Chapter 202: Chapter 202

Violet

For a few seconds after he walked away, I simply stood there, my body still angled toward the path he had taken as if something inside me hadn’t received the signal to move yet.

The noise of the hall rushed back in slowly but it felt distant and muffled. My chest rose and fell a little too quickly, my fingers still curled against the edge of the table as I tried to make sense of what had just happened.

He had walked away.

A strange, sharp sting spread through me before I could stop it, something dangerously close to hurt, and I immediately pushed it down, clamping over it with force.

What exactly had I been expecting? That he would walk up to me as if nothing had happened? That he would stand there and look at me the way he used to, as if the entire world had narrowed down to just the two of us?

That version of him didn’t exist anymore. In fact, it never had.

Not once had he tried to reach me, to explain his side, to apologize for the cruel game he and his girlfriend had played with me.

Still, the question refused to leave me alone.

Had he seen me?

My brows furrowed but I didn’t dare look up until the feet had walked past the adjacent booth as well.

What the hell just happened?

My heart lurched in my throat as I looked up to see him walking past me, mixed emotions swirling inside me.

I wasn’t sure what I was feeling or why. Part of me rejoiced that I didn’t have to face him, that by some miracle he walked away.

But the other part worried if it had somehow ruined our chances, if he would take my reluctance to look at him and engage with him as an offense and somehow it would cost Dane and the Stratford group a fortune.

Elijah had killed for less.

“Why aren’t you talking?” Mirella shouted out from the temporary changing room.

I only kept looking at Elijah’s retreating figure as he walked away from our booth. Mirella stepped out, half adjusting the straps of her dress that was too risque for the event.

Not that she would take opinions from her junior.

“Quick tell me again, what was the…” She smoothed down her dress that barely reached her thighs and rushed forward without really looking ahead.

Mirella stepped forward, her voice smooth, practiced, already slipping into her pitch.

“Mr. Lockwood, it would be an honor if you—” she began only to stop abruptly upon seeing the empty space in front of us.

She turned back to look at me in surprise.

“Where is he?”

When I didn’t reply she came closer and gritted her teeth.

“Elijah was right here, heading straight towards our booth. Where did he go? Did another booth lure him in?”

I fumbled for words because I myself didn’t know why he switched gears at the last minute.

“I have no idea”

She huffed. “Did you do something to anger him? Did you say something?”

I just didn’t look at him at all.

“I did nothing”

Mirella was almost close to pulling her hair as she struggled to run forward on her heels, her shoulders dropping as she turned to follow his path with her eyes.

I forced myself to not do the same, to not acknowledge his presence.

Mirella clicked her tongue under her breath.

“Of course,” she muttered, her disappointment evident, though she tried to mask it quickly. “He’s just going in order starting with the leftmost booth on the far end.”

She straightened again, smoothing her hair as if that explanation had restored her composure. “He’ll come here eventually. These things always follow a pattern.”

Relief flickered across her face, while I was now wondering if he had truly seen me or just not noticed me.

And yet, instead of relief, a different kind of confusion settled in my chest.

If he hadn’t seen me, then this was nothing.

If he had seen me and still chose to move on, then that meant he was either too afraid to look me in the eye or worse, didn’t give a damn about me.

And the fact that I couldn’t tell which one it was unsettled me more than I cared to admit.

“Well?” Mirella’s voice cut through my thoughts, sharper now, more focused. “Since you’re apparently too delicate to present, the least you can do is make yourself useful.”

I blinked, pulling myself back into the present. “What do you want me to do?”

“Everything,” she said briskly, already reaching for a chair and settling into it to catch her breath.

She picked up a handheld fan from the table and began fanning herself lightly, her attention flicking between the booths ahead and our display.

“Write down all the key selling points. Materials, inspiration, pricing tiers, customization options. I don’t want to miss anything when he gets here.”

I stared at her for a moment, a faint disbelief rising again.

“You want me to write it down?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“Yes,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Quickly.”

I swallowed whatever response threatened to rise and reached for the notepad instead. There was no point arguing when the entire room felt like it was holding its breath for one man’s approval.

Fine.

If this was what it took to get through the next few minutes, I would do it.

I flipped the page open and uncapped the pen, forcing my hand to steady as I began jotting down the details I knew by heart. The centerpiece first, then the supporting pieces, the story behind the collection, the craftsmanship, the sourcing, the subtle elements that made each piece stand out.

My handwriting started out neat, controlled and for a second I thought I could do this, be back in control if I kept working.

My fingers felt slightly clammy against the paper, the pen slipping once before I adjusted my grip. I could hear my own heartbeat, steady but heavy, each thud echoing louder than it should have.

Mirella shifted in her seat, her fan moving lazily as she kept a close watch on his progress, occasionally leaning forward, her posture tightening whenever he moved to the next booth.

“He’s halfway through,” she murmured to herself, more to reassure than inform.

I nodded without looking up, turning the page as the pages filled one after another completely.

By the time I was done, I had filled almost five pages and held the notepad out to her.

“Good,” she said after a moment, a hint of satisfaction slipping into her tone. “At least you’re useful for something.”

Relieved that I could walk away I took a deep breath and was about to step back when Mirella exclaimed, almost breathless with excitement

“Mr. Lockwood, welcome to our booth.”