Rise of the Formidable Ex-wife (Lucia and Alex) novel Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Margaret’s car glided to a stop outside the boutique. Not a regular shop. The kind Ria had only dreamed of entering. The one on Fifth Avenue. The one with glass doors so shiny you could see yourself and wish you belonged.

“Come on,” Margaret said. She stepped out first. Hair perfect, sunglasses flawless. Her heels clicked on the pavement like a metronome marking success. “We have an appointment.”

“An appointment?” Ria asked.

“With Clarissa. She dresses everyone who matters. Now she will dress you.”

Inside, the air smelled like leather and perfume and money. Ria’s chest tightened. She was aware of every sound. Every fabric. Every whisper of wealth.

A woman appeared. Tall. Elegant. Black dress. Perfect posture.

“Margaret! Darling!” She kissed the air by each cheek. “And this must be Ria.”

“My stepdaughter,” Margaret said. Her tone sharp, proud, claiming territory. “She needs a complete wardrobe overhaul. The girl has potential, but her style is provincial.”

Provincial. The word stung. Ria nodded. Smiled. Agreed. She wanted to be someone who mattered. Maybe Margaret was right. Maybe her old clothes were small, boring, wrong.

Clarissa walked around her, inspecting. “Good bone structure. Decent height. The clothes must go. All of them.”

Margaret whispered, “Your mother dressed you like a nobody. Time to look like somebody.”

Three hours later, Ria was surrounded by bags. Dresses. Shoes. Bags. Accessories she had only seen in magazines. Price tags blurred her vision.

“Dad’s going to kill me,” she said, eyes wide at the total.

“Your father wants you to succeed. This is an investment. In your future.” Margaret signed the receipt without flinching. “Appearances matter. People judge instantly. Only the first impression counts.”

The car ride home was quiet. Bags filled the trunk. Margaret spoke little, but her eyes were sharp, calculating.” Friday. Dinner party. Fashion industry people. Editors. Photographers. Designers. You’re coming.”

“I am?”

“You want to break into fashion. Design. That dream of yours.”

“Yes. But I’m only sixteen. I don’t even have a portfolio yet.”

“You have something better. Me. My guidance. My connections.” Margaret started the car. “Your mother would have told you to wait. To be practical. But practical people don’t get ahead. Strategic people do.”

Strategic. Ria repeated it in her mind. Smart. Powerful. Adult. She wanted that.

At home, she dumped the bags on her bed. Each piece she tried on made her feel taller, older, better. Stronger. She took photos. Posted them online. Likes flooded in. Comments followed. Some jealous. Some admiring. Some curious. This was influence. Power. Control. Something her mother had never understood. Something Margaret taught.

Friday arrived. The dinner party. The house smelled of candles and wine and wealth. Adults everywhere. They laughed and sipped and made deals in quiet voices. Margaret whispered to her, “Dress to impress. Be charming. Listen more than speak.”

“And there’s someone I want you to meet,” Margaret added. “Daniel Carmichael. His mother runs Vogue in Europe.”

Ria’s stomach tightened. Vogue. Power. Recognition.

Margaret introduced her. “My stepdaughter. Aspiring designer. Brilliant eye for color.”

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Chapter 14

People smiled. Nodded. Moved on. Then, “Daniel, meet Ria.”

He was tall. Perfect. Boringly handsome. Maybe twenty–one. He glanced at her sketches. “Interesting. Derivative of McQueen, but interesting.”

Ria’s face burned. Margaret smiled, unbothered. “She’s self–taught. Imagine what she could do with proper guidance.”

Daniel nodded, not looking impressed. “Mother’s always looking for interns. Serious?”

“Very serious,” Ria said. She sounded small, timid, but proud.

Margaret whispered, “Strategic relationships. Smart women build them. Remember that.”

After most guests left, Margaret took Ria aside. “Your sketches are good. But refinement matters. Let me help. I have an eye for what works.”

They worked together. Margaret drew lines over Ria’s designs. Suggested cuts. Colors. Necklines. “This is too conservative. Bold. Make it memorable.”

“But I wanted classic.”

“Classic is boring. Be bold. Be noticed.”

Ria erased, redrew. Colors brighter. Cuts sharper. The designs transformed. Margaret’s polish lifted them. Not stolen, elevated. Ria felt both proud and strange.

Days passed. Shopping trips. Parties. Gallery openings. Fashion shows. Ria watched Margaret, absorbing everything. How she held herself. How she smiled but controlled every room. How she dismissed people gently but firmly.

“Your mother never understood this,” Margaret said. “She was content being ordinary. You want more.”

“I do,” Ria said.

“Then do what it takes. Adapt. Become who you need to be.” Margaret held up a dress. Black. Sleek. Perfect.” Try this. Very you.”

Very you. Ria stared at her reflection. Who was “you“? She had given up her old wardrobe. Her old life. Her friends who didn’t matter. Every sketchbook she kept hidden. Every ordinary piece of herself. All gone. School was different now. Girls whispered. Some admired. Some feared. Some envied. She walked taller. Spoke smoother. Smiled strategically. Her old friends felt small beside her. She barely noticed.

In art class, she worked on a new collection. Teachers scrutinized. “These are sophisticated. Very different from your old work.”

“I’m evolving,” she said.

“Evolving or copying? Trends, not originals.”

Ria flushed. “Inspired, not copying.”

Her teacher didn’t look convinced. “Develop your own voice.”

That night, she showed Margaret the designs. Margaret flipped through. Smiled. “Excellent. Especially this one. The asymmetrical hem. Shoulder detail.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’m launching a small collection. Some of these concepts will be included. We’ll credit you when it matters.”

Pride bloomed. Ria felt seen. Finally.

Her mother would have told her to wait. To study first. To be careful. Margaret opened doors. Gave her confidence, clothes, mentors. Power.

A week later, Margaret invited her back. “Collection is ready. Want to see?”

Inside, mannequins wore the designs. Sleek. Modern. Elegant. Ria felt recognition prick her. “These are…”

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Chapter 24

“Inspired by your sketches. Elevated.”

“But you said you’d credit me.”

“Privately, when it counts. Publicly, you’re sixteen. Not taken seriously yet. Later, collaboration. Now, positioning.‘

11

Ria nodded. Could she trust this? Could she survive it? Could she thrive?

At home, dinner was quiet. Marco barely glanced up. Stressed, distracted, lost in his own world.

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