CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Penelope's POV

A few minutes later, a soft knock echoed through the bedroom door.

"Mrs. Laurent," a maid's voice called from the other side.

I pulled my gaze away from the mirror, where I had been staring at my reflection, trying to convince myself that I could do this. That I could step into Madison's shoes and not crumble under the weight of it.

"Yes?" I responded, schooling my voice to match Madison's cool, indifferent tone.

"Rocky is here to pick you up," she informed me. "Mr. Laurent sent him."

A breath hitched in my throat. Julien had sent his personal driver for me. This was really happening.

"I'll be down in a moment," I said, keeping my tone steady.

As soon as the maid's footsteps faded down the hall, I turned back to Madison's massive walk-in closet. The sheer number of designer outfits in here was overwhelming—glittering gowns, sleek business suits, racks of high-end heels. None of it felt like me.

I reached for the closest thing that resembled my own style—a beige mini skirt, a crisp white button-down, and a pair of knee-high beige boots. Simple but elegant. As I fastened the last button, I made a mental note to replace a few outfits with something more my taste. It was a minor detail, but if I was going to be trapped in Madison's world for the foreseeable future, I needed something to hold onto.

I grabbed a structured handbag, exhaled slowly, and made my way downstairs.

The moment I stepped outside, the black Bugatti gleamed under the morning sun, its sleek exterior reflecting the towering mansion behind me. Rocky, Julien's driver, was already waiting beside the car, his expression as unreadable as ever.

"Mrs. Laurent," he greeted, dipping his head as he opened the passenger door for me.

I slid inside, smoothing my skirt as he shut the door and hurried around to the driver's side. Without another word, he started the engine, and we pulled away from the estate.

The silence stretched between us for several minutes before Rocky finally spoke.

"Mr. Laurent asked me to give this to you," he said, pulling a leather-bound file from the console and passing it to me.

I hesitated before taking it. "What is it?"

"The LauRiot preview," he replied. "In case you needed to go over it before the meeting. It's been a while since you last reviewed it."

I gripped the file tighter, my pulse quickening. He was right. It had been a while since Madison last reviewed it. But for me? I had never seen it before.

Forcing a neutral expression, I flipped it open. My eyes scanned the first page, my heartbeat hammering in my chest.

My breath caught.

No.

It couldn't be.

The concept behind LauRiot—the designs, the inspiration, the core vision—was mine.

Street-style inspired, bold yet wearable pieces. I had outlined this idea years ago when I was still sketching designs in my tiny apartment, dreaming of the day I'd make it big in the fashion industry.

Madison had stolen it.

I clenched my fingers around the file, my nails digging into the leather. She must have found my sketches, taken my ideas, and presented them as her own.

Anger bubbled beneath my skin, but I swallowed it down. Now wasn't the time to lose control.

I shut the file with a soft snap and placed it on my lap. I didn't need to read another word. I knew my own work. I had lived and breathed it long before Madison ever touched it.

For the rest of the ride, I didn't bother reviewing the contents. I was more than ready to brief the investors.

-

When we arrived at the Laurent HQ, I stepped out of the car and tilted my head back to take in the towering building before me.

LAURENT FASHION DREAM.

The name was displayed in enormous, sleek letters at the top of the skyscraper, its stylish design commanding attention. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows gleamed under the sunlight, reflecting the sky like a mirror. The entire structure exuded power, luxury, and prestige.

I quickly lowered my gaze as Rocky rounded the car and gestured for me to follow him inside.

The moment I stepped through the glass doors, the atmosphere shifted.

Employees bustled around, impeccably dressed, their movements efficient and purposeful. But what caught me off guard was the way they reacted to me.

Every single one of them bowed slightly as I passed.

Some murmured polite greetings. Others abandoned whatever they were doing just to acknowledge my presence. Even the receptionist, who had been typing away at her computer, immediately rose to her feet and inclined her head.

I hesitated for half a second before nodding in return. Madison's effect. They weren't bowing to me. They were bowing to her.

Keeping my posture straight, I approached the elevator. Two men in tailored suits were already inside when I stepped in. The moment they saw me, they straightened and bowed slightly, their expressions unreadable.

I pressed my lips together, unsure what to do. Then, taking a risk, I lifted my chin and said coolly, "Press my floor."

The man closest to the panel didn't even hesitate. He immediately pressed 20.

I silently exhaled in relief.

When the doors slid open on the twentieth floor, I stepped out, pretending I wasn't completely overwhelmed by the sheer elegance of the space.

The walls were sleek, the floors polished to perfection. Everything screamed wealth.

I spotted a receptionist near the entrance, slouched slightly in her seat. The moment she saw me, she jolted upright, wincing as she stood.

"I-I apologize, Mrs. Laurent," she stammered. "My feet hurt, so I just wanted to sit for a second."

I blinked at her, momentarily taken aback. Was Madison really that terrifying?

Ignoring the unease curling in my stomach, I nodded. "Where's Julien?"

"In the meeting room," she said quickly, pointing toward a set of massive doors.

I nodded once, then turned toward them, my pulse quickening with every step.

The sound of voices filtered through the door. A microphone hummed softly, amplifying the words being spoken. This was it.

I inhaled deeply, squared my shoulders, and stepped inside.

The room fell silent.

At the center of the long conference table, a figure in a sharp black suit slowly swiveled his chair around the moment I stepped in.

Julien.

My breath hitched.

His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing a sliver of tanned skin. His sharp, calculating gaze locked onto mine, unreadable but intense.

Then, he stood.

A slow, almost predatory smirk curled at his lips. "There she is."

He extended a hand toward me, beckoning me forward. I hesitated for a fraction of a second before moving.

When I reached his side, Julien slid his hand onto my lower back and turned toward the investors—a trio of sharply dressed Asian executives.

"Lady, gentlemen," he announced, his voice smooth and confident, "I'd like you to meet my wife, Madison Laurent."

There was something about the way he said it. My wife. His voice wrapped around the words like a declaration, like a promise. The investors exchanged approving glances, nodding as if they were pleased with the introduction.

Julien's fingers pressed against my spine. I glanced up at him, and for a brief second, his expression softened.

"Madison will be briefing you on the LauRiot expansion," he said smoothly. "She's the visionary behind it, after all."

My heart pounded as all eyes turned to me.

Julien gave me a simple nod, his proud smile unwavering.

I inhaled sharply.

Then, with as much confidence as I could muster, I stepped onto the podium.