Chapter 3 - The Morning After
By eight o’clock the following morning, the storm had moved from my mother-in-law’s backyard straight into the digital realm.
I sat at our oak kitchen table, nursing a hot mug of coffee while sunlight streamed through the windows. Across the table, Mark was scrolling through his phone, an amused, slightly incredulous grin on his face.
“She’s deleting comments,” Mark said, turning his screen toward me. “Look.”
Caroline had posted a picture on her public Instagram page at two in the morning. It was a close-up photo of her outfit from the night before, captioned: “Celebrating Mom’s 60th in custom Ainslie House luxury. Grateful for true style. ✨”
The problem for Caroline was that several guests from the party had already commented on the post before she woke up.
“Is this the dress your sister-in-law designed? So cool that Claire runs the floor there!” one family friend had written.
“Heard about what happened last night! Claire is so talented, you’re so lucky to have direct access!” wrote another.
Below those were a string of deleted comment placeholders where Caroline had desperately tried to scrub any mention of my name from her feed.
“She’s spiraling,” Mark said gently, reaching across the table to cover my hand with his. “Are you okay, Claire? I know you hate being the center of drama.”
“I’m fine,” I said, and to my surprise, I actually meant it. “I spent years worrying that if I spoke up, it would ruin family dinners. But standing there last night... I realized she never had any real power over me. She only had the power I gave her by staying quiet.”
My phone chimed on the table. The screen lit up with an incoming caller ID: Catherine Mercer.
I answered immediately. “Good morning, Catherine.”
“Claire,” Catherine’s rich, commanding voice boomed through the speaker. “I hope I’m not disturbing your Sunday, but we have an emergency. A very good emergency.”
I sat up straight, instantly shifting into work mode. “What happened?”
“Julian Vance just pulled his entire spring line from his retail partners,” Catherine explained, referring to one of our biggest high-end rival fashion houses. “He had a massive fallout with his lead textile manufacturer in Milan. Department stores are scrambling to fill thirty percent of their luxury floor space for the upcoming autumn gala season. I just got off the phone with the senior buyer at Bergdorf’s.”
I held my breath. “And?”
“They want a private preview of our unreleased Celestial capsule collection,” Catherine said, her voice humming with excitement. “This Tuesday. They want to see ten high-concept red carpet looks. If they like what they see, they’ll give us exclusive window displays in Manhattan for the entire month of October.”
My mind immediately began racing through patterns, silk weights, and beadwork schedules. “Tuesday? Catherine, three of those gowns are still in raw muslin fittings!”
“Which is why I need my best mind on that floor in one hour,” Catherine said smoothly. “Can you assemble the master seamstresses by ten?”
“I’ll be there in forty-five minutes,” I promised.
As I hung up, Mark looked at me with pride shining in his eyes. “Duty calls?”
May you like
“Duty calls,” I smiled, getting up to grab my coat.
I was so focused on the massive opportunity waiting at the studio that I didn't realize Caroline’s humiliation at the party wasn't the end of her crusade against me. It was only the beginning.
