Her Gift Was My Dress, My Gift Was His Downfall

Chapter 2 The Poisoned Apple

The next morning, I returned to the studio on time. Assistants hurried between tables with pins, thread, and revised show sheets. Chloe sat on a stool while Madame Dubois held the half-pinned bodice against her, trying to keep the skirt off the floor with one knee.

“No, no.” Chloe pointed at the waist. “Tighter. And more sparkly. It needs to pop.”

I stayed by the door. Madame Dubois had pinned the waist twice and removed the pins twice. Each change shifted the fall of the skirt and pulled the beaded panel off center. Without my marks, she could not tell which seams carried the weight and which existed only to shape the surface.

Julian watched over the rim of his espresso while Chloe ordered the waist tighter and asked for more crystals. He smiled at every instruction. The boning had already begun to bow under the new tension, and Madame Dubois kept touching the place where the missing code should have been.

“Perhaps Mademoiselle Thorne could indicate the seam on the blueprint,” Madame Dubois said.

“I don't have time for blueprints. I work from vision.”

Another inch would buckle the boning and pull the skirt off its anchors. Chloe demanded two.

I let the fitting continue for another hour.

“I thought you might need this.” I set a leather portfolio on the worktable.

Julian put down his cup. “Sera. Good. Help them out.”

“I'm here for the handover.” I opened the portfolio in front of Chloe. “Since you're taking over the design, you should have the final say on the material.”

Chloe ran her fingers across the silks and satins. She stopped at the swatch in the center, exactly where I had placed it.

The polymer-infused silk broke sunlight into shifting colors and seemed to glow when it moved. I had commissioned only enough for one gown. In my private development notes, I had code-named the experimental weave *Icarus*.

She held it to the window. “This one. It's divine.”

“It's a new weave, and it's very delicate. The molecular bonds become unstable under intense, repetitive light. Camera flashes, for example. Under runway lamps it will hold. In front of a photographers' pit, I can't guarantee it.”

Julian waved that aside. “Don't be difficult, Sera. It's gorgeous. Chloe wants it. We'll use it.”

“Of course. I need the change documented for Legal.”

I took out one document. Across the top, bold type read: **Creative Direction and Material Liability Waiver.**

I put it beside a pen. “From this point forward, final design choices and material selections belong to the new Creative Lead. Cross Atelier is indemnified against unforeseen material failures.”

The page looked like every other liability form the company used. The warning about photosensitivity appeared in the same small type as the insurance and handling clauses, directly above the signature lines.

Julian signed the CEO line without reading past the heading.

Chloe added her name under *Creative Lead* with a wide flourish.

I waited for the ink to dry, folded the document along its original crease, and slipped it into my handbag. Both signatures were clear. Julian's sat under *CEO*, Chloe's under *Creative Lead*, and the warning about photosensitivity remained visible above them.