The manager and the receptionist lean in close, hanging on my every word, their eyes wide with intense, undivided concentration.
When I finish outlining how the weight is distributed evenly across the shoulders rather than crushing the ribs, the manager suddenly reaches out and grabs both of my hands, her face glowing with absolute awe.
"My Lady..." she breathes, her voice trembling slightly. "You are an absolute genius! How on earth did a mind like yours conceive of something so revolutionary?"
My internal alarms instantly start blaring. Wait, oh no! I panic, suddenly realizing I've pushed the "genius inventor" act way too far. A chronically ill, sheltered noble girl who hasn't left her estate in years shouldn't be casually inventing modern structural fashion engineering. They're going to get suspicious! I need to make some story.
Switching gears instantly, I let my shoulders drop and adopt a soft, fragile, pitiful expression, injecting a hint of melancholy into my voice.
"T-To tell you the truth, Madam..." I murmur, looking down at my hands with a delicate sigh. "You know how poor my health has always been. I've been confined to my room for most of my life. No one would ever let me outside because they were so terrified of my frail body breaking down."
The manager's expression immediately softens with profound pity. "Oh, my dear..."
"And because I had so much empty, lonely time trapped within those four walls," I continue, letting a wistful tremor touch my tone, "my mind would just... wander. I spent hours thinking about all the things that caused me discomfort. Corsets were always the worst. I had always thought that Many frail, weak girls like me might secretly despise wearing them, but we have no choice because of high-society etiquette. I just... always wondered what it would be like if we could make something beautiful without the torture. I was merely letting my imagination run wild out of sheer boredom, that's all."
The manager stares at me for a long, quiet moment before her eyes light up with even greater admiration. "You thought of all this... entirely by yourself, out of your own sheer resilience and brilliance? That is incredible. You truly are a genius, My Lady!"
She gently squeezes my hands, her business instincts instantly kicking into overdrive.
"Listen to me, my dear, you don't have to worry about a single thing," the manager says, leaning in conspiratorially. "I will personally craft this exact gown for you to wear at the upcoming ball. When you step into that ballroom, everyone will be utterly stunned by your breathtaking silhouette!"
A triumphant grin spreads across her face. "And once the other nobles see it, every single lady in high society will be begging to buy one from my boutique. It will make my shop the most famous establishment in the entire capital!"
She lowers her voice to an excited whisper, fixing her sharp eyes on mine. "Let's keep this concept strictly between us, My Lady. I want to form a formal contract with you: we will keep your ideas a complete secret, manufacture these revolutionary dresses, and I will personally share a generous percentage of the profits directly with you."
I definitely didn't expect her to get this thrilled or agree so effortlessly, I think, holding back a breath of relief. I honestly figured she'd pick my design apart or scrutinize my logic, but this couldn't have worked out better.
"I truly appreciate your openness and enthusiasm, Madam," I say with a warm, genuine smile. "And I would be more than happy to share my future design ideas exclusively with you, I promise you that. Why don't we draft a formal business contract for this project and our future collaborations?"
The manager's eyes gleam with sharp, professional delight. "A brilliant decision, My Lady! I will personally draft the terms for this first project and have the official contract delivered directly to the Valerius mansion for your signature."
"That sounds wonderful," I reply, nodding. Then, a quick thought strikes me, and I pause. My relationship with Father and Orlando is finally starting to mend. I really don't want to jeopardize that or build a bad reputation with them by keeping secret financial dealings behind their backs.
Looking back at the manager, I ask carefully, "Madam, may I discuss this venture with my family? Since they will eventually notice the unique design and the arrangements, I would prefer not to hide it from them."
"Of course you may, my dear," the manager agrees graciously, waving a hand with a reassuring smile. "It is completely natural to inform your house. Just ensure the intricate technical details, the internal layering secret..remain strictly between us and your immediate family. We wouldn't want competing tailors snatching our design before the ball!"
"Understood," I say with a bright nod. "You have my word."
With our agreement settled, we make our way out of the private studio and descend the grand marble staircase back toward the showroom.
As soon as we reach the main floor, my eyes land on Orlando. He is sitting obediently on the soft velvet sofa, quietly sipping tea and nibbling on delicate tea biscuits provided by the staff. A leather-bound booklet of dress designs rests in his lap, and he is thoughtfully flipping through the pages while waiting for me.
In the warm, ambient light of the boutique's crystal chandeliers, his sharp profile and relaxed posture look almost picture-perfect. I catch myself smiling softly without his arrogant noble bluster and explosive temper, he truly looks refined, remarkably handsome, and endearingly devoted as a big brother right now.