Elena locked the office doors and drew the curtains shut. The world outside buzzed with chatter, but here, in the dim quiet of her studio, the hum of the sewing machines and the scent of fabric steadied her pulse.
On the worktable lay a scattering of Regina’s clippings, sharp as broken glass. Headlines, photographs, interview quotes—all of them meant to reduce her, to twist her into something unstable, unfit, finished.
But Elena wasn’t finished.
“Daniel,”
she said without looking up, her voice deliberate, measured. “If Regina wants to define me by scandal, I’ll redefine her by truth.”
Daniel leaned closer, wary. “What are you thinking?”
Elena’s fingers brushed over a crimson silk swatch. “Regina has built her reputation on elegance and virtue. But I know the corners she’s cut. The suppliers she squeezes until they bleed. The interns she discards like scraps. She hides behind her pearls and charity galas, but I’ve seen her rot.”
Daniel frowned. “Exposing her would be dangerous. She’s ruthless. She’ll retaliate.”
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Elena finally looked at him, fire sparking in her eyes. “She already has. Every rumor in print, every client she’s tried to steal, every dagger she’s thrust into my back. I won’t sit by while she poisons my name. If she wants a war, I’ll give her one.”
For the next hour, Elena outlined her plan. A rival showcase wouldn’t be enough—Regina thrived on spectacle, but Elena could strike at her foundations. A documentary-style campaign: seamstresses who had been underpaid, suppliers Regina had abandoned mid-contract, young designers silenced by her influence. Their voices would form the narrative, raw and undeniable.
It wasn’t about petty revenge. It was about truth. About reclaiming the narrative on her own terms.
Daniel listened in silence, torn between admiration and fear. When she finished, he reached for her hand, steadying her. “If you do this, there’s no going back.”
Elena squeezed his fingers, her jaw set. “There’s no going back anyway.”
She stood, shoulders squared, her gaze cutting across the room to the wall where her earliest sketches still hung. She had clawed her way to power once before, with nothing but thread and determination. She could do it again—this time against an enemy who underestimated her resolve.
Regina had made the first strike. Now, Elena would stitch the next—tight, deliberate, impossible to unravel.
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