Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother (Norah and Lucien) novel Chapter 171

Chapter 171

Norah’s Pov

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“Norah, I’ll have my people search every auction house in the world. I don’t care about the cost -I’ll find an identical piece,” Lucien said, his voice tight with panic.

“Lucien, “Tears of a Lover‘ is one of a kind. Unique. That’s the whole point.” I looked at him. “Now it’s ruined.”

I turned to Irina and Katarina and their worried faces. “You two, keep preparing for tomorrow’s show. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Irina looked like she wanted to argue, but Katarina pulled her away.

The office was quiet. Just him and me.

“Norah, I-”

“You should go, too,” I said without looking at him, my voice flat.

He didn’t move.

I ignored him, bending to carefully lift the stained lace from the table. I laid it on my desk and just stared.

I don’t know how much time passed before I heard the soft clickof the door closing. He was

gone.

Good. I was alone with the wreckage.

My eyes traced the ugly, irregular coffee stain. It looked like a vicious scar, mocking all my effort. I glanced down at my bandaged right hand. The wound beneath seemed to pulse.

Almost without thinking, I began unwinding the bandage. Beneath the fresh stitches lay the old, silvery scar running the length of my palm.

I looked at the scar, then at the stain.

Scars… stains…

Suddenly, a wild idea shot through my mind, sharp and clear, cutting through the despair.

Who said scars had to be ugly?

Who said stains meant ruin?

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Chapter 171

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No.

They were marks. Medals. Stories.

An even wilder, bolder design flashed behind my eyes. This stain wasn’t a flaw. It was barren soil. And from soil, a flower could fight its way to bloom.

I picked up a sketching pen. The pressure tore at the wound on my hand, but I didn’t care.

With black ink, I outlined the silhouette of an iris. Layer upon layer of petals, their edges charred and fragmented, blooming with a tenacious, almost sinister defiance from the very heart of the brown stain.

I don’t know how long I drew. I only knew that when I put the pen down, the sky outside was turning the grey of dawn.

I looked at the new design and smiled.

Just then, the office door opened softly.

It was Lucien.

He had heavy dark circles under his eyes, stubble shadowed his jaw, and he carried an air of utter defeat. He’d clearly been outside all night.

He walked in, and his eyes immediately landed on the new sketch pinned to the wall.

Pure astonishment filled his gaze.

His eyes moved from the sketch to me. Then he saw the unwrapped bandage and the fresh blood seeping from my hand.

His expression changed. He turned, fetched the first–aid kit, and crouched before me with cotton swabs and antiseptic. “Let me,” he said, his voice rough.

“Don’t,” I said coldly.

He froze, looking up, his eyes full of worry. “Norah, you’re bleeding.”

I ignored him, my focus returning to the sketch.

“Norah, let me do something. Anything to fix this,” he pleaded, his voice hoarse and thick with

emotion.

“Fix it?” I finally looked at him. Seeing him like that–wanting to reach out but afraid to touch, wanting to be near but terrified I’d push him away, this utterly humbled version of him—I

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Chapter 171

smiled.

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I picked up a silver sketching pencil from the desk and walked over. I used its cool tip to gently lift his stubbled chin.

“Alright. You. Be my model.”

He was stunned, shock and confusion in his eyes.

Irina and Katarina had slipped back in. They stared, speechless.

“This ruined lace… I’ll outline the coffee stain with black thread. Embroider the iris’s veins in gold. It won’t be ‘Tears of a Lover‘ anymore. It’ll be ‘Broken Vows‘. And it’ll become a piece of men’s haute couture. This lace will be sewn in the most intimate place.”

I watched him, watched him be shaken by the madness in my words.

“You said you wanted to make it right? I’ll sew this for you myself. And then…” I paused, leaning close to his ear to whisper, “At Nightingale’s Paris debut, you, Lucien Constantine, will wear it. As the opening model. For my show.”

I wanted him—this newly crowned commercial emperor–to stand in the spotlight in this ‘vow‘, lending his power to my empire.

Lucien’s head snapped up, his eyes locking on mine.

A feverish obsession ignited in them. My madness had completely consumed him.

I thought he’d refuse. Asking a man who commanded an empire to model intimate wear was beyond humiliating.

He was silent for a long moment.

Irina sucked in a sharp breath. “Norah, are you insane?! You want him… to be an underwear model?”

Katarina licked her red lips. “Oh? I think it’s utterly thrilling.”

“Thrilling?!” Irina was nearly frantic. “He’s Lucien Constantine! How could he possibly agree?”

“Don’t be so sure,” Katarina mused. “Look at him. Doesn’t he look like a big dog waiting for his master’s orders? Chances to please our queen don’t come along every day, do they, Mr. Constantine?”

Finally, the corner of his mouth lifted into a slow smile. It was a smile of self–mockery and surrender, but overwhelmingly, it spoke of willing descent.

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He took my hand, the one holding the pencil. Then, lowering his head, he pressed a kiss to my

fingertip.

“Alright.”

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