Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother novel Chapter 170

Chapter 170

Norah’s POV

Lucien and I emerged from the bathroom one after the other, clothes still slightly askew.

The young assistant holding the garment steamer stared, her eyes darting between us, completely speechless.

Finished

Irina and Katarina, however, leaned against the design table with their arms crossed, wearing expressions of pure, unadulterated amusement.

“Ahem. Seen enough? Get back to work,” I said, my cheeks burning as I strode quickly to my desk, trying to bury the awkwardness under a layer of professionalism.

“Rough meeting in there, was it?” Katarina sauntered over. Her fingertip traced the line of my still- unfastened top button, hinting at the marks beneath. I hurriedly buttoned it and shot a glare at Lucien.

“Let’s focus,” I said, forcing my voice steady. I unfolded the schedule. “DuPont was just a pawn. The real player wants to choke our cash flow and force me to sell Nightingale cheap. Fine–I’ll give them an opening.”

Irina frowned. “You’re moving up the Paris haute couture show? To tomorrow night?”

“Yes. But this isn’t a normal launch.” A cold smile touched my lips. “On the surface, it’s Nightingale’s Paris debut. In reality, it’s bait. I want every potential buyer and creditor to think we’re finished–that after this show, Nightingale will be like a piece of meat waiting to be carved up.”

“Lure the bastard out of the shadows,” Katarina finished, licking her lips in excitement, her eyes gleaming. “Just when they think they’ve won and reach out to grab it… we take them down.”

“Exactly. So we need an absolute showstopper–something that proves Nightingale’s value and makes their greed betray them.”

I walked to the safe, carefully retrieved a velvet box, and opened it.

“And its soul… is this.”

Inside lay a small piece of lace, shimmering with an ivory glow.

It was sheer as a cicada’s wing, intricately handwoven with thorny vines entwining a weeping eye- exquisitely detailed, deeply sorrowful, breathtakingly beautiful.

Irina walked over, her eyes full of awe and fascination. “Tears of a Lover.’ A unique piece from the 19th- century French court. Made for one of Marie Antoinette’s lovers. You can’t buy this for any price now.”

“It took me three years to track it down. And I’m using it here,” I said, pointing to the chest area of the dress

sketch.

“You’re insane,” Katarina said, though her eyes remained glued to the lace. “This is more fragile than gold. The slightest pull will tear it. Sewing it will be like embroidering on a spider’s web.”

“I know.” I picked up the special fine needle and silk thread, took a deep breath, and began practicing on a

20:26 Wed, Dec 31

Chapter 170

spare piece of lace.

My right hand was still bandaged and useless.

My left was clumsy and slow.

After a few tries, the needle nearly scratched the fragile surface.

“Norah, let me be your hands.”

Lucien crouched beside me, looking up intently.

“This isn’t a game,” I refused coldly.

He said nothing, just stared with that stubborn intensity.

Finally, I sighed. “Fine.”

I carefully handed him the precious lace.

His tall frame hunched over the small sewing table.

He put on the magnifying glasses and finger guards, mimicking my earlier movements.

Finished

“Insert the needle from the back of the stamen. Hide the thread between three layers of gauze,” I whispered close to his ear.

To everyone’s surprise, his hands were incredibly steady.

The same hands that signed billion–dollar contracts now moved with delicate precision.

Every stitch landed perfectly.

The office fell into a strange silence.

Irina and Katarina watched, stunned, forgetting to snark.

As he made the final stitch, we all exhaled in relief.

I leaned in to inspect the work, my hair brushing his cheek, my breath warming his ear.

His body tensed slightly.

And just as he turned his head-

His elbow knocked against the corner of the desk, hitting the freshly poured cup of black coffee.

Time seemed to slow as the cup tipped.

Dark liquid splashed across one corner of the pristine, irreplaceable lace.

The stain spread like a vicious scar across the ivory silk.

“Lucien Constantine! Where are your eyes?!” Irina screamed, rushing over but hesitating to touch the

Chapter 170

delicate fabric.

“Well, there goes the world’s only Tears of a Lover–now a limited edition coffee–stain memorial, Katarina sneered, her voice sharp with sarcasm and anger. “You’ve been a great help.”

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