Three years later, the name Phoenix Couture echoed from Milan to Manhattan.
Nathalie stood at the opening of her flagship store in SoHo, dressed in tailored black with molten gold trim—one of her own designs. Photographers shouted her name as spotlights lit up the sculpted metal phoenix installation above the doorway.
Flashes flickered.
She stepped forward to cut the ceremonial ribbon.
“Ms. Carter! How does it feel?" a reporter shouted.
“To see fire turn into fabric?" she replied, smiling. “It feels like freedom."
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Inside, the walls were lined with shimmering pieces—some bold, some soft, but all unapologetically hers. Her portrait, shot by Annie Leibovitz, hung near the entrance. Beneath it: *Survivor. Designer. Founder.*
Lisa tugged at her sleeve. “Aunt Nathalie, can I show Jim
