2 : The Red Carpet Reckoning
1162 Words
"Let go of me!" Sienna screamed, her voice cracking as two security guards grabbed her by the arms, nearly lifting her off the ground.
The crowd erupted into utter madness. Photographers fought each other for the perfect angle, their heavy cameras flashing like a lightning storm.
"Get her out of here! Now!" Julian Vance, Alexander’s cousin and the senior vice president, shouted from the top of the stairs.
His face was pale, and a drop of sweat rolled down his temple.
"She’s a lunatic! Don’t let her ruin the gala!"
The guards aggressively dragged Sienna backward.
Her heels scraped against the red carpet, and the breathtaking crimson gown bunched up around her knees.
Yet, even as they pulled her away, she kept her eyes locked entirely on Alexander.
"Look at the inner lining, Alexander!" She yelled, with a raw desperation that made everyone still. "Look at the left seam of the corset! My signature is sewn into the code of that fabric!
You are a fraud if you walk inside that building tonight!"
Alexander stood entirely frozen.
The chief of security stepped in front of him, blocking his view. "Sir, we need to move you inside. The press is going wild."
But Alexander didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on the spot where Sienna had just been standing.
Her words echoed in his mind, hitting him with a strange, heavy weight.
Look at the left seam.
He turned his head slowly, looking up the grand staircase.
Julian was frantically waving at him to come inside.Beside Julian, two other board members were whispering furiously into their phones.
Something was incredibly wrong. Alexander could feel it in his gut.
"Cancel my entrance to the main ballroom," Alexander commanded, his voice a low and dangerous that made his security chief blink in shock.
"But sir—the investors, the media—"
"Did I stutter?" Alexander snapped, throwing a terrifying glare at the man.
"Take me to the private holding suite downstairs. And bring that woman to me. If a single scratch is on her, you’re fired."
Down in the concrete underbelly of the venue, the private holding room smelled of expensive leather and stale air.
The guards shoved Sienna into the room, slamming the heavy soundproof door behind her.
She slipped, catching herself on a plush armchair.
Her chest was heavy .
Her hands were shaking violently, but she refused to let a single tear fall.
She had spent months crying in her tiny, cramped apartment. She was done crying.
The door clicked open.
Alexander walked in alone. He didn’t look angry; he looked calm. Too calm.
He closed the door, cutting off the distant murmur of the party upstairs.
He didn't speak. He simply walked over to the corner bar, poured two fingers of whiskey, and swirled the liquid.
"You have exactly two minutes to convince me not to hand you over to the NYPD for trespassing and corporate defamation," Alexander said, his voice completely devoid of emotion.
Sienna stood up straight, lifting her chin high. "I don’t need two minutes, Mr. Vance. I just need you to look at the display model of the gown inside right now. Marcus Reed—my former boss—sold you those sketches, didn't he?"
Alex's hand paused, his glass stopping mid-air. "Vance Global acquired Reed’s boutique firm last month.
The legal paperwork and copyright certificates were flawless."
"Because he forged my signature on the release forms!" Sienna shot back, "Marcus knew I was broke. He knew I couldn't afford a lawyer.
He stole my portfolio, fired me on a random Tuesday, and weeks later, your company announced the 'Vance Royal Crimson Collection.'
I spent four years of my life perfecting that specific embroidery technique.
If you look at the inner corset line on the left side, there is a hidden, repeating triple-cross stitch. It forms a stylized letter 'S'. Go look. I dare you."
Alex stared at her. The strong conviction in her eyes was impossible to fake. An actress would have asked for a settlement by now. A corporate spy would have negotiated a price. She hadn’t asked for a single dime. She just wanted her name back.
Alexander’s phone buzzed. It was an urgent text from his head of digital PR: The red carpet livestream has hit 15 million views. Stock prices for Vance Global are down 2.1% in after-hours trading.
The internet is demanding we address the indie designer.
Alexander locked the screen, his face darkening. If this woman was telling the truth, his own company had just committed the biggest intellectual property theft of the decade.
"Stay here," Alexander commanded, his voice cold. "If you try to leave, my guards will stop you."
He turned and strode out of the room, locking the door from the outside.
Instead of going to the gala, Alexander took the private service elevator down to the underground parking garage, where the Vance Global technical trailers were stationed.
That was where the secure servers and digital acquisition files were kept.
He pushed past the tech on duty, stepping into the high-tech mobile office. "Bypass the biometric lock on the Reed acquisition folder," Alexander ordered.
The technician scrambled to obey, his fingers flying across the keyboard. A silver encrypted laptop was pulled from the secure cabinet.
Alexander opened it and logged in using his master corporate key, and pulled up the high-resolution 3D schematics of the crimson gown.
He zoomed in on the internal structure of the bodice, scrolling directly to the left seam of the corset.
There, embedded deep within the digital sewing pattern, was triple-cross stitch.
When aligned, the stitches clearly formed a beautiful, stylized letter S.
She wasn't lying. The entire collection was stolen.
A shadow fell over the laptop screen from nowhere.
Alexander caught the movement in the reflection of the glass just a second too late.
He began to turn his head when a heavy, solid-metal fire extinguisher came swinging directly toward him with brutal force.
Crack.
The impact was sickening.His world instantly spun into a blur of grey and black.
The laptop slipped from his fingers.
He slumped against the desk, blood dripping rapidly down the side of his face as his vision began to fade.
Through the haze of his failing consciousness, he saw a pair of expensive, polished leather shoes.
A hand reached down and snatched the silver laptop off the floor.
A familiar voice echoed in the tiny trailer, sounding panicked but venomous.
"You shouldn't have come down here, Alex. This collection was supposed to save my reputation. I can't let a nobody girl ruin it."
Alexander tried to lift his arm, but his body completely refused to respond. Darkness finally took over his eyes. The heavy click of the door locking from the outside echoed in his ears.
And upstairs in the locked room, Sienna was still waiting, completely unaware that the only man who could save her was currently bleeding out on the concrete floor below.
- Writer
