The Hawthorne Visit
Country: Aurivelle
City: Cressford
Alvara
The Morning sun spilled into my room, brushing softly against the folds of my curtains. I sat on the edge of my bed for a moment, gathering my thoughts before finally standing to begin the day.
Today wasn’t like any other.
The entire city had been buzzing for days. Hawthorne Enterprises’ investors were coming, and the excitement in the air was impossible to ignore… even if part of it made my stomach twist with nerves.
I moved through my morning routine with more care than usual.
A quick shower helped wake me up, and I brushed my hair slowly until it fell smooth and glossy down my back.
Choosing what to wear took longer than expected.
Eventually, I settled on a black midi dress paired with a denim jacket.
.simple, but neat enough for work. I added small hoop earrings, slipped my essentials into a small shoulder bag, and finished everything with white sneakers that made navigating the city streets easier.
Before leaving my room, I glanced once more at my reflection.
My braid was tidy, secured with a silk ribbon in a soft shade of ivory.
I ran my fingers along the seam of my dress, smoothing out an imaginary crease.
Perfect enough.
“Breakfast’s ready, Alvara!” Mom called from the kitchen.
I walked over and found Leo already at the table, earbuds in and his attention buried deep in his phone.
Mom glanced at me and smiled warmly.
“I hope you’re not running late?”
“No, Mom,” I said, pulling out a chair. “I just hope I don’t get caught in traffic.”
A plate of toast and eggs waited for me beside a steaming cup of tea. I took a sip, letting the warmth settle my nerves.
Leo suddenly looked up from his phone, studying me with a suspicious squint.
“You look… different today,” he said.
I raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”
“Too beautiful,” he replied dramatically. “poised. Slightly terrifying.”
I laughed softly and shook my head. “It’s just another day at the boutique.”
But even as I said it, I knew that wasn’t entirely true.
The city has changed over the past few days.
Banners advertising Hawthorne Enterprises lined the streets.
Luxury cars had started appearing everywhere, gliding through avenues that usually hosted buses and delivery trucks.
Even the cafés around town had begun adjusting their menus and décor, clearly hoping to impress the wealthy visitors.
Isabella had mentioned something else too…that the Hawthornes quietly ran several charity foundations behind the scenes.
I wondered what Cressford would look like when they finally arrived in person.
Finishing my breakfast, I grabbed my bag and stood up.
“See you tonight, Mom,” I said as I headed for the door.
Leo immediately looked up from his phone with exaggerated offense.
“So you don’t want to see me?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes.
“Good luck surviving the chaos today,” he added with a grin.
The streets of Cressford were alive.
Avenues that were usually calm had become crowded with media vans, photographers, and sleek cars with dark tinted windows.
People gathered in small clusters on sidewalks, whispering excitedly while checking their phones for updates.
Posters of Grayson Hawthorne were everywhere.
His image..poised, impeccably dressed, undeniably handsome.
.stared down from billboards and digital screens across the city.
Cafés had rearranged their outdoor seating.
Boutique windows sparkled with newly arranged displays.
Even the smallest shops seemed determined to look their best for the anticipated visit.
The entire city felt like it was holding its breath.
I walked carefully along the busy street, taking in the transformation while trying to ignore the nervous knots tightening in my stomach.
The Hawthorne's group weren’t just investors.
They were power in its purest form, wealth, influence, and a presence that felt almost untouchable.
When I finally arrived at the boutique,I pushed the glass doors open and stepped into the familiar comfort of the shop.
The soft hum of sewing machines greeted me immediately, along with the rustle of fabric and quiet chatter from my colleagues.
Despite the chaos outside, the boutique still felt like home.
“Morning, Alvara,” Isabella called, adjusting a display of silk scarves near the entrance.
“Morning,” I replied with a smile.
She glanced toward the window where the busy street was still visible.
“Oh my God,” I said, shaking my head slightly. “The whole city is going crazy.”
“Of course it is,” Isabella replied with a small laugh. “It’s a big day.”
