Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother novel Chapter 130

Chapter 130

Norah’s POV

Three days later, Amélie called.

“Amélie Veyron speaking. Luen must have told you. You’re designing my wedding dress.”

Finished

I leaned against my desk, voice cool. “I’m sorry, Ms. Veyron. Thornbird’s schedule is fully committed after the fire. I’m afraid I can’t-”

“One hundred million,” she cut me off. “Euros. If the dress you design pleases Luen and makes me the most stunning bride, that’s your fee.”

She thought money could buy anything. Even my pride.

“Alright then,” I laughed, the sound dry.

She clearly hadn’t expected me to agree. A brief pause. “Tomorrow. Three PM. The Passy Estate in the 16th. Come in person for measurements and the design draft.”

Then she hung up.

“A hundred million? She’s got nerve,” Irina said, walking over with a glass of red wine. “Planning to use the most expensive fabric to make the world’s ugliest dress?”

“No.” I picked up a pencil. The first stroke hissed across the blank page. “I’m going to give her the world’s most beautiful wedding dress.”

“One woven with curses. Every inch of lace soaked in betrayal. Every diamond reflecting a lie. The most beautiful dress there ever was.”

The next afternoon, I arrived at the Passy Estate.

A classical, opulent property belonging to the Veyrons. Every detail screamed old money and status.

Amélie was waiting. Dressed in a cream house gown, she looked soft. Harmless.

Several heavy photo albums were spread before her.

“Norah, you’re here.” She smiled warmly, like we were friends. “Sit. Designing a wedding dress is important. You should know my style. And some of my history with Luen. A dress should carry memories, right?”

She slid an album toward me.

The first photo: Lucien and Amélie as kids. Maybe three or four years old. In some garden. Little Lucien in shorts and a shirt, his face turned away, annoyed. A braided Amélie clung to his arm, beaming.

“This was at our place in Switzerland,” Amélie said, her finger tracing the image, voice wistful. “Luen was so aloof, even then. Hardly looked at anyone. But I just loved following him.”

Chapter 130

Finished

She flipped pages. Family gatherings. Ski trips. Horse shows. In so many photos, Amélie was at Lucien’s side.

His expression shifted from childish irritation to teenage detachment.

“Aunt Kathy always adored me,” Amélie said with a sugary smile. “Said Luen and I were perfect. I want all these memories woven into the dress. It should be classic. Elegant. Carrying a sense of legacy. Like the long friendship between our families.”

“Oh, and I hate revealing or avant–garde designs–they lack gravitas. The fabric must be the finest lace and silk. Top–grade pearls. Everything hand–stitched…”

She listed demand after impossible demand.

I listened, face blank, sketching swiftly in my pad. Occasionally asking a calm, neutral question.

She knew this job was meant to humiliate me. She was savoring it.

In my mind, this dress had a codename: The Prison Gown.

During the fitting, her fingers accidentally brushed my stomach.

I wore a loose knit dress. Nothing showed yet.

“Norah, have you put on a little weight?” she asked, head tilted, all innocence. “Your waist feels softer. Designers should watch their figures, you know.”

I wrapped the measuring tape around her chest. “No need for concern, Ms. Veyron. My measurements are standard. Now, inhale, please.”

She went quiet. But the suspicion and venom in her eyes were almost tangible.

She rejected the first draft outright.

“Too plain.”

“Not luxurious enough.”

“Here, add the fleur–de–lis from Luen’s family crest.”

“The skirt isn’t full enough. I want a five–meter train. Hand–embroidered with our initials.”

I revised again and again. Each time meeting–no, exceeding–her outrageous standards.

My professionalism, my calm, seemed to infuriate her more.

After the third revision was locked in, she called Lucien. Put it on speaker.

“Luen! The dress design is finally set! Norah is incredible–she got exactly what I wanted.”

Her voice was honey. “I’ve booked a photographer. He’s coming to the estate this afternoon for wedding shots. You’ll come, won’t you? We’ll shoot in the rose garden. The light is perfect.”

Two seconds of silence. Then Lucien’s voice, cold and clipped: “Board meeting this afternoon. No time.”

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Chapter 130

Amélie’s smile hardened for a split second. “Just for a little while? It won’t take long. Besides, Norah is bringing the final fabric samples. Don’t you want to see the final design she created… for me?”

The breathing on the line hitched. Briefly.

“Fine. One hour.”

“Perfect! I’ll be waiting!” Amélie chirped, hanging up.

***

That afternoon. The estate’s rose garden.

Sunlight poured down. Acres of red and white roses in violent bloom.

I returned with fabric swatches and color charts.

Amélie had already changed into an exquisite white dress. Makeup flawless. Surrounded by photographers and assistants, she was a preening swan.

Lucien arrived ten minutes late.

He looked like he’d come straight from some high–stakes meeting. A sharp, iron–gray suit. An aura of cold distance.

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