Her Gift Was My Dress, My Gift Was His Downfall

The door to my private atelier stood open a few inches. A woman laughed inside. I put my hand on the brass handle and pushed. Julian stood under the fitting lights with his mouth on Chloe Thorne's. His hand rested at her waist, holding her against the three-way mirror. Three weeks earlier, he had introduced her to the press as his new muse and asked me to make a few pieces that suited her. Then I saw what she was wearing. *My dress.* The *Crown of Starlight*. I had spent three months cutting the finale wedding gown, setting every pearl and sewing every crystal by hand. The fitted silk had been built to catch light without looking heavy, and the skirt required a hidden support structure to carry its weight. It was supposed to be unveiled at Paris Fashion Week under my name. Beside the three-way mirror, the antique garment rack still held its brass tag. Last week, the card inside had read *S. Vance*. Tonight, a new cream card sat in the slot. *Chloe Thorne*. Someone had taken out my card and ordered another one before they brought her in. The fresh cream stock did not even have a crease at the corners. Julian pulled away and frowned at me. He kept his arm around Chloe. “Sera. We're busy.” Chloe leaned into him and ran one hand down the bodice. “Oh, Seraphina. Julian was congratulating me. This design came to me in a flash of inspiration.” Five years of sketches sat in the archive downstairs. Most had been drawn after midnight, when the public studio was empty and Julian had gone home. He had accepted every award. I had left before the photographers arrived because he said anonymity made the brand more intriguing and protected the mystery around Cross. Madame Dubois stood beside the worktable with a pin still raised between her fingers. When I looked at her, she lowered her eyes. The whole room had known before I did. Julian's face settled into the patient expression he used whenever he expected me to cry. “Marie, bring Sera her usual. Decaf, two sugars.” He glanced back at me. “Darling, don't be dramatic. You look tired. We can talk later.” Coffee first, apology later. He used “Darling” when he wanted me quiet and “Sera” when he wanted me back at my desk. By morning, he usually had me correcting the next set of patterns while he behaved as though the argument had never happened. For five years, I had let routine close every argument for him. That routine ended while I watched Chloe press her thumb against the pearls I had sewn on at four that morning. Julian had already moved the credit, the fitting, and the woman into my room. He expected my labor to remain after everything else was handed away. I smiled. Julian's expression shifted before he could hide it. “You're right. I'm sorry. I must have been confused.” The final blueprints lay open on the oak table, weighted at the corners by brass pattern blocks. I closed the heavy parchment inside its folder and picked it up before Madame Dubois could see my hand shake. “This belongs to you, Chloe. You'll need the final version for tomorrow's fitting.” As she reached for it, I opened the folder just enough to press my damp thumb onto the coded markings near the waistline. I dragged the page one centimeter beneath the brass clip. The numbers and arrows for the core structural seams blurred into a gray smear. Those seams carried the weight of the skirt through the corset instead of Chloe's hips. Their placement made the gown look effortless. Without the markings, anyone altering the waist would have to guess which seams were structural and how much tension each one could take. Chloe took the folder and hugged it to her chest. Julian's shoulders loosened. “Go home, Sera. Get some sleep. We'll fix this in the morning.” He turned back to Chloe before I reached the door and asked Madame Dubois to bring the waist in again. He expected me to come back at dawn, correct their alterations, and keep his show on schedule. “Of course.” I left the atelier without my name, my dress, or the folder. Nobody followed me into the corridor. Chloe had the blueprint, Julian had his new Creative Lead, and the warning at the waist was gone.