Chapter 2

Eleonore slid into the passenger seat of Kierra's red sports car.

She smoothed down the champagne velvet skirt over her knees.

Kierra's phone buzzed incessantly in the cup holder. She kept glancing at the screen, her jaw tight, but she aggressively swiped the notifications away before slamming her foot on the gas pedal.

The engine roared.

The car shot out of the underground garage and merged into the heavy, neon‑lit traffic of Manhattan.

Twenty minutes later, the tires screeched slightly as Kierra pulled up to the fountain outside the Plaza Hotel.

A valet in a crisp uniform rushed over and pulled the passenger door open.

Eleonore grabbed the hem of her dress and stepped out onto the pavement.

Instantly, a wall of flashing white lights exploded around her.

The paparazzi lined the red carpet. The flashes felt like physical slaps against her retinas.

Eleonore immediately raised her hand to shield her eyes. Her stomach twisted with anxiety.

Kierra hooked her arm through Eleonore's. Kierra smiled brightly, waving at the cameras like she owned the city.

They walked quickly through the revolving glass doors and stepped into the massive banquet hall.

The air inside was thick with expensive perfume and the low hum of hundreds of conversations.

A giant crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the crowd.

Before making her way toward Bradley, Eleonore excused herself for a moment and slipped through a side door into the hotel's rear garden. The night air was cool, and she walked a few paces along the stone path, just to steady her nerves. Then she turned back and re‑entered the hall.

She scanned the room. Her eyes darted past the politicians and actors.

She found him standing near the center of the room.

Bradley Michael. His silver hair caught the light. He stood tall and elegant, surrounded by a tight circle of industry elites.

Standing directly in front of him was Cherie Washington.

Cherie was wearing a skin‑tight red dress. She was holding out a thick, leather‑bound design portfolio with both hands.

Eleonore slowed her pace. She stopped at the edge of the crowd, keeping her distance.

"Please, Mr. Michael," Cherie said. Her voice was high and desperate. "I will drop everything. I just want to learn from you."

The people around them stopped talking. Everyone turned to watch the scene.

Bradley did not reach for the portfolio. He kept his hands clasped behind his back.

His face was a mask of polite indifference.

"My energy is limited, Ms. Washington," Bradley said. His voice was flat. "I am not taking any new apprentices."

Cherie's smile froze. Her hands stayed suspended in the air, holding the heavy book.

Her knuckles turned white.

"But I just won the National Emerging Designer Award," Cherie pushed, her voice cracking slightly.

Bradley nodded once. "Congratulations. But my answer is no."

He looked bored. He shifted his weight, clearly wanting to leave the conversation.

Eleonore saw the tension in his jaw. She decided to step in.

She pushed gently past a man in a tuxedo and walked straight toward Bradley.

The moment Bradley saw her standing at the periphery, the coldness in his eyes flickered, replaced by a microscopic softening only she could detect. He didn't raise his voice or make a grand spectacle. Instead, he took a subtle step backward, distancing himself from the sycophants, and closed the gap between them. He placed a discreet, warm hand on Eleonore's shoulder, shielding the movement with his body.

"There you are," Bradley murmured so only she could hear. "Have you been slacking off on your sketches again?"

Eleonore smiled softly. She looked down at the floor.

"I was just cutting a rough stone in the studio," Eleonore said quietly.

Bradley sighed. He squeezed her shoulder with pure affection.

"You have all the talent in the world, and zero ambition," Bradley teased.

A few feet away, Cherie pulled her portfolio back to her chest.

Cherie's face turned a dark, ugly shade of red.

She stared at the side of Eleonore's face. Her eyes were burning with pure hatred.

Kierra walked up behind Eleonore, holding two glasses of champagne.

Kierra stopped. She looked at Cherie, feeling the heavy, toxic energy radiating off the woman in the red dress.