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Breaking Point
Vincent stared at his phone screen long after the call ended, his jaw clenched so tight it ached.
The silence in his apartment pressed down on him. Outside, the city hummed with evening traffic, but inside there was only the sound of his angry and barely controlled breathing.
“I need SunCore. I need your connections. I need, I need, I need.”
Always demanding. Never once asking if he was okay, if he needed something. Just constant pressure, constant expectations, like he was some kind of miracle worker who could fix her trainwreck of a life.
Vincent hurled his phone across the room. It hit the wall with a satisfying crack and clattered to the floor.
His hands squeezed into fists, knuckles going white.
He couldn’t wait to be done with her.
The thought came clear and cold. Once he extracted whatever money she had left, once he’d bled her dry like he’d done to the others, he’d disappear, and change cities again. Probably find another desperate beautiful woman with money. Start over somewhere new.
Victoria was just another mark. That’s all she’d ever been.
Vincent stood and walked inside, leaving the broken phone where it fell.
Adrian’s office was quiet except for the soft sound of pages turning
He sat in his leather chair with a book open in his lap, though he wasn’t really reading anymore. His mind was elsewhere, running through the week’s developments.
There was a knock at the door.“Come in,” Adrian said without looking up.
Marcus entered carrying two small envelopes. He crossed the room and placed them on Adrian’s desk.
“From Madame Duchamp’s office, sir. Two VIP tickets to her annual business gala.”
Adrian set his book down and picked up one of the envelopes. The cardstock was thick, expensive, embossed with gold lettering. Inside was a formal invitation and a platinum ticket.
He nodded once, satisfied.
“Madame Duchamp’s assistant asked if she should prepare a special table for you,” Marcus continued. “She can arrange seating near the main stage for visibility, or a private corner if you prefer discretion.”
Adrian considered for a moment. “A special table,” Adrian said. “For two.”
Marcus made a note on his phone. “I’ll confirm the arrangements
He turned to leave but Adrian spoke again.
“Marcus.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Contact Maison Delacroix. Tell them I need a selection of their latest evening pieces sent to Ms. Laurent’s penthouse. Tomorrow morning.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow slightly. Maison Delacroix was one of the most exclusive fashion houses in the city. Their pieces started at fifty thousand yuan and went up from there. Getting access to their latest collection required either months of waiting or significant influence.
“How many pieces should I request, sir?”
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“Ten. Let her choose what she likes.”
Marcus nodded and made another note. “Anything else?”
“Infact don’t bother. I’ll call myself.”
“Okay sir, just call me if you need any assistance. “Marcus left, closing the door quietly behind him.
Adrian picked up both envelopes and studied them. The gala was in two weeks. Sophia had mentioned wanting to attend some days ago, back when it seemed impossible for her.
Now it wasn’t impossible at all.
Getting the invitation had required one phone call to Madame Duchamp. A brief conversation about Stellar Dynamics‘ remarkable recovery and Sophia’s impressive business acumen. Madame Duchamp had been delighted to extend an invitation.
One call. That was all it took.
Adrian set the envelopes down and picked up his phone. He scrolled to Maison Delacroix’s private client line and dialed.
A woman answered on the second ring. “Maison Delacroix, private services. How may I assist you?”
“This is Adrian Cole. I need a selection from your latest evening collection delivered tomorrow morning.”
There was a brief pause. “Mr. Cole, of course. We’d be honored. May I ask the occasion?”
“The Duchamp gala.”
“Ah, wonderful. And the recipient?”
“Sophia Laurent. I’ll have my assistant send you the address.”
“Excellent. We’ll prepare our finest pieces.” The woman’s voice warmed with professional enthusiasm. “Would you like us to include accessories? Jewelry, shoes, handbags?”
Adrian considered. “Yes. A complete selection.”
“Perfect. We’ll have everything delivered by ten AM. Will Ms. Laurent need a fitting appointment?”
“Include a seamstress with the delivery. If adjustments are needed they should be done immediately.”
“Of course, Mr. Cole. Is there a particular style preference we should consider?”
“Elegant. Nothing too flashy. She prefers classic lines.”
“Understood. We’ll curate the selection personally.” A pause. “If I may say, Mr. Cole, Ms. Laurent is very fortunate.”
