Chapter 170: The Day Of Execution

"We got him," I said smoothly, leaning against the doorframe. "Chloe’s downstairs with him right now, getting a full, signed affidavit of his wire transfers from Oliver. He’s broken."

Benita’s chest heaved with a sudden wave of raw, unfiltered emotion. She wiped her hands on her apron and made a beeline straight for the doorway. "I’m going downstairs. I want to look him in the eye and tell him exactly what he is—"

I stepped into her path, placing a firm, steady hand on her shoulder to stop her in her tracks.

"No," I said softly, looking down into her blazing eyes. "Don’t waste a single drop of your energy on that rat. He’s finished. He’s Chloe’s problem now. Your job is right here."

I gestured toward the center of the room. "How are the dresses coming?"

Benita took a slow, deep breath, forcing her anger to subside as the artist took over. A subtle, sharp glint flickered in her eyes as she turned back around and unclipped the heavy black silk drape from the center showcase.

"See for yourself," she murmured, stepping back with a confident, proud tilt of her chin.

I took two steps forward, looking at the elevated lineup, and genuinely held my breath.

The original seven designs were gone, replaced by absolute masterpieces.

Where the old flagship dress had been sleek, this new iteration possessed an aggressive, architectural royalty—the metallic boning was custom-tapered to catch the runway lights like polished obsidian, and the structural drapes fell with a dangerous, razor-sharp precision. Every stitch whispered raw, unadulterated power.

"They’re not just better, Ethan," Benita whispered, stepping beside me with her arms crossed, a quiet, deadly smirk playing on her lips.

"When Oliver parades his rushed, cheap knockoffs down the Paris runway, and we unveil these right after... people won’t just see a fashion scandal. They’ll see an execution."

---

The heavy tint of the luxury van’s windows kept the blinding flashbulbs of the paparazzi at bay as we pulled up to the grand entrance of the Paris Global Gala. Outside, the red carpet was packed with elite buyers, international press, and fashion royalty.

Chloe sat beside me, looking completely breathtaking. She had traded her structured corporate power suits for a sharp, jaw-dropping evening gown, though she still had her sensible reading glasses perched on her nose.

She turned her head toward me, smoothing down her dress, an edge of disbelief in her voice. "Are we really delivering a federal injunction and a multi-million dollar fraud lawsuit here? Right in the middle of his biggest career milestone?"

I didn’t answer right away. I just turned my gaze to her, locking eyes in complete, heavy silence. I held her look for a long, quiet stretch, my expression completely unreadable, letting the raw scale of the impending execution hang between us.

After a few seconds, Chloe couldn’t hold back the tight, helpless smirk tugging at her lips. She shook her head, her eyes gleaming with reluctant admiration. "You are absolutely brutal, Ethan."

A slow smile crept across my face. I reached over, gently taking the frames off her nose and sliding them off her face. Without them, her striking features popped even more—she looked stunning.

"Hey, my glasses!" she protested softly.

Instead of giving them back, I reached into my inner jacket pocket, pulled out a pair of sleek, custom dark shades that matched the sharp, dangerous energy of her gown, and carefully slipped them onto her face. They fit her perfectly.

I leaned in, examining her with a smirk. "Can you actually see without your prescription, counselor?"

Chloe blinked behind the dark lenses, testing her focus, then gave a confident, knowing nod. "Yeah. I can see fine."

"Good," I said smoothly.

I popped the van door open, stepping out first into the cool night air as the cameras immediately began flashing. Turning back around, I offered my hand to Chloe, helping her down to the pavement. She took my arm, stepping onto the red carpet with total elegance and power.

Side by side, we walked past the sea of photographers, entering the massive, glittering auditorium and taking our front-row seats among the global fashion elite—waiting in quiet anticipation for Oliver Rick’s stolen show to begin.

The high-ceilinged hall was buzzing with soft chatter, the clinking of champagne flutes, and the ambient hum of pre-show music. Chloe and I sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the front row, taking in the scene.

Just a couple of seats to my left, two well-dressed fashion critics in sharp tuxedo jackets were leaning toward each other, speaking in hushed, arrogant tones.

"I heard the rumors from Milan," one of them said, swirling his glass. "UncuT tried to pull a quiet copy-cat move on O.R. Atelier’s core line. Word is, Rick caught them red-handed and pulled his supply chain ahead just to beat them to the runway."

"Doesn’t surprise me," the other sneered, clicking his tongue. "UncuT is just a flash-in-the-pan label. They lack the tradition. Stealing from Oliver Rick was their only way to stay relevant."

I chuckled quietly, slowly shaking my head. I leaned back in my seat and spoke softly, not even bothering to look directly at them.

"UncuT never stole a single thing," I said smoothly.

The first man froze, turning his head sharply to glare at me. He swept his eyes over my suit, taking in my calm demeanor with an arrogant, snubbing upward tilt of his chin.

"And who might you be?" he asked, his voice dripping with condescension. "Some junior buyer who thinks he knows the inner workings of Paris haute couture?"

I gave him a brief, lazy smirk and turned my attention straight back toward the runway.

"Nobody," I replied quietly.

The man let out a dismissive, snobbish huff, rolling his eyes and turning back to his companion as if I wasn’t even worth another second of his breath.

Beside me, Chloe adjusted her dark shades with one finger, leaning her head slightly toward mine. Her lips barely moved, her tone dripping with ice-cold satisfaction as she muttered mostly to herself:

"Just wait until the lawsuit hits... let’s see how smart you talk then."