The Mafia Boss Destroyed Her Life with a Single Letter—Then He Witnessed What Happened When She Decided to Fight Back / Chapter 16 / 50

Chapter 16 - Arrival in Manhattan

The neon glow of Times Square cast brilliant shades of crimson and cyan across the rain-slicked pavement of Manhattan as Karen Ashby stepped out of a black town car, her long charcoal wool coat sweeping gracefully around her ankles. Beside her stepped Elena, who had insisted on accompanying her as her primary assistant and head coordinator for the upcoming gala.

They checked into a grand historic hotel overlooking Central Park, a far cry from the damp basement workshop on Alder Street where Karen’s journey had begun. Yet, despite the luxury surrounding her, Karen remained entirely grounded. While Elena marveled at the opulent chandelier hanging in the hotel suite, Karen immediately set up her portable sketching board on the mahogany writing desk, reviewing the final adjustments for her New York showcase collection.

The following morning, the backstage area of the Manhattan Fashion Center was a chaotic whirlwind of nervous models, frantic makeup artists, and clipboard-wielding producers shouting last-minute instructions. Amidst the pandemonium, Karen stood near her rolling clothing racks with absolute, serene calm. Her custom-designed gowns—a breathtaking synthesis of structured military tailoring and flowing silk evening wear—hung in pristine rows, catching the harsh backstage lights.

As she pinned a silver clasp on the bodice of a deep midnight-blue velvet gown, a sharp, patronizing voice cut through the noise behind her.

"Well, well. So this is the little boutique designer from the provinces everyone’s whispering about."

Karen turned around slowly. Standing a few feet away was Victoria Sterling, one of New York’s most prominent and ruthlessly competitive haute couture designers, known as much for her vicious tongue as for her expensive collections. Victoria looked Karen up and down with unconcealed disdain, her eyes lingering briefly on the burn scars on Karen’s left cheek.

"I must admit," Victoria continued with an insincere smirk, "when I heard someone from an obscure back-alley shop in Marrow Hill was opening the gala, I expected... well, something a bit more traditional. Are you sure you're ready for a real runway, darling? Or did you bring your sewing machine just in case the zippers break?"

The backstage area suddenly went quiet. Assistant designers and models stopped what they were doing, holding their breath to see how the provincial newcomer would respond to the industry titan’s public humiliation.

Elena stepped forward, her face flushing red with anger, ready to let loose a torrent of sharp words. But Karen gently raised her hand, stopping Elena in her tracks.

Karen didn't flinch. She didn't look down. She looked Victoria dead in the eye with an unshakeable, piercing intensity that made the veteran designer instinctively take a half-step back.

"My zippers don't break, Miss Sterling," Karen said, her voice low, steady, and utterly devoid of fear. "And my designs don't need manufactured drama to sell themselves. I suggest you save your breath for your own show tonight. You're going to need every ounce of distraction you can muster."

Victoria’s jaw tightened, her forced smile cracking into a furious scowl. She turned on her high heels and stormed off without another word.