Chapter 6: Embers Beneath Silk

Victory was a strange perfume. Sweet in the moment, intoxicating even—but never quite lasting. Agape had learned that from Milan, from the fleeting applause and headlines. Now, in the quiet aftermath, she found herself standing not at the end of a war—but at the threshold of something entirely unknown.

She wasn't alone. Not anymore.

Samantha entered the Harmonique studio that morning with a crisp manila envelope and a storm cloud on her brow.

"You need to see this," she said, dropping the envelope on Agape's desk.

Agape raised an eyebrow. "What is it now? Another Naomi stunt?"

"Worse. It's about you."

Agape flipped open the envelope and pulled out a stack of glossy photos. Her breath caught. There she was—kissing someone. But not just anyone.

The man in the photo was Lucien Duval.

France's most notorious fashion magnate.

Lucien was scandal incarnate—seductively elusive and ruthlessly brilliant. He was also her secret. Or so she'd thought.

The photos captured them in Paris—on the terrace of her favorite boutique hotel, arms entwined, lips grazing. A moment she remembered vividly. A moment that now threatened everything.

"Where did these come from?" Agape asked, her voice low.

Samantha crossed her arms. "An anonymous drop at the front desk. The media has them. You'll be trending by noon."

Agape closed her eyes for a beat. "We've done nothing wrong."

"That's not how they'll spin it," Samantha said. "You know how this game works. They'll say you've been sleeping with your rival. That your comeback was his doing. That he bought your success."

A cold laugh escaped Agape's lips. "Because a woman can't win on her own merit, right?"

Samantha softened. "I'm on your side. Always. But we need to get ahead of this."

By midday, her name was already trending. #AgapeDuval—a brand-new hashtag buzzing across social media. Articles speculated about secret deals, stolen designs, even pregnancy rumors.

And Naomi was fanning the flames.

She posted a cryptic Instagram story with Lucien's photo and the caption: "Some people sell more than clothes to get ahead."

The backlash was immediate.

Sponsors called.

Journalists flooded her inbox.

Harmonique's board scheduled an emergency meeting.

Lucien, ever calm, called her that night.

"Agape," he said in that velvet French accent, "may I suggest we stop letting others write our story?"

"You think this is romantic?" she snapped. "My career is on the line."

"I think it's real," he said, unfazed. "And you, ma belle, are far more than your press."

They met in secret—this time not in Paris, but in an art gallery in New York. Agape stood between canvases of abstract chaos as Lucien approached, dressed in tailored charcoal and bearing that quiet intensity she had tried to ignore.

"You didn't leak those photos, did you?" she asked, needing to hear it from his lips.

"No," he said. "But I know who did."

She blinked. "Who?"

He hesitated. "Someone inside Harmonique. Someone close to you."

Her chest tightened. "That narrows it down to five people."

He held her gaze. "You need to clean house."

Back in her apartment, Agape couldn't sleep. Betrayal was a bitter flavor, one she thought she'd tasted enough of. But this felt deeper. More invasive.

The next morning, she gathered her executive team.

Samantha. Logan, her finance lead. Eniola, her brand director. Margo, her head of PR. And Quinn, her youngest assistant—bright, eager, always loyal.

"I need to know," she said, eyes scanning them, "who leaked those photos."

Silence. Then Logan cleared his throat. "Why would any of us sabotage the brand?"

Agape wasn't looking for defenses. She was looking for cracks.

Later that day, Samantha returned to her office with a grim expression.

"It was Quinn," she said quietly. "She sold the photos to a gossip blog. Said she needed the money to pay for her sister's surgery."

Agape sat down, stunned. "I trusted her."

"She's just a kid," Samantha said.

"A kid who cost us millions in damage control."

Quinn was fired that evening, but Agape didn't feel vindicated. Just… tired.

The board meeting was brutal. They questioned everything—her leadership, her judgment, her relationship with Lucien. Some even suggested she step back while the storm passed.

She refused.

"I built this from the ashes," she told them. "And I'll weather the fire too."

Outside, the media circled like wolves. Naomi released a new collection—cheap imitations of Agape's Milan line—while subtly throwing shade in interviews. Patrick re-emerged on social media, painting himself as the jilted ex.

But Agape stayed focused. With Lucien's quiet encouragement and Samantha's unwavering loyalty, she rebuilt her image—through interviews, charity work, and the powerful silence of confidence.

And then, unexpectedly, Lucien flew in.

They met at a rooftop bar overlooking the Manhattan skyline.

"I didn't come to rescue you," he said, pouring her a glass of wine. "I came because I couldn't stop thinking about you."

Agape laughed softly. "This is terrible timing."

"Always is," he said. "But timing never stopped you before."

She studied him in the moonlight. "You're dangerous."

"And yet," he murmured, "you're still here."

Their fingers touched, hesitant and electric.

"I'm not ready for love," she said.

"I didn't ask for your love," he whispered. "Only your honesty."

Agape paused. "Then here it is—I'm scared. Of needing someone. Of losing myself again."

Lucien's eyes held hers. "Then let me be someone you don't lose yourself with—but find something new."

She didn't answer.

But she didn't pull away either.