CHAPTER THREE
1070 Words
CHAPTER THREE
Present day……….
The present never felt louder than it did in the offices of Velvette House.
Amanda Andrew stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the skyline with a calmness that was anything but real. Her caramel-toned hands were folded behind her back, nails painted a soft nude, every inch of her exterior exuding quiet power. The muted hum of activity below—assistants pacing, interns rushing with fabric swatches, stylists tweaking designs—filled the air with an anxious buzz.
The Luxe House Collaboration Showdown was only weeks away.
And Velvette House, her baby, her rebirth,her brand, was going head-to-head with Devy Luxe.
The irony wasn’t lost on her.
Behind her, the glass door swung open. “You’re not even pretending to be calm anymore,” Marisol Lane teased, entering with a steaming mug of ginger tea and a clipboard stacked with printouts.
Amanda smirked, eyes still locked on the view. “That’s because I’m not.”
Marisol set the tea down gently on the sleek white desk, where organized chaos reigned—sketches, mood boards, press schedules, and fabric samples. “The judges just confirmed their attendance. The venue’s secured. Lighting rehearsals start Monday. Oh—and Theo called again.”
Amanda raised an eyebrow. “Theo?”
“Devy Luxe’s PA. He said he wants to finalize the judge's itinerary and confirm logistics. He thinks I’m the CEO, so he wants to meet in person.”
Amanda turned from the window, lifting the tea to her lips. “What did you say?”
“I told him I’m handling it. As usual.”
Amanda gave a soft nod. Marisol had been her stand-in since day one. It was Marisol’s face the world knew. Her smile on billboards. Her name on press releases. But behind every headline was Amanda, the invisible architect, the quiet storm.
“I know you hate this,” Marisol said gently. “But if they ask to see the real founder—”
“They won’t,” Amanda interrupted. “We’ve done this for six years. No one has ever questioned it.”
“But this competition isn’t like the others. It’s live. Global. Transparent.”
Amanda’s jaw tightened. “I know.”
“And Damien will be there.”
Amanda didn’t flinch, but something shifted in her eyes.
She turned to the board on the wall—a sprawling display of sketches and themes. The new line was her proudest creation yet: clean silhouettes, neutral tones, buttery textures that flattered all body types. Fashion that made women feel powerful without screaming for attention.
“I’m not backing down,” Amanda said softly. “Not this time. If I have to stand in front of Damien Devy again, I’ll do it on my terms. Not in a wedding gown. Not in tears.”
Marisol gave a proud smile. “That’s the Mandy I know.”
They shared a look. Six years of survival packed into one unspoken gaze.
Then Amanda stepped closer, grabbing a fabric sample. “Let’s make sure we beat them. Not just quietly. But publicly.”
>>>
Across the city, the headquarters of Devy Luxe buzzed with equal intensity.
Theo adjusted the cuff of his shirt as he entered Damien’s office, two tablets tucked under his arm. Damien sat behind a sleek obsidian desk, reviewing garment reports on a split screen, his jaw locked in concentration.
“Here’s the press schedule for the Showdown,” Theo said, placing the tablets down. “Also, Marisol Lane from Velvette House confirmed their availability for the walkthrough.”
Damien didn’t look up. “Still no word from their founder?”
Theo shook his head. “No. Marisol insists she’s the face of the brand.”
Damien’s eyes flickered up, just for a moment. “Odd that no one’s ever met the real owner. Not even a glimpse.”
“Some say it’s part of their brand mystique. Others think it’s strategic PR.”
Damien tapped a pen against the desk. “Make sure no curveballs hit us mid-event. I want control. Clean lines. No drama.”
Theo hesitated. “Sir, this is fashion. There’s always drama.”
Damien’s eyes narrowed. “Then limit it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Theo turned to leave, then paused. “I noticed something. The sketches Velvette House submitted… They remind me of older designs. From back in the day. Clean. Minimalist. Intentional.”
Damien frowned. “What are you suggesting?”
“I don’t know. It just feels familiar. I’ll do more digging.”
>>>
Back at Velvette House, the team gathered in the open studio space. Mannequins stood dressed in rough prototypes, and sunlight spilled through the skylights above.
Amanda walked through each row with Marisol and the design leads.
“We’re leading with this?” Amanda asked, stopping at a soft gold jumpsuit with structured shoulders.
“Yes,” said Maya, the lead designer. “It’s empowering, bold, and screams runway.”
Amanda nodded. “Move the belt up half an inch. The waist should sit higher. And add a slit at the ankle.”
Maya scribbled down notes, eyes wide with admiration.
“Also,” Amanda added, turning to Marisol, “when we release teasers, use captions that focus on confidence. Identity. The story behind the design. People want more than clothes—they want meaning.”
“You got it, boss,” Marisol said with a wink.
>>>
Late into the night, Amanda remained in her studio, reviewing every detail. She pulled out the old wedding sketchbook—the one she’d hidden for years.
She flipped past a torn page.
Her old signature stared back at her.
Amanda Andrew.
Below it, scribbled in the corner, was a note she wrote to herself six years ago: Make them remember you—not for what they saw, but for what you built.
A knock sounded on the door.
Marisol peeked in. “Still up?”
Amanda smiled. “You know me.”
Marisol held up a mockup poster. “Guess what dropped?”
The official competition announcement.
Two brands. One winner.
Velvette House vs. Devy Luxe.
Amanda stared at the screen. Her heart beat faster. Her palms tingled.
For the first time, she felt ready—not
just to win.
But to finally stand in the same room as the man who broke her.
Only this time, she’d be wearing power, not pain.
- Writer
