Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother novel Chapter 17

Chapter 17

I could feel Lucien’s solid frame pressed closely against mine; his arousal was undeniable, already hard and insistent. A flush of heat surged across my cheeks, burning so fiercely it felt as if my skin might sizzle like an egg on a hot pan.

Lowering my gaze, I gently but firmly pushed him away. Without a word, I leapt down from the design table, hurriedly slipped into my clothes, and bolted out of the studio. The tension in the air was thick—I knew he needed space to cool down, and frankly, so did I.

The Paris Haute Couture Fashion Week gala was in full swing, the dazzling lights casting an almost blinding glow over the grand hall. This event was the epicenter of glamour and opportunity, but also a battlefield where reputations were made and broken.

I found a quiet spot near a towering marble column at the entrance, trying to steady my racing heart. Among the glittering crowd, Camille was undeniably the star of the evening. Draped in a radiant yellow sequined gown that caught every glimmer of light, she moved with the confidence of a peacock flaunting its plumage, encircled by a group of equally polished socialites.

Her sharp eyes landed on me, and with a smirk, she glided over. “Well, well, if it isn’t Norah Hawthorne from Thorn Creative. I never thought you had the nerve to show up here. I figured you couldn’t even manage to put together a decent outfit.” Her friends tittered behind her, their amusement cutting through the air like knives.

Camille’s manicured nails grazed the fabric of my dress, almost as if testing its quality. “Let me guess—did you just throw this together at the last minute? Are the seams even cleanly finished?”

I was about to respond when a voice interrupted.

“Her dress doesn’t need any workshop’s hands.”

Lucien’s calm voice came from behind me. The crowd instinctively parted as he strode forward, his presence commanding attention. Reporters quickly swarmed around us, their cameras flashing incessantly.

There I stood, under the harsh spotlight, wearing the very dress I had crafted with my own hands, perfected with Lucien’s guidance.

The deep black velvet hugged my body flawlessly, accentuating my silhouette with the elegance and strength of a true black swan. Lucien approached, his brows knitting slightly in concentration. He crouched down, gently smoothing a tiny wrinkle at the side of the skirt.

Looking up at me with steady eyes, he said softly, “Only the designer herself deserves to finish a piece like this. No other atelier could do it justice.”

Camille’s gaze burned with envy, her lips curling into a sneer.

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