50. CHAPTER 47 #2
I already knew the type of mother I wanted to be. The type who would let her be exactly who she wants to be—wild, reserved, brilliant…messy. It didn’t matter. I wanted her to come to me with every and anything. To never bear a legacy that ignored her happiness.
I looked at Orion, and his eyes were still fixed on the black-and-white printout in his hand as if he were memorizing every pixel. I was certain in his mind, he was already making room for her. And this time, everything he builds will begin with us.
The fall collection with Céleste and House of Vassier had done well—shattering projections, actually—and we decided to push further.
It still felt surreal seeing my sketches turned into physical samples for the their Spring/Summer collection, my name printed in Vogue under a collaboration credit.
I spent hours in Céleste’s studio arguing about fabrics, moodboards and the usual creative chaos. She pushed me to be bolder. Céleste loved vibrant, unapologetic colors more than I did, and together, we found a middle ground that felt less riotous but appealing all the same.
Once our first project was completed, Céleste’s team proposed a sub-label under the House of Vassier umbrella. My own line. My own brand. Officially.
Orion watched me sign the papers, mildly disapproving, but still with unmistakable pride in his eyes.
He’d tried to convince me to start an independent house ten times over, but he finally understood that Céleste and I were a stellar team.
Cassian Vassier might be his business rival, but Céleste’s business was a separate entity from Vassier energy.
He had no choice but to respect the diplomacy of it, and see reason with me.
My father, on the other hand, was less enthused with everything.
“It’s unnecessary,” Demola said, his voice the normal detached tone that always made me feel like a problem he couldn’t quite solve. “You’re already married to a Kade. Why stretch yourself thin? You should be focusing on the child.”
Because I didn’t marry him to be a furniture in his house, I wanted to say. I needed something that belongs to no one but me.
Instead, I smiled politely and reminded him that the new alliance meant I now held a seat on the Equinox Continental logistics board, and that certain deals needed my signature before they ever reached his desk.
It was part of the new structure Orion and his lawyers had put in place, and it was here to stay.
My father hadn’t loved that detail. I could tell every time he returned a signed document; the pen dug so hard into the paper it nearly tore, as if he was protesting against his daughter’s sudden reach.
Orion, of course, was having the time of his life.
“You see?” he said one night, leaning against the kitchen counter while I scrolled through shipping manifests.
His eyes were dark with mischief. “You’re already holding reins your brothers thought were theirs by birthright.
Look at you—my sweet girl, dismantling her father’s ego one signature at a time. ”
“I’m also the one answering international calls at midnight,” I pointed out, rubbing my lower back. “Laurent almost bit my head off when I questioned a shipment route through the Baltic.”
“Laurent bites everything,” he said, moving behind me to massage my shoulders. His hands were large and grounding. “He’ll adjust. Or he’ll choke.” His hand moving to my lower back. “I don't make the rules on how a man chooses to ruin himself.”
“That’s comforting,” I muttered. But secretly, it was.
I’d grown up on the margins of their decisions, an observer in a world of loud entitled men.
Now, they couldn’t move certain pieces without me.
A lot of pieces. I liked how powerful I felt.
Perhaps it was the hormones. Or maybe it was the fact that my husband looked at me with more desire when I was talking business than when I was in matching lingerie.
It was obvious he didn't want a trophy, he wanted a partner.
“You should also leave those calls for your assistants,” he said sternly. “That’s why you have them.”
I opened my mouth to argue, then shut it again.
He wasn’t wrong. We’d hired two new assistants in the last few months—one dedicated to my personal schedule and brand work, the other helping Céleste and me manage suppliers, clients, and runway timelines.
On top of that, the atelier staff had doubled.
I didn’t have to be on every call anymore. I just wasn’t used to… letting go.
“You’ve been staring at that screen so long I’m starting to think you’re looking for a secret code,” Orion whispered, his thumbs dug into a particularly nasty knot near my spine.
“I’m just making sure Laurent didn’t hide any administrative fees in the latest shipping draft,” I sighed, leaning back into his solid chest.
“He didn’t. I checked it an hour ago,” Orion said, his hands moving lower, his touch shifting from therapeutic to a more intentional touch. “Come to bed, Maia. I’ll give you a real massage. A very long one.”