Then she leaned closer, lowering her voice.
“So… have you heard?”
“Heard what?” I asked.
“That our boutique is actually owned by the Hawthorne Group,” she whispered.
“And from what I heard, they’re definitely coming here today.”
I blinked in surprise.
“Are you serious?”
She nodded confidently.
“Yes.”
I stared around the boutique, suddenly seeing the place with new eyes.
I had always known Maison Aurelle as a respected local brand. What I didn’t know was that the Hawthorne Group owned seventy percent of the company.
No wonder everyone was so nervous.
We moved through the boutique afterward, checking displays, straightening fabrics, and preparing the day’s orders.
The television mounted on the wall played constant updates about the Hawthorne Group’s expansion plans, while every news segment seemed to mention Cressford.
It was impossible to escape the excitement.
Mid-morning
“Where the hell is your manager? Is this how you people run this place?”
The sharp voice cut through the boutique like a blade.
I immediately stood up from my workstation and walked toward the display area.
A woman stood near the counter, holding a dress in her hands. She was stunningly beautiful, dressed in a way that made it obvious she was extremely wealthy. Everything about her..from her tailored outfit to the expensive handbag resting on her armradiated privilege.
“This isn’t what I ordered,” she snapped angrily. “This nonsense looks nothing like what I asked for.”
The other staff members had gathered nearby, watching nervously.
I quickly scanned the room.
No senior seamstresses.
Isabella and the others were nowhere in sight.
Even the manager was missing.
Normally I would have stayed quiet, but I had handled difficult clients before…and surprisingly, I had been praised for how well I managed them.
So I stepped forward.
“I’m really sorry about the dress, ma’am,” I said calmly. “But we can fix it.”
“Fix it?” she repeated sharply.
Then she looked me up and down, disbelief flashing across her face.
“Wait… are you the manager here?”
I'm not ma'am, but “I'm sorry, about your dress” I apologized again.
“Of course you should be sorry. I have patronized this brand for years, and you know what? I'm done with this nonsense. And for your information, I will get a refund of every penny I spent on this dress,” she snapped before throwing the dress at me.
The fabric hit my hands before sliding slightly against the counter.
“Oh my God… it’s Grayson.”
The voice came from somewhere behind me, hushed but sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room.
Even the angry client stopped mid-rant.
For a moment, the boutique fell strangely quiet.
I turned, curiosity getting the better of me.
And that was when I saw him.
Grayson Hawthorne stood near the entrance like he had always belonged there.
He was taller than I expected, easily towering over the people around him, his posture straight and effortless in a way that spoke of quiet authority.
His dark suit fit him perfectly, sharp lines resting against broad shoulders that made him look even more imposing.
But it wasn’t the suit that held my attention.
It was him.
His face was… striking. The kind that made you look twice without realizing it. Sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline, and a calm expression that carried the faintest trace of indifference, as though the world rarely surprised him.
Then there were his eyes.
They were darker than I imagined..deep and steady, the kind that seemed to observe everything without revealing much in return. Yet there was something strangely captivating about them. Something that made it difficult to look away once they caught your attention.
His lips were slightly parted as he spoke quietly to the man beside him, their natural color adding a subtle warmth to his otherwise composed features.
It was ridiculous how perfect everything about him looked.
I had seen his photos before, of course. Everyone had. Magazines, news reports, endless articles about Hawthorne Group.
But standing there, seeing him in person…
I realized something immediately.
The cameras didn’t capture him the way he truly looked.
Not even close.
They showed his features, yes…but they missed the presence. The quiet confidence that seemed to surround him, the way his gaze alone could command attention without effort.
Before I realized it, I had been staring.
Completely staring.
Long enough that the world around me seemed to fade into the background.
For a few embarrassing seconds, I forgot about the angry client, the dress in my hands, and the fact that I was standing in the middle of the boutique like a fool.
I had gotten lost looking at him.
And it took me a moment longer than it should have to remember where I was.