Morning light crept across the marble floors like it was afraid to touch her. Juliette sat at the edge of her bed, the cool silk sheets pooling around her legs, her heart still raw from the night before. Every time she blinked, she saw it again Cassian's face, softened in a way it had never been for her, standing beside a woman who looked like she belonged in his world.
Graceful. Polished. Expensive.
Her fingers curled against the sheets.
She rose quietly and dressed without letting herself feel too much: soft beige pants, a white blouse, hair pulled back into a low twist. Every movement was gentle, controlled, like she was afraid one wrong step would make her shatter.
As she walked into the hallway, Cassian appeared from the opposite end.
His sleeves were rolled up, throat bare, hair slightly mussed like he'd run a frustrated hand through it. He stopped when he saw her actually stopped.
"You're leaving early," he said, voice low, unreadable.
"I have work," she answered, without looking fully at him.
No smile.
No warmth.
Not even that hesitant softness she used to carry around him.
Cassian noticed.
It unsettled him more than he expected.
He watched her walk away until she turned the corner. He stayed there a moment longer, jaw tense, like he already sensed something slipping from his grasp.
⸻
The boutique was unrecognizable that morning.
Yesterday it had been a house of fabric and quiet elegance.
Today it was a world on fire.
Lights were being tested overhead. Rows of gowns floated like clouds. Steamers hissed. Designers argued over last-minute adjustments while stylists moved like dancers, weaving between racks of glittering dresses. Models paced in long strides, practicing their runway walks. Someone was spraying perfume into the air something soft, floral, expensive. Delivery men rolled in champagne crates for the after-party.
Juliette stepped inside and felt like she was entering another universe one where she wasn't invisible.
Fola and Zina spotted her at once.
"Juliette!" they squealed, grabbing her hands. "Where's the dress? Please tell me you brought it!"
She opened the garment bag, her breath catching slightly. She hadn't touched the dress since that night the night she'd seen Cassian with the woman. She didn't even know why she bought it. Maybe she had wanted to feel something… beautiful. Powerful. Seen.
The moment the champagne-colored silk spilled into their hands, the girls gasped dramatically.
"You'll ruin lives tonight," Fola whispered.
"This dress is poetry," Zina breathed.
Juliette managed a soft smile, but the memory of Cassian's hand on another woman's arm pricked at her chest.
She excused herself and slipped into the fitting room.
The dress slid over her like water.
The silk clung softly at her waist before flowing into a dreamy, weightless skirt. The neckline framed her collarbones delicately, giving her a quiet, impossible elegance. Under the warm lights, the fabric glowed like morning champagne gentle, romantic, breathtaking without needing to shout.
Juliette touched her reflection with her fingertips.
She barely recognized the woman looking back.
"Maybe this will be enough," she whispered.
Not for Cassian.
For herself.
⸻
The hours passed in backstage chaos gowns steaming, hairpins flying, stylists barking instructions. While arranging a row of sequined dresses, Juliette felt the memories tug at her again: the woman's soft laugh, Cassian's quiet smile, the boutique staff bowing to that woman like she was royalty.
Her throat tightened.
Not today.
She wouldn't look small today.
She steadied her breath, lifted the next dress, and stepped into the rhythm of the day.
⸻
By early evening, they arrived at the event venue a grand hall that could swallow entire cities.
Juliette froze for a moment, taking it all in.
Chandeliers spilled warm golden light over the marble floors. Velvet ropes guided guests across deep red carpets. Photographers adjusted their lenses near towering floral arrangements. Billionaires shook hands with the kind of ease money teaches. Models rehearsed with their stylists. There was soft classical music floating through the air, mixed with the scent of roses and expensive perfume.
Workers from the boutique moved like a coordinated army.
Juliette felt small and big at the same time.
She had never been inside a world this polished. She didn't belong but she wanted to.
While she was arranging gowns backstage, someone stepped into her peripheral vision.
"Juliette?"
She turned.
And the air shifted.
Standing before her was Adrian Hale.
Tall. Striking. Sculpted features. Black hair slicked back with effortless elegance. A tuxedo tailored to perfection. The kind of man who made rooms pause. His presence alone breathed money and influence.
She knew him instantly.
"Adrian?" she whispered.
His smile spread slowly warm, disbelieving. "I thought it was you."
He stepped closer but respectfully, eyes taking her in without arrogance.
"You've changed," he said. "In a good way. A very good way."
She laughed softly, nerves fluttering. "It's been a long time."
"It has. But I'd know you anywhere."
Something in her chest warmed something she didn't realize had been cold for weeks.
Adrian Hale was not an idle man; she could see it in the way assistants rushed to him for instructions, calling him sir. He wasn't just attending. He was one of the event's elite sponsors. One of the designers presenting tonight.
He wasn't meant to linger.
But before he left, he said quietly:
"Juliette … no Juliette Wren … you're glowing tonight."
Her breath caught.
He left with a gentle smile, disappearing into a cluster of executives and designers.
And for the first time in a very long time, she felt seen not as a burden or a shadow, but as a woman.
⸻
Cassian's absence became a quiet rumor.
People murmured:
"Do you think Vale will come?"
"He never shows up."
"I heard he funded the charity wing."
"If he walks in, every camera will turn."
Juliette heard his name everywhere.
She tried not to react.
When her coworker asked, "Do you know him?"
Juliette hesitated… then whispered:
"No."
The lie tasted like heartbreak.
The event began with a soft dimming of the lights.
An orchestra rose in gentle waves, filling the hall with a sound that felt like glitter falling. The runway lit up in a slow, breathtaking glow like a path of stars.
Models began to glide out. Photographers snapped. Applause swelled. Fola and Zina squealed, running back and forth, managing outfits. Designers were losing their minds. Assistants were sprinting.
Juliette had never seen something this beautiful and loud and alive.
And she was part of it.
Every now and then, Adrian passed by her giving instructions, speaking to directors, adjusting his models' accessories. He didn't linger, but every time his eyes found her across the chaos, something warm flickered.
At the end of the show, the boutique team needed someone from their department to walk the runway behind the final model to showcase the craftsmanship and team.
Everyone pushed Juliette forward.
"She should go."
"She's the face today."
"She's perfect."
Juliette tried to protest, but they wouldn't hear it.
Her heart raced.