Chapter 8 – Return of the
Enemy
Noelle’s POV
The next morning, I stood before a full–length mirror, smoothing the fabric of the soft gray dress the maid had laid out.
I wasn’t entirely sure what image I wanted to present at Vernon’s company–but one thing was certain: I refused to look like a woman still haunted by yesterday.
“Ma’am, the driver’s waiting” came a voice from behind me.
I gave a nod. “Tell him I’ll be right out.”
As the car rolled into the sleek parking lot of Walters International, I inhaled deeply.
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ent to
Iding towered with steel and glass ern, powerful, unshakable. A fitting
bol.
97019 no longer Noelle Nichols. That
to one belonged to another life. Now, I was
belle Walters. And this kingdom wasn’t
ristopher’s–it was Vernon’s.
15he moment I walked through the entrance, 9 well–dressed woman approached,
clipboard in hand and a polished smile in place.
“Hi! Here for the casting?”
I blinked. “Casting?”
She glanced at my outfit. “Sorry–just assumed. You look like one of the models. They usually don’t use the front entrance..”
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“I’m not a model,” I replied evenly. “I’m Mrs. Walters. Vernon Walters’s wife.”
Her eyes widened in horror, clipboard nearly slipping from her grip.
“I–I apologize, ma’am. I didn’t realize…”
I walked past her without another word.
As I made my way through the building, heads turned. Eyes lingered. Whispered voices followed behind me like a breeze.
“Is that the boss’s new wife?”
“She’s gorgeous… Why does she look so familiar?”
“I thought she was just-”
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I ignored them and headed straight to the design wing. Vernon had told me I could explore freely. I didn’t come here to sit on the sidelines–I came to see how the operation worked. I came to be involved.
The elevator carried me up to the 18th floor- Vernon’s creative headquarters.
The air smelled like fresh coffee and fabric dye. Desks overflowed with patterns, sketches, and swatch books.
A few designers glanced up and offered polite nods, but none dared interrupt.
I drifted through the space, running my fingers lightly across one of the concept boards.
Then I heard it.
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ta be
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blot already warned Jocelyn it’s risky. The
Walters name carries too much weight now
7
Mow
She said the designs are just old sketches. Tweak them a bit and no one will notice.”
I froze outside a glass conference room, stucked behind a pillar.
“She’s feeding the Korean buyer behind Vernon’s back,” another voice muttered. “She’s convinced she can pass them off as hers.”
My chest constricted.
Jocelyn.
Of course.
Even now–after everything–she hadn’t
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stopped. It wasn’t enough to ruin my life. She was coming for my work, too.
I moved quickly toward a desk in the corner, where a young assistant was filing documents.
“Can you bring me the recent overseas client portfolios?”
He nodded, flustered, and handed me a thick folder.
I flipped through it, page by page.
There they were.
My designs.
Slightly modified. Rearranged. But unmistakably mine.
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of de
Tovery silhouette, every seam–l recognized
it all. Jocelyn had copied my work, polished bthe presentation, and claimed them under echer name.
My fingers tightened around the file.
Not now.
Not here.
I couldn’t be reckless. I had to outplay her.
I returned to the private office Vernon had given me. It was warmly lit, the desk stocked with fresh stationery, a silver plaque gleaming at its edge:
Noelle Walters.
The name brought a fleeting smile to my lips.
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I sat, reached for a clean sheet, and began to sketch.
Not my true designs. And certainly not my best.
This one was a trap.
A flashy, exaggerated piece–structurally impossible, ridiculously expensive to produce, and doomed to fail.
Precisely what Jocelyn wouldn’t be able to resist.
I labeled it with her name and placed it neatly on the assistant’s submission pile.
If she wanted to steal from me again, then I’d give her something to steal.
Let’s see how long she survives walking
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through the minefield I’ve laid.
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