Regina Velasco arrived at Marquez Couture like a storm dressed in silk. Cameras followed her to the atelier doors, their flashes catching the glint of her diamonds and the curve of her painted smile. She was society’s darling—heiress, philanthropist, and ruthless connoisseur of fashion. Whatever she wore became headline news.
Elena stood waiting, her poise flawless though her stomach knotted. Beside her, Daniel held the portfolio of sketches. His presence steadied her, though she willed herself not to glance at him. Too many eyes lingered on her already.
“Darling Elena,” Regina purred as she swept into the room, air-kissing her cheeks. “I expect miracles from you, as always. The gala is the event of the year, and I intend to be remembered.”
“You will be,” Elena assured smoothly, opening the portfolio. She presented the designs with measured confidence, her pencil marks precise and bold. Yet Regina’s sharp gaze darted not at the sketches, but at Daniel.
“And who is this?” Regina asked, her tone deceptively sweet.
“My assistant,” Elena replied swiftly. “Daniel Cruz. He ensures everything runs efficiently.”
Daniel gave a polite nod. “A pleasure, Ms. Velasco.”
Regina’s smile curved. “A handsome assistant. How… practical.” Her eyes flicked between them, assessing, weighing. Elena stiffened under the scrutiny, forcing her expression into neutrality.
The fitting was grueling. Regina criticized hems too high, fabrics too plain, sketches too daring. Elena held her ground, but every barbed remark seemed calculated to test her composure. Daniel intervened with quiet efficiency, pinning adjustments, offering options that diffused tension. Yet each time his hand brushed the mannequin near Elena’s, Regina’s gaze sharpened like a hawk circling prey.
When at last Regina left, the atelier seemed to exhale in relief. Elena sank into her chair, exhaustion tugging at her bones. Daniel lingered near the rack of gowns, watching her with concern.
“She suspects,” Elena murmured, her voice low.
Daniel frowned. “We’ve done nothing to—”
“Nothing anyone can prove,” Elena cut in. “But suspicion is dangerous enough. Regina thrives on whispers. If she breathes a hint of scandal, the press will devour it.”
Daniel stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Then we’ll be careful. I won’t let anything ruin you.”
Elena looked up at him, her chest tightening. He meant it—his loyalty, his quiet vow—but his closeness only deepened the risk. She wanted to reach for him, to let herself believe his promise. But the echo of Regina’s knowing smile haunted her.
For the first time, Elena realized their secret wasn’t just theirs anymore. The world outside had begun to notice.
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