Chapter 194: An Unexpected Incident at the Fashion Show
The shadow outside the door vanished the moment Evelyn’s eyes landed on it. All that remained was an empty hallway and the faint impressions of footsteps on the plush carpet.
Evelyn didn't give chase. In this man-eating estate, curiosity was a luxury she couldn't afford. She shoved the chair more firmly under the doorknob, clutching the box of heavy secrets, and stayed awake until dawn.
Three days later, temporary studio, Washington D.C.
The air was thick with a suffocating tension.
"This is your explanation?" Evelyn stood before a massive cutting table, holding the deep crimson velvet gown meant to open the show.
The fabric, which should have been smooth as liquid silk, disintegrated like weathered paper with a single tug. A sharp, chemical odor wafted from the frayed edges. The two assistants across from her trembled, their heads bowed in silence.
"Where is Martha, the head seamstress?" Evelyn’s voice was ice.
"Martha... she emailed her resignation this morning," an assistant stammered. "Said there was a family emergency and she had to go back to the countryside."
Evelyn let out a bitter laugh. What kind of emergency would make a veteran employee who followed her all the way from New York disappear three days before a show, while conveniently ruining the core fabrics with acidic solvent?
There was no other reason but bribery.
Camilla Covington. The woman’s methods were cruder and more direct than Evelyn had imagined. She didn't care for complex schemes; she wanted to use money and power to stomp out Evelyn’s hard work.
"Remake it." Evelyn tossed the ruined dress into the trash and turned toward the fabric storage. "Call the supplier. I want the same batch of velvet. Now."
"But... that was a special order from Italy," the assistant cried. "Air freight takes two days at best. We won't make it."
"We will make it! Am I supposed to send trash down the runway?" Evelyn roared. The high pressure and the lingering trauma from the other night finally pushed her nerves to the breaking point. She leaned over the table, gasping for air.
The studio door swung open, letting in a gust of cold wind. Ryan strode in, followed by bodyguards carrying metal cases. He was still in his tailored suit, but his tie was loosened and his eyes were shadowed with fatigue. To win Evelyn the rights for this independent showcase, he had spent two days battling the old men on the Council.
"Leave us," Ryan said, waving the assistants away. Once they were gone, he walked up behind Evelyn. One look at the shredded fabric in the trash told him everything.
"Covington's people?" Ryan’s voice was dangerously calm.
"Who else?" Evelyn rubbed her temples. "Martha is gone. The fabric is ruined. We have three days, Ryan. I might actually fail this time."
"Fail?" Ryan chuckled softly and flipped open the metal cases.
Inside were ten bolts of premium crimson velvet. The color was deeper and purer than the previous batch, glowing like fine wine under the studio lights.
"This is stock from a French textile mill I recently acquired. It was intended for royal couture." Ryan picked up a pair of shears and handed them to Evelyn. "As long as I’m here, you will never fail."
Evelyn looked at the fabric, her eyes stinging. "But Martha is gone. The draping is too complex. I can't finish this alone."
"Who said you were alone?" Ryan tossed his jacket onto the sofa and rolled up his sleeves, revealing his toned forearms. He picked up a piece of tailor's chalk and began drawing structural lines on the fabric with practiced ease. He raised an eyebrow at her. "The Lawrence men might not usually touch needles, but my hands are steadier than any tailor's."
The next forty-eight hours were a blur of activity. The rhythmic hum of sewing machines filled the late nights. Ryan wasn't joking. While he wasn't as fast as a professional, he was precise. Cutting, steaming, hemming—he did it all with meticulous care.
At four in the morning, Evelyn fell asleep at her desk. In a daze, she felt someone drape a warm jacket over her shoulders and a kiss land on the back of her neck.
"Sleep," Ryan’s voice was hoarse and tender. "No matter what happens, even if the sky falls, I’ll hold it up for you."
Evelyn didn't open her eyes, but her heart raced. In a world of calculation and leverage, this moment of warmth felt so real it made her want to cry.
However, warmth is always fragile in the face of reality. With less than twenty-four hours to go, the dresses were finished, hanging on racks for final steaming. The quiet was shattered by a phone ringing, then another, and another.
The PR Director burst in, looking frantic. "We have a problem. The internet is exploding."
He handed a tablet to Evelyn. The top trending topic: #SophiaBellDesignsCarcinogenic.
Below it was a report stamped by an "authoritative" testing agency, claiming Evelyn’s dyes contained a hundred times the legal limit of banned aromatic amines. Several accounts claiming to be "insider models" posted photos of red, swollen skin, crying that a crooked designer had disfigured them.
The public went into a frenzy. "Kick her out of the fashion world!" "Murderer! She has no soul!"
"This is a lie! Our dyes are all plant-based!" Evelyn’s hands shook with rage. Her phone rang again; it was the head of the modeling agency.
"I’m sorry, Ms. Bell. Given the current risks and for the safety of our models, we are terminating our contract. Our models will not appear tonight."
The call ended. There was no room for negotiation. Without models, the beautiful clothes were just dead weight on hangers. The show was over before it began.
Evelyn sank into her chair, feeling the blood drain from her face. This wasn't just an attack on her career; it was an attempt to murder her character.
"Don't panic," Ryan said, snatching the tablet. "I'll handle it. I have shares in that testing agency. I’ll have a clarification report out within the hour. As for models, I’ll bring in talent from Nova..."
Before he could finish, Ryan’s phone rang. He glanced at the ID and his face changed. He walked quickly to the window. "Bernie? What is it... now? Dammit, does it have to be now?"
He argued in low tones for a minute before hanging up with a curse. He turned to Evelyn, his eyes full of apology and conflict.
"Evelyn, there’s an emergency at the estate. My father’s condition worsened. The Council is trying to forcibly take over the family trust. I have to go back." He grabbed her shoulders. "Wait for me here. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Trust me, I’ll fix this."
He left before she could even respond. The studio fell into a deathly silence. Evelyn was alone with a room full of gowns and a screen full of hate.
Then, her phone vibrated. No caller ID. She picked it up to hear Camilla’s lazy, mocking laughter.
"How do you like my gift?"
"Coward," Evelyn hissed.
Camilla chuckled. "See? Ryan is gone. Between family power and you, he will always choose the former. You think he really loves you? Don't be stupid. He’s only keeping you around because you have evidence against Marcus. You’re just a tool to help him clean house. Now that Marcus is gone, you’re just a pawn to be discarded."