Chapter 3: A Fashion Empire's Ambitions

The only fashion show was a rainbow of color, lights, and well chosen anarchy. Isla Lawson looked around the room, absorbing the clusters of New York's elite mingling under the golden chandeliers and the low murmur of talks broken by laughter. This was more than just a performance; it was a battlefield where designers, models, and fashionistas battled for power using fabric and style. And Isla was here ready to assert her claim, not only as an observer. She was also a participant.

Evan Monroe, beside her, grinned knowingly as he drank his champagne. Even in a throng where sticking out was the norm, his turquoise blazer, covered in beautiful embroidery that shimmered when he moved, caught attention. Tilting his head and acting to inhale deeply, he remarked, "Can you smell that, Isla?"

She shot a roll of her eyes and said, "Please don't say it's the perfume of ambition."

He laughed, a rich sound that caught the interest of a couple inquisitive visitors. Oh, not at all There is the aroma of potential. And it spans this entire area.

Isla grinned irrespective of her own self. Evan made even the most terrifying occurrences feel like a playground. But tonight she needed more than his quips to ground her. This was an opportunity to network and present their brand as a force able to collaborate with the most well-known names in fashion, not only as an emerging marketing company.

The swirl of activity around them changed as they headed to their seats; Isla caught fragments of a name she hadn't heard since the unplanned meeting in her office: Noah Vincent.

"Did you learn about the Vincent Corp. deal?

"They are saying it could alter the whole supply chain environment."

Let Noah Vincent swoop in and outmaneuver everyone.

Isla tightened her hand on her clutch. Her mind echoed his name, carrying memories she had been trying to hide with it. Memories of long hours in conference rooms, the cold steel of his eyes as he dissected her presentations with clinical accuracy, the excitement of matching wits with someone always seemed one step ahead.

Evan leaned forward and saw her change in attitude. "Good?" You seem to have lately seen a ghost.

Isla said, "I'm fine," her voice steady but her pulse anything other. She would herself have to smile. "Let's center on our motivations for being here."

The event began with the lights dimming, and the audience went quiet. Deep and rhythmic, music flowed through the room as models started walking the catwalk; each costume was more bold and complex than the previous. Isla let the show sweep her away, the electrifying intensity momentarily drowning out the noise in her thoughts.

The ovation was deafening when the last model passed. Isla clapped along and drew attention from a woman sat across the runway. The lovely and strong woman nodded slightly back to meet her eye. Margot Chen, a big fashion investor with a reputation for shrewd alliances and merciless negotiating, was there. Margot would know if rumors of a good bargain were accurate. And from the way she was looking, she was three steps ahead already.

Following her line of vision, Evan nudged her. "That's our in," he added, his tone just slightly austere to refocus Isla.

Isla said, "Let's go," getting up deliberately.

They moved across the floor, dodging groups of still talking individuals about the show. Margot was mid-conversation with two immaculately groomed men when they arrived. She looked up as they came, awareness flickering in her eyes.

"Ms. Lawson, Mr. Monroe," Margot met them, her voice as silk. "Like the show?"

Isla responded, "It was breathtaking," reaching out her hand. "Unmatched in creativity was what I found."

Margot had a courteous but detached grin. Quite true. Still, I doubt your presence here is purely for fashion appreciation.

Isla was not flinching. "We're always interested in collaborations that challenge limits," she added, matching Margot's keen stare. "I hear there might be prospects just around here.

Margot nodded as her eyes narrowed, barely a fraction. "You heard exactly. But I worry those chances can carry difficulties. She watched Isla across the rim of her glass as she drank her wine. Complications referred to as Noah Vincent.

Isla felt a wave of anxiety as his name was spoken, but she kept her cool. Rather, she bent in, her voice steady. "Complications are manageable."

Margot arched an eyebrow in interest. Can they currently? Well, assuming anyone could, I guess it would be you.

Isla turned to see a dramatic change in the ambiance of the room before she could answer. People were turning, whispering, eyes pulled to the door. Framed in the bright glory of the foyer, Noah Vincent himself stood there. He was immaculately groomed, his presence commanding the room like a king surveilling his realm.

Evan's whispered slur matched Isla's ideas exactly. "This just started to become interesting.

Noah's gaze surveyed the room, pausing momentarily on Isla before continuing as though he were noting her presence but without revealing anything. With deliberate ease, he made his way through the throng, stopping to shake hands and share pleasantries every step deliberate.

Though her pulse accelerated, Isla maintained a neutral face. Now this was her turf, and she was not going to let Noah Vincent set the parameters.

Margot's eyes jumped between them, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "It seems tonight's fashion isn't the only thing to see.”

Drinks and talk carried on the evening, the buzz of the show giving way to whispered offers and audacious ideas. Keeping her distance from Noah, Isla concentrated on building relationships and fortifying ties. But every so often she felt the weight of his stare, as though he was softly reminding her their game was far from finished.

Evan said, interpreting her attitude, "Let's get some air." Stepping out onto the terrace, the cool night air was a nice change from the heated crush of folks inside. Before them glittered like stars strewn over the planet, the city lights.

"Are you fine??" resting against the railing, Evan asked.

Deeply breathing, Isla let the vitality of the city calm her. Exactly. Simply said, a lot to digest.

Evan added, his tone light but perceptive: "I noticed the way he looked at you." "Whatever is brewing, it is significant."

Not sure she could talk, Isla nodded. Though it was a wonderful diversion, the noise of the city couldn't cover the question nagging at her: what game was Noah Vincent playing right now?

Before she could focus on anything, Noah emerged from the terrace door. He was by himself, staring precisely on Isla like a hawk locating its target.

"Ms. Lawson," he murmured, his voice as silky as always. "A term?"

Evan gave her a glance that suggested, Do you want me to stay? She gave a faint head shake.

She answered, "Of course," pushing her voice to be constant.

Noah approached, the night air buzzing with unsaid hostility. "I hope the evening is entertaining you.

Raising her chin, Isla answered, "I am." "What brings you here, Noah? That is the question. Profit or pleasure? Business or recreation?

"Always business," he murmured, a shadow of a smile flickering across his lips. "But isn't that where we are both alike? Continually searching for the next major action.

Between them, weighty and charged, hung the implication. Noah buzzed on his phone before Isla could reply. He studied it, his face stiffening.

Duty calls, he replied, sliding the phone back into his pocket. "But Isla, we will speak soon. very shortly.

Isla shivered down her spine as he turned and returned indoors. Whatever Noah intended, it was only starting.