Chapter 34
Corine
The morning of the Chanel runway at New York Fashion Week didn’t start with champagne or excitement like the magazines make it seem. It started with anxiety clawing at my throat and the taste of bitter memories on my tongue. The city buzzed beyond the penthouse windows, the world moving fast, unaware that my heart still carried bruises.
My son Kyle had clung to my waist before I left, whispering, "You’re going to look like a queen, Mommy." I held onto that.
Brittany had texted at 6:03 a.m.: "Today we shine. Don’t let the ghosts dim you."
She always knew what to say. We’d met at the facility when I couldn’t breathe through grief, and she was just a girl trying to claw her way out of darkness. We’d become sisters since. And now, we were walking Chanel. Together.
Backstage at the venue, the chaos was comforting in a strange way—stylists barking instructions, the scent of hairspray thick in the air, the mechanical click of heels across concrete. Brittany met me near the dressing stations, already in her cream robe, her hair in soft rollers.
“You look like you slept three minutes,” she said, squeezing my hand.
“I dreamt of Allen,” I admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
Her smile fell slightly, but she nodded. “You're walking through that dream today. Not for him. For you. For your kids.”
I exhaled. “For Kyle and Astrid”
Then her eyes lit up, nervous and excited. “My brother’s here. Jasper. He’s seated front row.”
I blinked, surprised. “Jasper?”
She nodded. “Yeah. He wanted to be here for my big day.” She leaned in. “And maybe to see you again.”
My breath caught in my throat. It had been months since I’d last seen Jasper Ashford. After Natasha. After everything. We'd met during visiting hours at the facility. His kindness had disarmed me. His steadiness had held me upright on the worst day of my life.
And now he was here.
My palms began to sweat. Brittany grinned knowingly.
“Don’t overthink it. Just… let it happen.”
Before I could respond, a familiar chill slid down my spine.
The curtain rustled behind us.
And there she was.
Natasha Kingsley.
Tall. Regal. Drenched in Chanel. She walked in like she owned every inch of air. Her golden hair was pulled into an elegant knot, her red lips curled into something venomous.
"Oh," she said smoothly, her eyes narrowing when they landed on me. "They let anyone walk Chanel these days. Even washed-up wives."
Brittany tensed beside me, but I stepped forward first.
"And they let snakes slither in too, apparently," I replied evenly. "Should I be surprised, Natasha? Or just mildly disgusted?"
Her mouth twitched. "Still bitter, I see."
"Still pathetic, I see."
She stepped closer, low voice cold. "Allen chose me."
"No," I snapped. "He used you. And you let him. That doesn’t make you special. That makes you a fool."
Her nostrils flared, but I wasn’t done. "You weren’t just the mistress, Natasha. You were my best friend. You sat at my table, played with my children, and still had the audacity to betray me."
A pause. She looked rattled now.
“You don’t get to rewrite history,” I added. “You helped destroy my marriage. You don’t get to waltz in here and act like it’s all in the past.”
“I was young,” she murmured, faltering.
“I was married. Oh please you were 25”
The room fell silent around us, save for the hum of zippers and the sharp snap of fabric being fitted. Brittany placed a protective hand on my arm.
“I’m fine,” I told her, eyes locked on Natasha. “Let her spit her venom. I’m wearing armor now.”
Before she could respond, our names were called for final fittings.
The dress was art. A cascade of silver silk, embroidered with delicate pearl threads that caught every light. Chanel had outdone themselves. But I didn’t feel beautiful. I felt armored. Like every stitch held a piece of my healing.
Brittany was glowing in her own look—a deep emerald gown with a high slit and matching heels. She looped her arm with mine.
“You okay?” she asked.
I nodded. “I didn’t slap her. That’s growth.”
She laughed, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “She deserved worse.”
The runway was a blur of light, movement, and adrenaline. When I stepped out, the audience vanished. It was just me and the rhythm of my heels, the swish of silk, the thunder of my heart.
And in the front row—Jasper.
Our eyes locked. His expression was unreadable. Until it softened.
After the final walk, backstage was chaos again—tears, cheers, exhaustion.
Brittany pulled me into a hug. “You did it!”
“You were magnificent,” I told her.
“I didn’t trip,” she laughed. “That was my biggest goal.”
Then I saw him again. Jasper. Standing just inside the doorway. No tie. Navy suit. And that gaze—quiet, steady, intense.
“Hi,” he said, walking over.
I smiled nervously. “Mr. Ashford.”
“Corine Holts,” he said, voice like velvet. “That was… beyond words.”
I blushed.
“I mean it,” he added. “You looked powerful. Unshakable.”
“Makeup and lighting,” I murmured.
“No. Presence.”
My heart stuttered. Brittany had wandered off, probably on purpose.
“I’m glad you came,” I said. “For your sister.”
“Yeah..she is just a ball of nerves” he replied, eyes warm. “She told me you were nervous today.”
I laughed softly. “I was. I still am.”
He stepped closer. “How are Kyle and Astrid?”
There it was. The flutter. Like wings inside my chest.
“They’re good. Kyle’s talkative as ever. Astrid just started saying meaningful words”
He smiled. “I’d love to meet them someday. If that’s okay.”
I swallowed. “You would?”
“Of course,” he said, like it was the most natural thing. “Anyone who raises kids that brave deserves to be seen.”
My throat tightened. I didn’t know what to say.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He offered a small smile. “You have no idea how much strength you wear, Corine. It’s not just the dress.”
I was still blushing when Natasha appeared again. Alone this time.
“Corine,” she said cautiously. “Do you have a minute?”
I turned, jaw tense. “What do you want?”
She glanced at Jasper, then back to me. “To apologize.”
“Now?” I scoffed. “After the venom you spat this morning?”
“I… I was defensive. I’m not proud of it.”
“You think that’s what I want? Pride?” I snapped. “You helped destroy my life, Natasha. You smiled in my home while sleeping with my husband. You don’t get to clear your conscience just because time passed.”
“I was stupid,” she said, voice breaking. “And lost. I thought Allen loved me.”
I stared at her, hollow. “He didn’t love any of us.”
A long pause. She looked like she wanted to cry.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I nodded slowly. “I believe that you’re sorry. But that doesn’t mean I forgive you. I survived you. That’s enough.”
And with that, I turned and walked away, toward the one person who hadn’t lied to me, who had shown up without expectation—Jasper.
Later that night, back in my penthouse, Astrid lay asleep against my shoulder, Kyle curled beside her.
My phone buzzed.
A message from a new number:
" This is Jasper. Brittany gave me your number. Just wanted to say thank you for today. You reminded me what grace looks like."
I stared at it for a long time before replying:
" Maybe someday, you can come meet the little ones who gave me that grace."
And maybe, just maybe, I was ready to begin again.