Chapter 11 Julian
Julian
The change in Vivienne's demeanor was immediate and devastating. Where moments before she'd been radiant, engaging with art and people with passionate intelligence, now she looked diminished, as if someone had systematically dismantled her confidence piece by piece.
I had only stepped away for a few minutes for a call with Roy about tomorrow's photo shoot, the one I'd had to move when I was working around the clock to finish Vivienne's dress. One brief call about work logistics, and I'd left Vivienne vulnerable to Scarlett's vicious claws.
Damn it. My jaw clenched as I recognized the signs.
I'd seen this before, Scarlett's particular brand of psychological warfare that left her targets questioning their worth, their place, their very right to exist in the same space as her.
Last year, one of my most promising young designers had quit the industry entirely after a ‘conversation’ with Scarlett at a similar event.
The woman had been brilliant, innovative, but Scarlett had found every insecurity and exploited it with surgical precision.
I had only learned about it weeks later, when it was too late to undo the damage.
"Everything alright?" I asked softly, though I already knew the answer.
"Fine," Vivienne managed, but her smile was brittle, forced—a pale imitation of the genuine excitement that had lit up the room earlier. "Just… taking it all in."
I studied her face, noting the careful way she avoided my eyes, the slight tremor in her hands as she clutched her purse. Scarlett had done her work well, planting seeds of doubt that were already taking root.
I was about to ask her directly what had happened when a feminine voice called out behind us.
"Vivienne? Oh my God, is that really you?"
We both turned to see a blonde woman in a shimmering silver dress making her way toward us, her face bright with surprise and excitement.
"Melissa?" Vivienne's voice carried genuine shock. "What are you doing here?"
My eyes narrowed slightly as the name registered. Melissa. The friend who'd abandoned Vivienne at The Orpheum, leaving her vulnerable to those drunk idiots at the bar.
If not for Melissa's flakiness, I might never have met Vivienne at all—though that didn't make me any more inclined to like the woman.
"Rafael brought me," Melissa said, reaching us with a flurry of air kisses and expensive perfume. "This is such a coincidence, I had no idea you'd be here!" Her gaze shifted to me, and her eyes widened with recognition. "And you're… oh my God, you're Julian Thorne."
"Melissa Torres," she said, extending a perfectly manicured hand. "I'm Vivienne's friend from college."
I nodded simply, accepting her handshake while noting how Vivienne seemed caught off guard by her friend's appearance.
"This is so incredible," Melissa continued, her attention shifting back to Vivienne. "I mean, what are the odds? And that dress—" She paused, tilting her head as she studied the emerald silk with obvious confusion. "It's gorgeous, but I don't recognize it. Which collection is it from?"
I felt something cold settle in my stomach as I saw Vivienne's face pale. Whatever Scarlett had said to her, it had clearly involved the dress.
"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—Rafael Blackstone, 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. "
I looked at Melissa with new eyes, noting the calculating way she surveyed the room even while hanging on Rafael's arm and whispering in his ear, the practiced ease with which she name-dropped and networked. Maybe I'd underestimated Vivienne's friend.
"The man-eater versus the womanizer," I murmured. "This should be interesting."
"My money's on Melissa," Vivienne said with a small smile, the first genuine one I'd seen since returning from my phone call.
"I have to ask," Melissa said, turning back towards us, her curiosity clearly getting the better of her, "What's your design process like for something custom versus your regular collections?"
I glanced at Vivienne, noting how she seemed to shift slightly at the mention of my work.
"Collections are about concepts," I explained.
"I start with an idea, a historical period, a social movement, an emotion, and build pieces around that theme.
Everything is designed to fit standard sizing, to work for the broadest possible market. "
"But custom work?" Melissa prompted.
"Custom work is completely different," I said, my tone becoming more professional.
"Every measurement, every line, every detail is specific to one person.
It's not just about fit, it's about understanding how someone moves, what makes them feel confident, what complements not just their body but their personality. "
"That sounds incredibly time-intensive," Melissa observed.
"It is. That's actually why I had to reschedule a photo shoot for tomorrow, for my spring collection. I spent the entire week focused solely on this piece."
Rafael, who had been zoning out with glazed eyes, suddenly perked up. "So you basically study women's bodies for a living? That's genius, man. I should get into fashion."
My jaw tightened at the crude comment, and I saw Vivienne's smile falter slightly. "It's about craftsmanship and artistry," I said coolly. "The same way a sculptor understands form, or a painter understands light."
"Right, right," Rafael said with a knowing smirk. "All very artistic."
"The thing is," I continued, deliberately ignoring Rafael and addressing Melissa, "I don't ever do custom work at all. My business model is built around collections, it's more efficient, more profitable."
"Then why...?" Melissa asked, glancing between Vivienne and me.
I chose my words carefully. "Sometimes you encounter someone whose perspective challenges your usual approach. Vivienne's insights into fashion history and cultural significance made me reconsider some assumptions about how clothing functions as communication."
I watched as some of the confidence returned to Vivienne's posture at my professional acknowledgment of her expertise. Vivienne seemed to be engaging more naturally now that we'd moved away from Scarlett's poison and toward a topic where she could shine.
"Besides," I added with a slight smile, staring deep into Vivienne's eyes, "Working with someone who understands the cultural significance of clothing made this piece far more rewarding to create than any collection work I've done."
I watched as Vivienne's smile widened, as the light returned to her eyes. Whatever damage Scarlett had tried to inflict was already healing, replaced by the confidence that came from being truly seen and valued for her mind. And I'd be damned if I'd let anyone make her feel otherwise again.