Chapter 144 Talia

Chapter 144 Talia
The air in the room seemed to shift instantly. Not loud, not dramatic, just a sudden, complete stillness, as if even the boutique itself had paused to listen.

Darla stopped mid-motion, her hand still hovering near the switch, then slowly lowered it without turning anything off. She crossed the room at an unhurried pace and came to sit beside Amber on the couch.

“I'd said it!” Darla exclaimed, frowning. “What kind of card?” she asked quietly.

“His black card.”

Darla dropped to the back rest, speechless. Even his wife of five years, he ever gave his black card. Darla thought. 

“This is serious! Before someone gives a woman his black card, he's crazily in love and trust.” 

Amber said nothing. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

After a while, Darla finally broke the silence. “What are you going to do?”. 

Amber didn’t also answer immediately. Instead, her eyes moved slowly around the boutique, over the white orchids at the entrance, the warm lighting she had chosen herself, the neatly arranged racks, the polished counters, and the name etched on the glass door. 

Everything here had been built by her, piece by piece, every part of it earned without him, without anyone’s help.

“Nothing,” she said after a brief pause. “Not yet.”

She reached for her jacket from the bench, straightened it with calm, careful hands, and stood up.

“We don’t do anything yet,” she repeated with a cold and calm voice.

Down on Mercer Street, the woman in the caramel wrap dress settled into the back seat of her chauffeured car. She opened her phone and typed out a message. 

The reply came quickly, under a minute. Just one word. Simple, clipped, the kind of response men send when they are completely at ease, certain there is nothing to worry about.

As the car eased into motion and drifted away from the curb, the woman inside kept her attention on her phone, a faint smile still on her lips. She never once looked up at the boutique window beside her.

From behind the glass of Berx Fashion, Amber stood watching until the vehicle blended into the street and disappeared from sight.

She didn’t need a second glance. The make of the car, the model, even the license plate, everything had already been noticed, noted, and stored away. 

Nothing about it had escaped her.

CHAPTER 2: SHE BRAGS TO THE WIFE

Amber was in the middle of adjusting a display of silk scarves, smoothing out the folds and spacing them, when the boutique door opened again.

Almost instantly, something in her stomach tightened, a quiet drop she didn’t acknowledge outwardly.

She knew who it was before her eyes even lifted.

The same perfume as the day before, rich, expensive and slightly. 

Amber didn’t stop what she was doing. Her fingers stayed on the silk scarves, finishing the fold with slow, exact care, as if nothing had shifted at all. Only when it was perfectly in place did she finally look up.

And when she did, she wore a full, easy smile, controlled, welcoming, and perfectly in place.

Her new enemy was standing just inside the entrance, holding a Berx Fashion  garment bag neatly at her side.

“Good morning,” Amber said lightly, her tone smooth and welcoming. “Back so soon.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question, but it carried enough meaning to suggest one. She only smiled in response, taking it as something pleasant.

“Heyy, I didn't tell you my name yesterday. So I thought we'll to do that today.” She smiled, walking in. “Celine Marsh. That's my name.” 

Amber's eyebrows raised. She didn't ask but she got it. Was it staged? Had she known about her now and thought to challenge her?

“Wow, nice name.” She said with a smirk. “Glad you told me,” she winked at her. 

Celine nodded. “The hem on the burgundy dress sits a bit low on me,” she said, lifting the bag slightly for emphasis. “I was hoping you could adjust it.”

“Absolutely,” Amber replied without hesitation, already moving forward. She crossed the floor and took the garment bag from Celine’s hands with ease. 

“I’ll just check our alterations schedule. It shouldn’t take long.”

“Perfect,” Celine said, lingering where she stood. Her gaze drifted around the boutique as if she had no immediate intention of leaving.

She made no move toward the door.

And Amber didn’t react to that either. She had already anticipated it.

Darla came out from the back office, stopped the moment she saw Celine, and shifted her attention to Amber in silent question.

Amber gave the slightest shake of her head. Leave it.

Darla understood immediately. Without a word, she moved behind the counter and started sorting and rearranging things, paper, receipts, anything she could find, making her presence known a little too loudly, as if to give them space while still staying close.

Celine moved through the boutique just as she had the day before, unbothered, unhurried, entirely at ease. Like she or her husband owned the place. 

There was a quiet confidence in the way she occupied the space, as though it already had a place reserved for her that no one had formally pointed out yet.

She let her fingers glide over fabrics, glanced at price tags without so much as a pause, and lifted a white blazer in front of the mirror, holding it against herself as if she were already deciding how often she might wear it.

“Do you get a lot of regular clients?” Celine asked casually.

“We do,” Amber replied as she moved back behind the counter. “Once women find us, they usually keep coming back.” 

Amber said, teasing her. She wanted to prove a point that would reveal more. 

“That makes sense,” Celine said, placing the blazer down and picking up a silk scarf instead. She looked at it as she spoke. “He was right about this place.”

Amber’s movements slowed for a fraction of a second. She looked up.

“Sorry?” she said, her voice still calm, but a little more careful now.

“My man,” Celine said with a small smile, still holding the scarf. “He was the one who told me about you. Said this is the best boutique in the city.”

“That’s very kind of him,” Amber said smoothly.

She turned back to the register, letting her hands stay busy while Celine continued moving through the racks. The boutique wasn’t quiet, there were three other clients that morning, each needing attention in different ways.

Amber moved between them without hesitation. She managed fitting room requests, answered styling questions, and even stepped aside to place a private order over the phone. Calm, efficient, and fully present, she gave each moment exactly what it needed, nothing more and nothing less.

And still, she heard every word Celine said.

Celine spoke in a way that unfolded gradually, like she was easing into conversation rather than stepping into it all at once. She was definitely heading somewhere and Amber was calmly following her. 

Celine started with something simple, remarks about fabric, a question about a designer, a passing observation, and then, almost naturally, she would circle it back to herself and the life she clearly lived in ease. A very comfortable life, spoken about with pride. 

The villa came up while Amber was carefully wrapping a client’s purchase behind the counter.

“We just finished decorating it,” Celine said casually, not really directing the comment at anyone in particular. She drifted along a rack of evening gowns as she spoke, fingertips brushing the fabric as she went. 

“Five bedrooms, private infinity pool. And the view from the master bedroom…honestly, you’d cry.”

The client she was attending to made a soft, polite sound of admiration.

Amber continued wrapping without pause, tissue paper smoothed flat, ribbon measured and tied, each fold done with precise care.

“Carver Ridge?” the client asked casually.

“Mm-hm,” Celine replied with a small smile. “The new developments up there. He had the place completed last spring.”

For the briefest moment, Amber’s hands stopped. Just half a second of stillness before she continued.

Carver Ridge.

Archer had brought up Carver Ridge around eighteen months ago. He said it was a corporate investment, just a property development with good long-term profit, nothing complicated. 

He even placed a single-page summary on the kitchen counter for her to glance at.

She remembered barely reading it, saying it sounded fine, and then going back to what she was doing, treating it like something small that didn’t need much attention.

She smoothed the ribbon into place and passed the wrapped purchase to her client with a warm, polished smile.