She Was the Treasure All Along novel Chapter 1013

"Let's go. Leave it alone," Molly hissed, hooking her arm through his and forcefully pulling him toward the exit.

She had kept her temper in check in public, but the second the car doors slammed shut, her fierce possessiveness erupted. "You're broken up! Are you still hung up on her? What does that make me?!"

Swain snapped back to reality, realizing he had lost his composure. He immediately lowered his voice, showering her with apologies and sweet promises until she finally calmed down.

But his mind was still racing. He couldn't let it go.

He didn't know if he wanted her to succeed or crash and burn. If it really was *that* Mr. Lonsdale...

Back in the elevator, the doors slid shut, cutting off Swain's look of sheer disbelief. Helena let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Lisa pressed the button for the top floor and turned to her with a warm, professional smile. "Mr. Lonsdale specifically mentioned that this is your first time visiting us. If you have any specific preferences or if anything makes you uncomfortable, please don't hesitate to let me know."

Helena nodded gracefully.

Bloomberry's bespoke department didn't look like a standard tailoring studio; it felt more like a sun-drenched private art gallery.

A few exquisite sample garments hung on minimalist racks, their cuts and fabrics flawless enough to withstand the harshest scrutiny. The faint, soothing scent of white tea drifted through the air, and the plush carpet absorbed every sound.

"Right this way, please."

Lisa led her into the most expansive suite at the end of the hall. As the double doors opened, two women were already waiting inside.

One was the lead designer, the other a master tailor. Both appeared to be in their early forties, projecting a calm, sophisticated confidence.

"We are both personally certified by Ms. Lonsdale, so you are in excellent hands. Mr. Lonsdale already forwarded your measurements," the designer said, picking up a heavy fabric swatch book from the table. "However, we will need to take a few precise on-site adjustments. The magic of haute couture lies in millimeter-perfect tailoring. Even the ready-to-wear pieces will be meticulously altered to flawlessly hug your silhouette."

Helena stood perfectly still as the tailor moved around her with a soft measuring tape. The movements were so light and efficient she barely felt a thing.

"She has gorgeous bone structure," the tailor murmured softly to the designer. "Her shoulder and neckline are exquisite. The garments will drape beautifully."

For the next two hours, Helena stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, trying on outfit after outfit.

The designer's eye was razor-sharp. Every piece transformed the woman in the mirror into someone simultaneously familiar and entirely new.

They finally settled on a smoky-grey velvet suit dress. It cinched perfectly at the waist, with a subtle flare that fell just below her calves—formal, yet deeply modern. The designer paired it with matching stiletto heels adorned with tiny, delicate pearls that shimmered beautifully as she walked.

"This is perfect for the awards ceremony," the designer said, admiring her work in the mirror. "It has presence, but it doesn't overpower you. When you step onto that stage, all eyes will be on *you*, not just the dress."

Helena stared at her reflection, slightly dazed. Even without makeup, the exquisite tailoring brought out a quiet, powerful composure she had never seen in herself before.

She took a few steps, the heels clicking rhythmically against the floor.

"This is the one," she said.

He replied instantly. "Does it look good?"

Helena smirked, lifted her phone, and snapped a picture in the mirror.

The photo only showed half of her face. The makeup was elegant and subtle, but her eyes caught the studio lights, shining like a galaxy of stars.

It took him about ten seconds to reply.

"I'm coming over right now."

She blinked, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Before she could type a response, another message popped up.

"I need to see this in person."

She stared at the text for several seconds, pressing the phone to her knee to hide the massive smile threatening to break across her face.

The makeup artist caught her expression in the mirror and chuckled. "Mr. Lonsdale?"

Helena nodded.

"He's been incredibly invested in this," the artist said while packing up her brushes. "He didn't just coordinate with our boss; he personally called the studio three separate times to finalize the aesthetic direction. Our boss was joking that the icy billionaire has finally melted."