Chapter 297
Noelle’s face showed no emotion; her voice remained even. “I’m just efficient.” Her subtle response drew dismissive glances from the reporters. To them, it sounded like modest bluffing. None of them had ever heard of her work, let alone seen anything she’d made.
Design wasn’t child’s play. You couldn’t just grab a pencil and scribble out a masterpiece. It took real talent, years of practice, and artistic instinct.
Not far off, Maxton happened to catch her words. A faint crease formed between his brows, and his usual cold expression twisted with thinly veiled disdain. He remembered—during those two years Noelle had stayed with the Moss family, she once brought up the idea of designing clothes for their brand. Maxton had dismissed her with icy disdain, scoffing at the idea that she understood anything about fashion design. In his eyes, she was just causing a scene, desperate for attention from the Moss family.
But now, as he observed her from afar, a different thought crept in. Had she come today to apologize to him? He recalled how she used to be—always deferential around him. When he fell ill, she didn’t sleep, staying at his bedside throughout the night. She was constantly worried about annoying him, always trying to appease him.
So, was she here today to make amends? Had she realized how well the Moss family was thriving without her and wanted to be part of it again?
𝖱е𝘢d 𝗼𝗻 𝘢𝘯y 𝖽е𝘃𝗂𝗰e 𝗼n 𝗴𝖺𝗅𝗇𝗼𝘷𝘦𝘭𝗌.𝘤𝗈𝗆
His jaw tightened, and his eyes locked onto her with a chilling, bitter edge. As far as he was concerned, as long as he had a say in the Moss family, she would never be welcome again.
Meanwhile, Noelle had just wrapped up the brief interaction with the press and was walking toward the seating area with Ansell and Farrell. Just then, a man with a refined demeanor stepped into their path. His presence was gentle but commanding, and his elegant features were hard to miss.
“Noelle. It’s been a while,” he said warmly.
At the sound of his voice, Noelle turned and saw Monroe. She recalled their last unexpected encounter. He had mentioned that he’d gone into fashion design after college. No wonder he was at this design event today. “It has,” she replied with a courteous smile.
Monroe tilted his head slightly, genuinely intrigued. “So you’re into fashion design too?”
“I know a bit,” she said simply.
“Really now? I wouldn’t have guessed we’d end up in the same field. We should catch up and exchange ideas sometime, if you’re open to that, of course,” Monroe said with a soft chuckle.
The moment those words left his mouth, Farrell’s expression darkened, and his brows drew together in disapproval. Who did this man think he was, anyway? His motives were glaringly obvious. Ansell caught a glimpse of Farrell’s face—tight with suspicion—and a glint of recognition stirred in his sharp gaze. At last, he seemed to understand the real reason behind Farrell’s earlier tension.
This event wasn’t just about showcasing pretty designs; it doubled as a fierce competition among professionals. This year was different. Unlike before, the event had drawn in a wave of international designers. To spice things up, the organizers had arranged a live sketching challenge between international guests and local talent.
.
.