Chapter 52
Chapter 52
Veronica
I am a communications major.
That was all I had ever known.
Communication. Speaking. Listening.
Understanding people in ways they didn’t even understand themselves.
Ever since I was younger, I had always had this strange pull toward words. Toward voices. Toward expression. It felt natural, like breathing.
I never imagined myself anywhere outside of that.
Definitely not anything that had to do with modelling.
As a child, maybe I played around with clothes sometimes—mixing colours I probably shouldn’t have, trying on outfits in front of the mirror like I was someone important.
But it was never serious. Never something I thought would become… this.
And yet right now, I was sitting in a cab staring out the window while mentally preparing myself to walk into the empire of a woman I barely knew.
A woman who somehow believed I could help represent her brand.
The thought alone still sounded ridiculous.
I let out a slow breath as the cab finally pulled up in front of the building.
And immediately froze.
It was massive. Oh.
Tall glass windows stretched across the building, reflecting the city lights beautifully while elegant gold lettering rested at the front entrance. People moved in and out carrying garment bags, sketch folders, tablets and coffee cups like the entire building never slept.
For a second, I genuinely considered asking the driver to turn around.
Instead, I paid quietly before stepping out.
The moment the doors opened for me, I was hit with the scent of expensive perfume, fresh fabric and something oddly calming underneath it all.
This place felt artistic and creative. Japanese culture woven carefully into modern western fashion.
Minimalistic structures stood beside bold statement pieces. Soft sakura artwork decorated dark contemporary walls. Traditional influence mixed beautifully with modern elegance.
“Veronica.”
I turned immediately at the sound of my name.
Miyako walked toward me calmly, dressed in an all-black fitted outfit with her hair tied neatly behind her.
“I hope the traffic wasn’t terrible,” she said smoothly.
“It wasn’t too bad,” I replied.
Her sharp eyes studied me briefly before she gave a small nod.
“Good.”
Then without another word, she gestured for me to follow her.
As we walked through the building, people greeted her respectfully almost immediately. Most of which had a unique mix of Japanese and American.
“You’re nervous?” she asked suddenly.
“A little.”
Maybe more than a little.
She opened another set of doors and this time we stepped into a much quieter section of the building.
Mood boards lined the walls.
Fabric samples covered large tables.
Sketches, colour palettes, accessories, unfinished concepts.
It looked like creativity had physically exploded inside the room.
Miyako noticed the way my eyes moved across everything.
“You like it,” she said.
“I think…” I hesitated slightly. “I think this might be one of the prettiest places I’ve ever seen.”
That earned me a small smile.
“Most people say expensive first.”
“Well,” I replied carefully, “it is expensive.”
That made an actual soft laugh leave her throat.
And strangely enough, hearing her laugh made her feel less unreachable.
“This collection,” she said while walking further into the room, “is important to me.”
My attention returned to her immediately.
“It’s a Japanese-American fusion launch,” she explained. “A blend between traditional structure and modern western influence.”
I nodded slowly.
“I can see that.”
She glanced at me briefly.
“Can you?”
“Yes.” I walked closer to one of the designs pinned on the board. “The styling feels softer in certain places but sharper in others. Like it’s trying to preserve both identities without letting one overpower the other.”
The silence that followed afterwards made me immediately cautious. Did I go too far?
I turned slightly and noticed Miyako watching me carefully now.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, no it's fine. I knew I made the perfect choice.”
That made something tighten oddly in my chest.
She walked toward one of the large tables before placing a folder down.
“The launch is this weekend,” she said. “So everything has to be perfect.”
I nodded slowly, though if I was being honest, I still felt slightly overwhelmed standing in the middle of all this.
Miyako seemed to notice.
“Relax,” she said calmly. “Nobody is expecting you to suddenly become a fashion expert overnight.”
Easy for her to say.
She walked toward a long table covered in sketches and fabric samples before motioning for me to come closer.
“In the meantime,” she continued, flipping through several design sheets, “I want your opinion on a few things.”
“My opinion?”
“Yes.” She glanced at me briefly. “That is why you’re here.”
Before I could respond, she called out something in Japanese toward one of the staff members nearby. Almost immediately, a few people hurried around the room while another woman disappeared behind a curtain carrying several garment bags.
Miyako placed a few sketches in front of me.
“These are some of the final looks for the launch,” she explained. “The collection blends traditional Japanese silhouettes with western structure.”
My eyes moved carefully across the pages.
One particular outfit caught my attention immediately. The upper half was structured and modern while the lower design softened into flowing traditional fabric.
“It’s pretty,” I admitted quietly.
For the next hour, we continued reviewing designs together.
At some point, one of the models stepped out wearing a fitted black dress layered with delicate crimson embroidery running along the sleeves.
By the time we finally paused, my brain already felt overloaded from analysing fabrics, designs and concepts for hours.
Still, I couldn’t deny I hadn’t enjoyed myself.
“That’s enough for today,” she said.
I let out a quiet breath of relief.
But before I could properly relax, Miyako suddenly reached for another garment bag hanging nearby.
“There’s one more thing,” She unzipped the bag slowly before pulling out a stunning piece I genuinely didn’t even know how to describe properly.
“I think you should try this one on.”