Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother novel Chapter 7

Chapter 7

About twenty minutes later, we arrived at the end of a quiet, narrow alley. Before us stood a simple door, adorned only with a small brass plaque that read “L’Atelier des Secrets” — The Workshop of Secrets. The air was still, and the faint hum of the city felt distant here, as if we had stepped into a hidden world.

Lucien handed the sketch to the man waiting by the door. “Mr. Laurent,” he said firmly, “please follow this design exactly. Use only the finest materials. I expect the finished piece within forty-eight hours. Money is no object.”

Laurent, an elderly tailor with a full head of snowy white hair and sharp, discerning eyes, examined the drawing carefully. His face lit up with enthusiasm. “Marvelous! A bold concept! Brilliant and dangerous all at once! Absolutely captivating!” His gaze then shifted to me, sparkling with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. “Madam, is this your design?”

I nodded in affirmation, feeling a flutter of pride mixed with nervous anticipation.

“What an honor to bring your vision to life! Please, come with me,” Laurent said, motioning toward the workshop.

The next twelve hours slipped away almost entirely within that small, fragrant room filled with bolts of fabric, the rhythmic hum of sewing machines, and the occasional sharp snip of scissors. Laurent and his two assistants worked with the intensity of artists possessed, their hands moving swiftly as they transformed cloth into armor. The scent of fresh thread and fabric filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of leather and wax.

When the final stitch was made, Laurent himself carried the completed dress and led me into the fitting room. The small space was softly lit, with a large mirror framed in dark wood that seemed to hold the promise of transformation.

I faced the mirror, breath catching in my throat at the image reflected back. My pale skin contrasted sharply with the deep wine-red fabric hugging my form. My eyes, cold and piercing, seemed to channel the fierce spirit of a goddess of war. For a moment, I barely recognized myself.

Drawing a steadying breath, I pulled back the curtain.

Laurent and his assistants gasped, their faces etched with surprise and awe. In the corner, Lucien rose slowly, his gray-green eyes wide with amazement. There was something else there too — a fierce possessiveness, a hunger, and a burning intensity that made my heart quicken.

His gaze traced every curve and line the dress sculpted on my body, finally resting on my bare shoulders and the icy determination in my eyes.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, then he stepped forward until his warmth and steady breath brushed against my skin.

“Turn around,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

Without hesitation, I did as he asked.

I could feel the heat of his gaze trailing down the back of my neck, following the delicate, thorny lace that wrapped my waist like a secret embrace.

Then, a cool touch settled against my chest.

In the mirror, I saw Lucien standing close behind me, leaning in as he fastened a necklace around my neck. The pendant was a large ruby, encased in a frame of golden thorns, catching the warm glow of the workshop lights and sparkling like a drop of blood.

“This belonged to my mother,” Lucien said softly, his voice brushing against my ear as his fingers lingered on the clasp, then traced lightly down my bare back until they rested at my waist.

“She told me only a woman truly worthy could command this shade of red.”

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