Chapter 3 The spark of fame

Two days after Celine's fitting, Mandy woke to find her phone buzzing incessantly on the bedside table. Groggy, she grabbed it and blinked at the screen. There were dozens of notifications: social media tags, messages, and calls.

Her heart raced as she opened her boutique's Instagram account. Overnight, her follower count had exploded, and every post was flooded with comments.

"Who made Celine D'Arcy's dress?!"

"That shimmer! It's like it was painted with sunlight!"

"This designer is it! What a masterpiece."

Mandy sat up in disbelief. She scrolled through her feed until she saw it: a photo of Celine wearing the golden-threaded gown at a high-profile gala. The dress hugged her figure perfectly, the golden embroidery catching the light in a way that seemed almost magical.

But it wasn't just the dress people were talking about. Whispers had started about how different Celine looked-how vulnerable and radiant she had appeared, as though stripped of artifice.

By midday, Mandy's boutique was packed. People she'd never seen before crowded into the small space, demanding consultations, fittings, anything to wear one of her creations. A few carried cameras, snapping photos of her modest workshop.

"I'll need something for the charity auction next month," said a sharply dressed woman who introduced herself as Rebecca Voss, editor-in-chief of Metropolitan Luxe. "And I've been told you're the only designer worth talking to."

Mandy's head spun. She could barely process the sudden attention, but she knew this was her chance.

That evening, after the boutique finally emptied, Mandy collapsed into her workbench chair. The golden thread sat in its place, untouched since she'd finished Celine's gown.

She stared at it, the events of the day replaying in her mind. Could it really be magic? She dismissed the thought as ridiculous but couldn't deny the results.

"Just a coincidence," she whispered to herself, though her fingers itched to pick up the thread again.