Adrian smiled slightly but said nothing.
“We’ll ensure everything is perfect,” the woman continued when he didn’t respond. “You can expect the delivery promptly at ten AM.”
“Thank you.” Adrian ended the call. He set the phone down and returned to his book, finding his place on the page. But before he could read more than a sentence, his phone buzzed with a text.
David: Alexander has been officially blacklisted. Every major company in the city received notification this afternoon. His credentials have been flagged in national employment databases. He won’t find work anywhere except perhaps another planet.
Adrian’s lips curved slightly as he read the ge. He didn’t reply, just set the phone aside and picked up his book again.
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Special Delivery
Sophia sat cross–legged on her couch, with her laptop balanced on her knees, a bowl of instant noodles cooling on the coffee table beside her. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, and she wore an oversized sweatshirt that had seen better days.
She’d been at this for three hours now…researching SunCore Publishing, taking notes, trying to understand what kind of partnership proposal might catch their attention.
The company was impressive. More than impressive…it was legendary. A subsidiary of Meridian Industries, which meant it had resources most companies could only dream of. Their digital infrastructure division alone was worth billions.
Sophia scrolled through another article, highlighting key phrases on her screen. Sustainable technology. Innovation. Long- term viability. She jotted notes in the margins of her notebook, her handwriting getting messier as her excitement grew.
This could work. Stellar Dynamics‘ technology was exactly what SunCore was looking for. If she could just get her proposal in front of the right people, if she could make them see the potential.
Her stomach growled, reminding her she’d been ignoring the noodles. She reached for the bowl with one hand while typing with the other, taking an absent–minded bite.
The doorbell rang.
Sophia looked up, frowning. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Maybe a delivery for one of her neighbors that got sent to the wrong floor?
She set her laptop aside and padded to the door in her fuzzy socks, still chewing noodles.
When she opened it, she nearly choked.
A woman stood in the hallway…late forties, impeccably dressed in a tailored cream suit, her silver hair styled in an elegant chignon. Behind her were four other people, all carrying large garment bags and boxes.
The woman bowed deeply. “Ms. Laurent, good morning. I’m Élise Fontaine, senior stylist from Maison Delacroix. We’re here with Mr. Cole’s selection.”
Sophia’s brain short–circuited. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Mr. Cole requested that we bring a curated selection from our latest evening collection.” Élise “May we come in?”
digbroned with a warm smile.
Sophia looked down at herself…sweatshirt with a mysterious stain, fuzzy socks, noodle bowl in hand. Then back at t
impossibly elegant people waiting in her hallway.
“I… yes. Yes, of course. Come in.‘
She stepped aside, and they filed past her. The four assistants moved immediately to her living room, carefully hanging the garment bags on a portable rack they’d brought with them.
Sophia stood frozen by the door, still holding her noodles, watching this invasion of haute couture transform her modest
apartment.
Élise turned to her with a kind smile. “Perhaps you’d like a moment to freshen up, Ms. Laurent? There’s no rush. We’ve cleared our entire afternoon for you.”
“Right. Yes. I’ll just…” Sophia gestured vaguely toward her bedroom and practically fled.
In her bathroom, she stared at her reflection with wide eyes. Maison Delacroix. The fashion house that dressed celebrities and royalty. The one with a six–month waiting list and pieces that cost more than cars.
They were in her living room right now.
Sophia’s phone buzzed in her sweatshirt pocket. She pulled it out with shaking hands.
Adrian: A selection of evening wear will be delivered today. Choose whatever you
like.
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That was it. No explanation. No “by the way, I’m sending a team of world–class stylists to your apartment.” Just a simple message like he was telling her he’d picked up coffee.
Sophia read it three times, then looked back at her reflection.
She quickly washed her face, brushed her teeth, and changed into jeans and a decent sweater. It still felt inadequate next to Elise’s tailored perfection, but it was better than the stained sweatshirt.
When she walked out from her bedroom, the living room had been completely transformed. The garment bags were open now, revealing gowns in colors that made her breath catch. Emerald silk Midnight blue velvet. Rose gold that seemed to shimmer in the light.
On her coffee table…where her noodle bowl had been hastily relocated…sat cases of jewelry that glittered with what she hoped weren’t real diamonds. Beside those, several pairs of designer shoes were arranged in perfect rows.
