Chapter Two: The Final Stitch
1147 Words
~ KAIRO DRAVEN
I left the auction hall with the weight of silence trailing behind me. The buzz of conversation, the applause, the shock—none of it mattered. All I could think about was how I felt the moment I realized someone else wanted the book as much as I wanted it.
Her.
The moment the bidding hit 700,000 dollars and that sultry voice cut through the air like it belonged to the room, I knew I had competition. But when I turned and saw who it was—or rather, what she was wearing—I was stunned. She looked very beautiful and graceful.
Now, her heels clicked behind me as I walked down the dim corridor outside the auction hall. Her voice came next, sharp and familiar. What does she want from me now?
"You, wait. Elevator thief."
I rolled my eyes. I should've known she would come after me.
I turned around slowly, and there she was. The beautiful and graceful woman I saw before. Now? She wasn't looking very graceful. She only had anger written on her face.
Dressed like she was headed to a luxury dinner date rather than a prestigious auction. A black velvet gown that clung to her curves perfectly, slit very high up her thigh.
My eyes flicked up. Her gaze was fierce. Unapologetic.
"What did you call me?"
"You stole my elevator ride and now my damn book."
I blinked slowly. "Why is it yours?"
She looked surprised by my response.
"What?"
"Why is the design book yours? And the elevator ride? I got there first. I bid the highest. You sound entitled. Did you think I’d stop and let you win out of pity?"
She narrowed her eyes. "I’m a designer," she hissed. "I wanted that book for inspiration. What would someone like you even do with it? Frame it next to your stock portfolio?"
I didn’t respond.
Then she smiled—no, smirked. And said what would burn in my chest longer than it should've.
"You know what? I just realized I don’t even need it. I probably have better designs in my trash can."
The air thickened. Her words echoed inside me like broken glass. I shouldn’t have cared.
But I did.
That book was the only thing left of my mother. The same woman who gave the world her time, her creativity, her everything—but gave me absolutely nothing. Dalia Rose. To the world, a pioneer of fashion. To me? A ghost who chose fame over family. She spent more time sketching gowns than looking me in the eye.
I bought that book as revenge. As closure. As ownership. She wanted the world to see her brilliance one last time, even after death. Not happening, not when I'm in possession of the book.
Now, this woman in stilettos and attitude dares to mock that?
She turned and walked away proudly, hips swaying like victory was hers.
I scoffed. Arrogance. Pride. Who even was she?
Her face was familiar—but I couldn’t place it.
Just then, a man with a camera stepped in front of me, stretching out a card. "Mr. Draven, I’m with Skyline Media. Quick question?"
I stared at him, unmoved. "What do you want?"
"Is it true that you placed the highest bid for Dalia Rose’s unpublished designs? How much was it?"
I tilted my head. "You’ll find out soon enough."
He smirked. "Since you won’t answer that one, what’s your relationship with Zephyra Lione?"
My expression froze. "Who?"
Then it clicked. Zephyra Lione. The new rising fashion house owner. Loud. Unfiltered. A reputation already tainted by two scandals in just one month. The same woman the board had been buzzing about for a potential deal.
I frowned. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."
Then I walked away.
My car was parked just around the corner. Percy, my secretary, quickly stepped forward and opened the door. I slid in, followed by him.
"Congratulations," he said, grinning. "You finally got your hands on the book."
"Thanks," I replied.
"What would you like us to do next?"
"Has the staffer from the auction followed up?"
"Yes, sir. The documents will be sent to your office tomorrow. The book will also be delivered once all paperwork is signed."
I nodded.
Then, casually, I asked, "What kind of person is Zephyra Lione?"
Percy paused, he was probably wondering why I asked. "Well, she's fearless. Blunt. Says whatever she thinks, even on national television. But she’s good at her job. Really good. Won three rookie designer awards since her debut. Some people say she might be the next Dalia Rose"
I looked out the window. "Were we ever planning to work with her?"
"Yes. We’ve been in talks. Nothing signed yet, but her work is gaining serious fame."
"Stop it. Find an alternative."
Percy blinked. "May I ask why, sir? Did something happen?"
"I said stop it. I’ll never work with her."
Percy nodded. That was enough of an answer.
---
Next Morning – DravenCorp Headquarters
The boardroom was filled with men and women dressed in polished suits.
Percy stood at the front, presenting the list of collaborators for our new luxury mall. Names flashed on the screen with what they do and how we would collaborate.
One name was missing.
"Wait," one board member said, frowning. "Where’s Zephyra Lione’s brand? I don't think I saw it among the list of brand names"
Percy glanced at me.
I spoke up. "I removed it."
Murmurs rose instantly.
"With all due respect, Mr. Draven," another member said, "that brand was a collective decision of the board. Zephyra Lione is the most talked-about designer this quarter. She’s perfect for the exposure we need."
"I don’t care," I said coolly. "I won’t work with someone so unprofessional and rude."
Then another voice, hesitant: "Is it because of the news? Is it really true? What happened between both of you?"
I frowned. "What news?"
Percy quickly walked to my side, phone in hand. "Sir, this just dropped."
The headline read: "What is the relationship between Kairo Draven and Zephyra Lione?"
Attached was a blurry but damning video of us from the auction. From a certain angle, it looked like we were arguing. Others might interpret it differently.
I clenched my jaw. "Great." That darned reporter from last night must have watched us while we were talking.
"Should I issue a press statement?" Percy asked quietly.
"Yes. Emphasize that no business will be done with her or her brand. Disassociate completely."
"Understood."
He left the room.
I stared at the polished table.
This was just the beginning.
She wanted to throw words like knives?
Fine.
I’d build walls so high, her brand wouldn’t climb over in ten years.
Zephyra Lione will never be more than just rookie designer of the year.
How dare she speak to me that way.
- Writer
