The article dropped on a Thursday morning. Sienna didn’t see it at first. She was already halfway through her coffee, hair still damp from the shower, scrolling through her emails with the kind of bleary focus that came from too many late nights and too many early mornings. The Maison Laurent campaign was in its final stretch, and the studio had become a second home — one filled with lights, fabric, and the constant hum of creative energy.
She was halfway through answering a message from Marc when her phone buzzed again. She presumed it was Luca back with breakfast and waiting in the lobby for her to go to work. But then it buzzed again. Then again. And again.
At first, she ignored it. People messaged her constantly now — stylists confirming schedules, assistants asking for references, b