“Ms. Laurent,” Élise said, approaching with a warm smile. “Shall we begin? Mr. Cole mentioned you prefer classic lines, so we’ve focused on elegant silhouettes. But we’ve also included a few pieces with more contemporary flair, in case you’d like options.”
Sophia found her voice. “This is… it’s too much. I can’t possibly…”
“Mr. Cole was very clear that you should choose whatever speaks to you,” Élise interrupted gently. “Please, don’t worry about anything except finding pieces that make you feel beautiful.”
One of the assistants stepped forward with the first gown…a deep emerald green that seemed to glow in the afternoon light. Perhaps we start with this? It’s one of our newest designs. The cut is very flattering.”
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Sophia let herself be guided toward her bedroom, where they’d set up a full–length mirror. The next two hours passed in a blur of silk and satin, of Élise’s soft suggestions and the assistants‘ expert adjustments.
She tried on dress after dress. Each one was more beautiful than the last. Élise explained the details…the hand–sewn beading, the Italian silk, the way the cut emphasized certain features while flattering others.
“This one,” Élise said, helping Sophia into a midnight blue gown with a subtle shimmer. “I think this is the one.”
Sophia looked at herself in the mirror and forgot to breathe.
The dress fit like it had been made for her body specifically. The neckline was elegant with moved like water when she turned, catching the light in ways that made it seem alive.
She looked… beautiful. Not pretty. Not cute. Beautiful.
“Perfect,” Élise said softly. “Mr. Cole has excellent taste.”
being too revealing. The fabric
Victoria had been driving past Sophia’s building on her way to meet with her lawyers when she saw the van.
She wouldn’t have noticed it at all, except for the distinctive logo on the side: a gold “MD” emblem that anyone in their social circle would recognize instantly.
Maison Delacroix.
Victoria slowed her car, frowning. What was Maison Delacroix doing here? She never delivered anything personally before. She watched as several people emerged from the building entrance, wheeling racks of garment bags back to the van. Even from a distance, Victoria could see the quality of the clothes… the way the light caught expensive fabrics, the careful way they were being handled.
Then she saw Élise Fontaine herself step out, speaking on her phone with an expression of satisfaction.
Victoria’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. Élise Fontaine didn’t make house calls for just anyone. She was Maison Delacroix’s senior stylist, the woman who personally dressed Oscar winners and heads
of
state.
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What was she doing here?
Victoria pulled into a parking spot across the street, her curiosity overriding her schedule. She watched as the team loaded everything carefully into the van, watched as Élise checked something on her tablet before climbing into the passenger seat.
The van pulled away, and Victoria sat there staring at the building
Someone in that building had just received personal service from one of the most exclusive fashion houses in the world. Someone important enough to warrant Élise Fontaine’s time.
But who?
Victoria pulled out her phone and called her assistant. “Jenny, I need you to find something out for me. Maison Delacroix just made a delivery to the Grand Plaza Residences. I want to know who the client was.”
“I… Ms. Cole, I’m not sure how I would…”
“Figure it out,” Victoria snapped. “Call their office, ask around, I don’t care how you do it. Just find out who they were there to
see.”
She ended the call and stared up at the building again.
Something about this bothered her. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. An itch at the back of her mind that suggested this was important somehow.
But she had too many other problems to worry about right now. The press conference disaster. The SunCore proposal. Vincent’s increasingly distant behavior.
Still, as she pulled back into traffic, Victoria couldn’t shake the image of that distinctive gold logo.
Someone in that building had connections she didn’t. Resources she couldn’t access.
And for reasons she couldn’t explain, that felt threatening.
Back in her apartment, Sophia stood in front of her mirror wearing the midnight blue gown, turning slowly to watch how it moved.
Her phone buzzed with another message.
Adrian: Did you find something you like?
Sophia looked at her reflection…at the beautiful dress, at the way it made her feel like someone worthy of attending prestigious galas…and smiled.
Sophia: Yes. Thank you. For everything.
The response came almost immediately.
Adrian: Good. I’ll pick you up Saturday at 7 PM.
Sophia set her phone down and turned back to the mirror, her smile widening.
For the first time in months…maybe years…she felt like something wonderful was about to happen.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
