"I absolutely adore Julian's work," Melissa went on, seemingly oblivious to the tension. "I have pieces from the last three seasons at home. The craftsmanship is just incredible. But this one…" She gestured vaguely at Vivienne's dress. "I can't place it. Is it from an earlier collection? Maybe something European exclusive?"
The silence stretched uncomfortably. I could see Vivienne struggling with how to respond, probably remembering whatever poison Scarlett had whispered in her ear.
"It's not from any collection," I said finally, my voice carrying more edge than I'd intended. "I designed it this week specifically for Vivienne. Every measurement, every detail, every element was created with only her in mind."
Melissa's eyes widened. "Custom? Like, one-of-a-kind?"
"Completely." I turned to look at Vivienne, willing her to meet my eyes. "I've never designed a piece for one specific person before. This dress exists only because Vivienne exists."
The admission hung in the air between us, more honest than I'd intended to be in front of an audience. But seeing the hurt in Vivienne's eyes, knowing that Scarlett, undoubtedly, had made her feel ordinary, unremarkable, had stripped away my usual careful control.
"Never?" Melissa's voice had gone up an octave. "But surely you've made custom pieces for other clients, other—"
"Never," I repeated firmly. "I design collections, concepts, movements. I don't design for individuals." I paused, my gaze still fixed on Vivienne's face. "I didn't, until I met Vivienne."
Vivienne was staring at me now, her lips slightly parted in surprise. Color was slowly returning to her cheeks, but I could see she was struggling to process what I'd just revealed.
"That's..." Melissa started, then stopped, seeming to realize she'd stumbled into something significant. "That's incredibly romantic."
"It's unprecedented," I corrected, though my tone had softened. "In every sense of the word."
I thought about the week I'd just spent, the obsessive attention to every detail, the way I'd dismissed everything else in my life to focus solely on creating something worthy of her. The matching shoes, the jewelry, the undergarments, the hair piece—every element chosen or designed to complement not just her coloring or her figure, but her essence, her spirit.
"Vivienne," I said quietly, stepping closer. "What did Scarlett say when I was gone?"
She glanced away, confirming my suspicions. "It doesn't matter."
"It does matter." My jaw tightened.
"Scarlett Voss?" Melissa's eyes lit up with recognition. "The model? Oh, she's gorgeous but such a—" She caught herself, glancing between Vivienne and me. "Well, let's just say she's not known for her kindness to other women."
My expression darkened. "Scarlett has a talent for tearing others down to make herself feel superior. It's her specialty." I looked directly at Vivienne. "Whatever she said to you, don't give it another thought. She has her own agenda, and it has nothing to do with the truth."
I paused, studying Vivienne's face carefully. "If she implied anything that you'd like an actual answer to, ask me. Don't let her poison speak for itself."
Before Vivienne could respond, a man appeared at Melissa's side, slipping his arm around her waist with practiced familiarity. I recognized him immediately—RafaelBlackstone, trust fund playboy and aspiring ‘performance artist’ who treated women like prized possessions, only to discard them once he was finished.
"There you are, babe," Rafael said to Melissa, kissing her neck, before turning his attention to Vivienne with a grin that made my jaw clench. "And this lovely lady! We met earlier, didn't we? That photographer got a great shot of us together."
I felt Vivienne tense beside me, and I glanced down to see color rising in her cheeks. So something had happened with Rafael too. I was sure he’d been his usual inappropriate self, probably cornering her for some unwanted photo opportunity.
"Rafael Blackstone," the man said, extending his hand to me. "Great event tonight. You know how to throw a party."
"It's not my event," I replied coolly, accepting the handshake with minimal enthusiasm. "And I believe you've already met Vivienne."
"Oh yes," Rafael's eyes lingered on Vivienne in a way that made me want to step between them. "Quite memorable. That photographer was thrilled with the shot—said the contrast was perfect."
My protective instincts flared. Rafael was exactly the kind of man who preyed on women who seemed out of their element, who collected awkward photos and inappropriate moments like trophies.
"Rafael here is quite the character," I said carefully, giving Vivienne a meaningful look. "Known for his... enthusiasm in meeting new people."
"Oh, he's harmless," Melissa laughed, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents. "Just very artistic." She turned to Rafael and started whispering in his ear.
I caught Vivienne's eye, trying to communicate my concern without being obvious about it. Rafael Blackstone left a trail of broken-hearted women in his wake, and while I had no particular fondness for Melissa after her abandonment of Vivienne, I didn't want to see anyone fall victim to Rafael's games.
But when I saw the expression on Vivienne's face—a mix of amusement and something that looked almost like sympathy—I realized she'd already assessed the situation.
"Don't worry about Melissa," Vivienne said quietly while Rafael was distracted by whatever Melissa was saying to him. "She's perfectly capable of handling herself." Vivienne's voice carried a note of dry humor. "Trust me, I've seen her in action since college. She's got her own agenda, and it usually involves getting everything she can from a guy before moving on to the next one. Poor Rafael probably has no idea what he's gotten himself into."
