Chapter 2
914 Words
Renard Haute Couture, the fashion powerhouse Serena currently works for, is one of the top design firms in New York City.
Every piece that comes out of their studio turns into an instant sensation, and Serena? She's the chief designer behind all the magic.
In her spacious, plush office, Serena lounges back in her oversize chair, toying with a gold pen between her delicate fingers, a smirk playing on her lips—part mockery, part indifference.
Her office is perched on the 29th floor, offering her a sweeping view of the bustling city below.
From this angle, watching the endless streams of cars and people, it's easy to feel like you're in control of everything, a godlike sense of superiority creeping in, as if the fate of the world rested in your hands.
She stares out of the window for a long time, until her neck starts to stiffen.
With a groan, she rubs her aching temples. Her insomnia's been getting worse—back in the day, she could fall asleep by 1 a.m.
Now, she's wide awake until well past 2, staring at the ceiling.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
"Come in," she mutters, barely lifting her head from its lazy recline, her face scrunched up in discomfort.
"Didn't sleep well again, huh? Still stressing over the upcoming fashion show?" Her secretary breezes in, concern laced in her voice.
"Here's the design folder you asked for," the secretary adds, handing over a thick file.
"Thanks," Serena says, absentmindedly flipping through the pages. "Anything happening in the company these past couple of days?" she asks, only half-interested.
The secretary proceeds to update her on the recent company gossip, when suddenly, her voice lowers, full of mystery.
"Oh, by the way," the secretary's eyes lighted up, "I just overheard from a few colleagues that the CEO's son is coming back to the States soon!
There's going to be a grand welcome party, and all the execs are invited.
Invitations should be arriving soon!" She was practically glowing, as if the invite were for her.
Serena, however, didn't even blink.
"And guess what? They say the CEO's son is super handsome—like, totally looks like the guy from"Titanic"!
I can't wait to meet him!" The secretary clasps her hands over her chest, eyes full of romantic daydreams, like a teenager in love for the first time.
"Is that so?" Serena replied dryly, her lips curling into a sarcastic smile. Just another spoiled rich kid, she thinks.
"Wait, don't tell me you're not planning to go again, are you?" The secretary's excitement deflates, replaced by disappointment.
"We'll see," Serena says, closing the file. The secretary takes the hint and leaves the office.
Fifteen minutes later, a meticulously crafted invitation lands on Serena's desk.
She picks it up, squinting in the sunlight as she reads the embossed words: "Soirée d'Accueil". A smirk tugs at her lips.
Another lavish party to show off wealth and power, where beautiful people mingle with other beautiful people. Her lips parted slightly in a playful smile.
Maybe she should go. It's been a while since she went "hunting." When was the last time she attended one of these events?
At the Soirée d'Accueil, a fiery red Ferrari pulls up to the venue, coming to a perfect stop on the lush green lawn. The door swings open, and the first thing to hit the grass is a pair of sleek, black leather boots.
From there, the view only gets better: long, slender legs, a tiny waist, and finally, Serena emerges from the car with effortless grace.
With each confident step in her high heels, Serena makes her grand entrance. All eyes turned toward her.
The men's gazes are filled with awe and desire, while the women can't hide their jealousy.
Every move she makes is a picture of elegance, and the custom-fitted black evening gown she's wearing hugs her curves in all the right places, sending pulses racing.
Her face, touched lightly with makeup, is expressionless, her finely shaped brows giving off an air of aloof superiority.
Serena approaches Mr. Renard, the CEO, and with polite decorum, she says, "Apologies for being late, Mr. Renard." Her head dips in respect, but if you looked closely, you'd see a glimmer of irony in her eyes—she was late on purpose.
Her solo, delayed entrance guarantees that all eyes are fixed on her. It's all part of her strategy—a surefire way to captivate men, and this tactic has never failed.
"I'm just glad you could make it! Feel free to enjoy yourself!" Mr. Renard booms, his plump hands giving her a hearty pat on the shoulder.
"Thank you, Mr. Renard," she said with a slight nod, already turning to grab a glass of wine.
The night is young, and it's too early to make a move. Better to find a quiet spot to sip her drink and watch the room.
As she turns, a glass of red wine is handed to her. She looks up and meets a pair of deep, blue eyes.
Hmm. Not bad. He's as stunning as they said. The perfect spoiled playboy.
They take a moment to size each other up.
With a graceful lift of her hand, Serena accepts the glass, their eyes locking in a silent exchange.
She raises the glass in a toast and throws back the wine in one smooth gulp, her boldness striking.
Julien watched her with an approving smile.
- Writer
