I glanced toward the photograph of my mother framed beside the register and remembered her voice from years earlier saying softly, “Clothes tell stories if you learn how to listen closely.”
“Victoria, you really should consider selling this place,” Aubrey continued while inspecting her manicured nails with careless boredom, and she added, “It might help you pay rent for a few months.”
I looked at her calmly before answering with quiet confidence, “I am not worried about rent, Aubrey, and I promise you this boutique will remain exactly where it belongs.”
None of them understood that beneath this modest storefront existed the original design studio where every collection of my global fashion empire quietly began before traveling to runway shows across continents.
Our mother had died believing that one day her children might finally learn humility, although she never lived long enough to see how spectacularly that lesson would arrive.
The funeral had ended less than an hour earlier and the air inside the boutique still carried the faint scent of lilies and rain from the cemetery outside San Aurelio.
Aubrey glanced again at my dress with open disdain and said, “You know the worst part about that outfit is how plain it looks, because Mom always loved dramatic designs and this dress feels almost invisible.”
I allowed myself a small smile before answering calmly, “Sometimes the most powerful designs appear simple until someone understands what they are truly looking at.”
Tyler rolled his eyes impatiently and said, “Listen Victoria, the world runs on numbers and investments, not fabric and fantasies, so perhaps you should start thinking about real work instead of hiding here.”
I considered reminding him that the financial regulators investigating his firm had already frozen several of his accounts, although the news would not become public until the following morning.
Gregory sighed deeply before speaking in a tired voice that carried more regret than authority and said, “Children, today should not become another battlefield because your mother would have hated that.”
I nodded quietly because he was right about one thing and our mother always believed family mattered more than pride, although pride had shaped almost every cruel conversation we ever shared.