entire collection was just gone."
"Elena designed and formulated each scent herself," Sebastian interjected from his position by the window, his voice carrying that particular note of quiet pride I rarely heard.
Charlotte's gaze snapped back to me, her admiration now tinged with something approaching awe. "Wait... you mean you're the designer—Onyx?"
I nodded, warmth creeping into my cheeks at her enthusiasm. "I was fortunate that Harold's offered me this opportunity. "
Charlotte pulled out her phone eagerly. "Oh, I'm already following you! You gained fifty thousand followers in just two days—it's incredible."
The number stunned me. I'd only created the accounts two days ago after Harold's marketing team practically begged me to—customers had been flooding their stores and website demanding to know where they could follow my work directly.
After another half hour of pleasant conversation, Adrian and Charlotte took their leave. I hugged them both at the door, genuinely happy to see Adrian find his happiness.
Once they were gone, I collapsed onto the sofa with a sigh, finally allowing myself to relax.
Sebastian had retreated to his study for a conference call, leaving me in blessed quiet. I pulled out my phone, curious to check the social media accounts I was still learning to navigate.
My breath caught. The notification count had exploded—thousands of comments, tags, and mentions. But as I began scrolling through them, my stomach sank.
The comment section under my latest post—a promotional shot for the Harold's perfume collection—had devolved into an all-out war.
"Another wannabe trying to be Vivienne. At least be original."
"She'll NEVER reach Vivienne's level. Stop hyping this nobody."
"Funny how she launches right after V's scandal... suspicious timing."
But for every attack, my followers fired back with equal fervor:
"Let her resolve her own scandals first. Maybe learn how to be a decent human being before teaching anyone about perfume."
"Speaking of which, when was V's last hit collection? She's been coasting on Madame Flower for YEARS. Every new series since has been mediocre at best. Makes you wonder if she ever had real talent or just got lucky once."
"Vivienne could never create something this sophisticated. Stay pressed."
The arguments spiraled endlessly, each side growing more vicious. Comparisons dissected everything from our design aesthetics to our social media presence.
The public's eyes were indeed sharp. Vivienne could steal my work once, but she couldn't build an entire career on what wasn't hers.
Theft might grant temporary glory, but it could never replace genuine creative vision.