Chapter 3 - Whispers in the District
By Wednesday morning, Bellweather’s fashion district was buzzing with rumors. Word had leaked through high-society circles that Vanessa Whitmore’s multi-million-dollar wedding had been abruptly canceled, and the elite were frantically placing bets on whether financial ruin or personal betrayal had caused the sudden split. Inside Bennett Bridal, Molly Reyes was practically vibrating with nervous energy as she swept the front landing. "Did you hear, Clara? Did you hear the news?" Molly dropped her broom against the counter, pulling out her phone. "Vanessa Whitmore’s engagement is over! The entire wedding is off! People are saying Adrian DeLuca walked out on her at midnight on Monday!" Clara continued steaming a rack of silk blouses, her expression remarkably calm. "People like to talk, Molly." "No, look at the financial blogs! DeLuca’s corporate holding company froze all joint accounts with the Whitmore family! He dumped her!" Molly stared at Clara with wide, dramatic eyes. "You broke up the wedding! You gave him reality-check therapy, and he actually listened!" "I didn't break up anything," Clara said, turning off the steamer. "He made his own choices based on what he saw and heard." Still, as Clara walked over to check the restored wedding dress hanging by the fitting mirror, she couldn't deny a strange, fluttering sensation in her chest. A man like Adrian DeLuca didn't destroy a high-society engagement over a seamstress's comment unless he had already been looking for a reason to see the truth. Around noon, the bell above the shop door chimed. Clara expected a local bride or a nervous bridesmaid picking up alterations. Instead, Glenn Cooper, Adrian’s towering driver, stepped into the boutique. He wasn't wearing sunglasses today, and his expression was stiff with professional awkwardness. Molly instantly stepped back, her hands flying to her mouth. "Can I help you?" Clara asked, keeping her voice even as she wiped her hands on a cloth towel. Glenn cleared his throat, setting a heavy, black leather briefcase onto the oak cutting table. He popped the latches with a metallic click, revealing neat stacks of pristine hundred-dollar bills and a formal legal document stamped with corporate seals. "Mr. DeLuca sends his regards," Glenn said formally. "And his apologies for the damage caused to your property on Monday." Clara stared at the briefcase, then looked up at the driver. "What is this?" "Compensation for the dress, plus a retainer fee for your time," Glenn replied evenly. "Mr. DeLuca wishes to commission a new project. A private commission. He asked me to inform you that his schedule is entirely open whenever you are ready to discuss it." Clara walked slowly over to the table, her fingers brushing the edge of the legal document. "Tell Mr. DeLuca that Bennett Bridal does not accept conscience money, and my schedule is booked for the next three months." Glenn didn't flinch. He simply closed the briefcase, locked the latches, and bowed his head slightly. "I will relay your message, Ms. Bennett. Though I must warn you—Mr. DeLuca is not a man accustomed to taking no for an answer twice."
