ALISTAIR
The conference room on the top floor of Montgomery Tower was silent except for the low sound of the projector and the faint shuffle of papers.
The glass walls reflected the skyline beyond—an empire of steel and glass, and mine to command.
I leaned back in my chair leisurely, one hand resting on its armrest, the other tapping lightly against the table.
“Let’s begin,” I ordered.
Across from me, Lara Klein—Montgomery Group’s excellent chief designer—rose to her feet.
Impeccably dressed in a tailored black dress, she commanded the room with efficiency.
She was the one who called for this conference, as the Montgomery Group would soon be hosting a major fashion show—showcasing the new summer collections of our most renowned luxury brand, Maison de Vivre.
“As you all know,” she began, her German accent crisp, “Maison de Vivre will unveil its Summer Collection in two months.
The show will be held here in New York, during Fashion Week, and we intend to set the tone for the entire season.”
Lara clicked the remote, and sketches appeared on the large screen—silhouettes, fabrics, and bold colors contrasted with minimalist lines.
“Our vision for this year’s collection is L’Été Éternel—Eternal Summer,” she said continued.
“We want to capture vibrancy and luxury, yet in a way that feels timeless.
Pieces that radiate energy but remain elegant beyond the season.”
Her eyes swept the room, steady with pride.
“To achieve this, we’ve expanded our creative team.
A new roster of designers has joined us—each one carefully selected for their unique vision and proven artistry.
Together, they will ensure Maison de Vivre continues to set the standard in haute couture.”
I folded my hands, my expression remained stoic.
“Proceed.”
One by one, she introduced them—renowned names flown in from Milan, Paris, and New York.
Their portfolios flashed across the screen along with their works: dazzling gowns, statement handbags, architectural tailoring.
The room murmured in approval.
I studied all of it with a keen eye and found they were marketable.
Numbers and projections ran through my mind instantly—the sales spikes, brand positioning, long-term profit curves.
Montgomery Group wasn’t in the business of chasing aesthetics.
We dictated them.
Then, the final presentation came to its turn.
“And lastly,” Lara’s voice softened with something close to enthusiasm, “I personally picked this designer for her excellent achievements so far.
Though she’s young, her vision is remarkable.
Allow me to present our junior fashion designer of Maison—Ms.
Liana Bennett.”
My jaw tightened.
The name dragged across my nerves like broken glass.
The conference door opened, and she stepped in—perfectly composed and oozing confidence.
Just the way she was in the past.
Her cloying eyes immediately found mine, but what she got from me was endless coldness and indifference.
I knew Liana’s game too well.
She could have built her future in France, yet she chose to come back here, starting all over again.
Because she wanted to climb back to my side and control me.
Well, that…
only if I allowed her to get what she wanted.
Her sketches appeared on the screen.
Objectively speaking, the designs were good.
Exceptional, even.
I gave nothing away, but inwardly, I acknowledged the truth: her work would sell.
And if that happened, it would elevate Maison de Vivre further—and by extension, the Montgomery Group.
I contemplated for a few minutes before I finally delivered my decision.
“Approved,” I said flatly when Lara finished.
The room erupted with applause and congratulations to Liana.
Lara smiled faintly, looking relieved.
“Thank you so much, Mr.
Montgomery.”
Liana glanced at me, as if seeking something more, but I offered only steel.
Business was business, and talent was talent.
I never mixed personal matters with business.
If someone was an asset, I let them stay.
The meeting adjourned with the rustle of papers and a few more words.
“That would be all,” I stated as I rose from my seat.
Evan carried the folders I had signed off, already murmuring updates about the next conference as we stepped out of the room.
“Alistair—”
The sound of my name stopped me in the corridor.
I turned my head slightly, just enough to catch Liana in the corner of my vision.
Her smile was polite, but the tremor in her voice was perfectly curated.
“I…wanted to thank you for this opportunity.
It means a lot to be able to show my work under Maison de Vivre.”
Evan glanced at me, unsure whether to step in, but I lifted a hand lightly.
I faced her fully then, my expression even colder.
“Ms.
Bennett, you clearly misunderstood everything.”
Her brows knit, just faintly.
“I’m a businessman,” I continued, my tone was casual but my words were cutting.
“The Montgomery Group doesn’t keep an asset unless it benefits from it.
Your designs will sell.
That is the only reason you were accepted.”
Her lips parted, as if the words had struck her harder than anything she expected.
I didn’t soften one bit. Find the original chapter at g.com.
Then I delivered the final blow.
“Don’t mistake approval for anything more than what it is.”
I resumed walking, leaving her behind without another word.
Inside my office, Evan began reporting on the upcoming event.
“Here are the revised projections for Maison de Vivre’s summer launch,” he said smoothly, tapping a page marked in red.
“Lara has secured several strategic collaborations with international influencers.
We’re predicting a fifteen percent rise in pre-sales compared to last year’s spring line.”
I scanned the numbers and nodded once.
“Good.
Have finance monitor the allocations—I want no overspending on advertising.
The product should speak for itself.”
”Yes, sir.”
He went on, listing quarterly updates, overseas partnerships, and supply chain adjustments.
I listened, interjecting only when necessary, my pen scratching once or twice across a margin.
When he finally paused, I expected him to close the folder.
Instead, Evan hesitated—an uncharacteristic flicker of uncertainty in his otherwise measured composure.
“What is it?” I asked flatly.
“There is…
one more matter, sir.”
I set the pen down and leaned back slightly, waiting.
He adjusted his tie before continuing carefully.
“I just found out today is Dr.
Bennett’s twenty-fifth birthday.”
For a moment, I was caught off guard, though my expression remained still.
Her birthday?
Evan pressed on cautiously.
“Would you like me to prepare something—flowers, perhaps, or a gift?”
I closed the folder slowly, thinking.
“Reserve a table.
The one on Fifth Avenue,” I said casually.
Evan’s expression lightened.
“Yes, sir.
Any particular time?”
”Seven o’clock.”
He nodded quickly, pulling out his phone to make a note.
“And another thing,” I added deliberately.
“Buy me a big bouquet of roses.”
”Noted, sir,” Evan replied enthusiastically before murmuring an excuse and leaving.
I swiveled my chair, letting my gaze drift to the skyline outside.
Memories pressed in, unbidden.
August fifteenth—this day had always held meaning for me.
I never thought it would also be hers.