I turned in his arms, catching the predatory glimmer in his eyes. He wasn’t even pretending to be subtle. “A massage? Is that what the kids are calling it these days, Mr. Kade?”
“I’m a man of many talents,” he whispered, a smirk pulling at his lips as he kissed my jaw. “But you’re overworking yourself. You’re supposed to be building an empire, not living in it twenty-four hours a day.”
Before I could protest, he reached past me, closed the laptop with one decisive hand, and slid it onto the side table. Then he rose, set one hand at the small of my back, and guided me gently to my feet. My palm went instinctively to the curve of my stomach as he steered me toward the bed.
Unlike Laurent, Blaise took it well—better than well.
He became more of a bridge between businesses.
He’d stay in the office with Orion, their low voices often breaking into actual laughter that would have shocked our father.
Blaise helped me vet documentation and sat in meetings with partners, acting as background support until my reins became steadier.
For once, I didn’t have to choose between living my truth and being a Kade. Orion made sure I could have both.
I learned the business—Ironshore, Equinox, the whole tangled web—from my husband. I learned that the board functions as a pack of wolves, that international oil is a game of chicken, and that Andreas Doukas is every bit the corporate ass Orion claimed he was.
Then there was Debo, who didn't seem to mind either, so long as someone in the Fernandez-Moreaux line still held control of Equinox.
And though he kept orbiting in and out of Paris from abroad, we'd finally found a communication window.
We video-called frequently. He seemed happier away from the immense pressure of our father's expectations.
We talked about a lot of things, especially what he’d missed out on.
He still hated my husband—well, disliked him.
Something about Orion thinking he’s better than everyone else, while Orion insists Debo inserts himself into things that don’t concern him.
Somehow, I was in the middle of it, slowly accepting that there was no resolving the ego trip between those two.
My mother, on the other hand, was still thrilled that I remained someone else’s problem. Though in the past few months she’d begun showing up more often—ostensibly to check on the baby. Not me.
She and Lady Kade weren't nearly as disappointed that we were having a girl as I'd expected. Instead, they spent most of their visits correcting each other on pregnancy nutrition and who understood ‘proper prenatal care’ better.
My mother would have Madame Devereaux send iron-rich and protein-heavy meals every Thursday, while Madame Devereaux used the opportunity to slip in pastries she knew I loved.
Annette would deliver them to the estate, and she and Isabella would sit with me in the library for hours, gossiping while I sampled every single pastry.
The baby always kicked in response to the sugar, which only made them laugh harder.
Their giggles echoed through the whole wing.
Annette, as usual, brought gossip with her.
According to Annette, the florist found out about her husband’s affair with the chef from gossip spreading around the Fernández mansion.
It turned into a mini scandal that led to them divorcing, and the florist quitting.
Isabella gasped at the story, saying the Kade estate didn’t have half that much drama. I laughed out loud at that.
Some of those Thursdays, Mrs. Lewis allowed Annette and Isabella to make lemon ice cream for me in the kitchen—my most recent pregnancy craving.
“Léa, have you seen the measuring tape from my desk? The steel one with the leather casing?” Orion called out from the hallway, sounding slightly frustrated.
“Check the top drawer of my drafting table in the studio!” I shouted back from the kitchen, where I was currently debating the merits of adding extra chocolate chips to the lemon ice cream as Annette watched in horror.
“I think I used it to measure the frame for that new canvas,” I said to myself as I added more chocolate chips.
I put a spoonful in my mouth and let out an appreciative hmmm sound that made both Annette and Isabella chuckle.
“You should try it,” I said playfully, and they both laughed.
“Léa?” I heard Orion call out again. “Why is there a box labeled ‘Top Secret’ here?”
I froze, a spoonful of lemon ice cream halfway to my mouth. Oh, no.
I wiped my mouth with my napkin. “I'll be right back,” I said to both Annette and Isabella, and tried to walk upstairs as quickly as my bump would allow, heading toward the studio.
I found Orion standing by my desk, the drawer pulled wide. He wasn’t holding his measuring tape. Instead, he was holding a thick, cream-colored envelope embossed with the gold lion of the Ritz Paris.