Chapter 8 - The Betrayal of ParisThe night of the New York Autumn Gala arrived. The Grand Ballroom at the Plaza Hotel was packed with international fashion editors, billionaire buyers, and celebrities. Flashing camera lights reflected off crystal chandeliers as soft orchestral music played through the hall.
Backstage was a whirlwind of frantic models, hair stylists, and dressers. Marigold stood behind the main curtain, wearing a simple dark dress Rowan had bought for her, adjusting the ankle straps on the lead model. Her heart was beating frantically.
Suddenly, Jean-Luc Laurent strutted into the dressing room accompanied by three prominent fashion journalists from Paris.
“Ah, here they are!” Jean-Luc announced smoothly in French, gesturing toward Marigold’s stunning collection displayed on the velvet racks. “My emergency recovery line! I worked tirelessly for forty-eight hours straight to hand-craft these pieces after our supplier failed us!”
Marigold gasped, stepping forward. “Jean-Luc, what are you saying? These are my designs! I built these!”
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Jean-Luc leaned in close, speaking in a cruel, icy whisper meant only for her ears. “Listen to me, little girl. You are an unknown sales clerk with a criminal eviction notice on your record. Nobody in this room will believe you designed this masterpiece. Keep your mouth shut, take your hourly pay, or I will ensure you never work in this city again.”
Before Marigold could respond, Jean-Luc stepped toward the stage, preparing to walk out and claim credit before the global press.
