One Night in Valeria - Chapter 32: Chapter 32
You are reading One Night in Valeria, Chapter 32: Chapter 32. Read more chapters of One Night in Valeria.
The days that followed blurred into fabric and fire.
Jessica barely slept. Her fingers were raw from stitching. Her voice hoarse from explaining her vision to the small team Liam helped assemble a mix of loyal freelancers, a trusted cutter from Paris, and two young interns who looked at her like she was already legendary.
But even in the chaos, Jessica felt… alive.
Like every thread stitched back a piece of herself.
Her sketches flowed in a rhythm Klara once described in a note: Design not from the eye, but from the bruise. And Jessica understood it now. Every dress, every coat, every collar held part of her story of betrayal, survival, and bloodlines that wouldn’t die quietly.
Liam handled logistics. Venue scouting. Quiet press whispers. Legal filings to block A.D. Atelier from copying further sketches. His presence had become part of the studio’s rhythm reliable, calm, and always two steps ahead of every storm.
Still, Jessica couldn’t shake the feeling:
They were being watched.
Celeste was the first to say it.
“There’s something off with Julien,” she said one afternoon, folding fabric on the worktable.
Julien was one of the freelance tailors Liam had recommended. Quiet, efficient. But in recent days, he’d become... too quiet. He lingered after hours. Took photos when he thought no one was looking.
“I’ll talk to Liam,” Jessica murmured.
But by the time Liam checked his file, Julien was already gone.
Vanished. No resignation. No warning. Just a message left on a scrap of muslin:
> Blood will stain louder than fabric.
— J.
That night, the studio alarm went off at 2:43 a.m.
Jessica and Liam arrived minutes apart.
Nothing was taken.
But someone had cut through one of her sketches the gown inspired by Klara’s final self-portrait. The paper was slashed in half, clean and cruel.
Jessica stared at it, jaw tight, heart thudding.
Liam stepped beside her, his voice low. “It’s not about stealing anymore. It’s intimidation.”
“Well, it’s not working,” Jessica said.
But Liam saw the flicker of fear in her eyes.
Later, alone in the backroom, Jessica sat cross-legged on the floor, the torn sketch beside her. She didn’t cry.
She redesigned it.
Not from scratch but from fire.
The new version was darker. Sharper. The bodice armored in deep navy velvet, embroidered with barbed gold thread. She didn’t name it Elegy like before.
She renamed it:
Survivor.
August read about the incident in a private email from Julien.
He sipped wine by his window, watching the rain streak down the glass.
“She reacts faster than Klara ever did,” he muttered. “But she bleeds the same.”
Then he typed a single reply:
> Good. Let her fight.
The closer she gets to the fire, the harder she’ll fall.
Jessica barely slept. Her fingers were raw from stitching. Her voice hoarse from explaining her vision to the small team Liam helped assemble a mix of loyal freelancers, a trusted cutter from Paris, and two young interns who looked at her like she was already legendary.
But even in the chaos, Jessica felt… alive.
Like every thread stitched back a piece of herself.
Her sketches flowed in a rhythm Klara once described in a note: Design not from the eye, but from the bruise. And Jessica understood it now. Every dress, every coat, every collar held part of her story of betrayal, survival, and bloodlines that wouldn’t die quietly.
Liam handled logistics. Venue scouting. Quiet press whispers. Legal filings to block A.D. Atelier from copying further sketches. His presence had become part of the studio’s rhythm reliable, calm, and always two steps ahead of every storm.
Still, Jessica couldn’t shake the feeling:
They were being watched.
Celeste was the first to say it.
“There’s something off with Julien,” she said one afternoon, folding fabric on the worktable.
Julien was one of the freelance tailors Liam had recommended. Quiet, efficient. But in recent days, he’d become... too quiet. He lingered after hours. Took photos when he thought no one was looking.
“I’ll talk to Liam,” Jessica murmured.
But by the time Liam checked his file, Julien was already gone.
Vanished. No resignation. No warning. Just a message left on a scrap of muslin:
> Blood will stain louder than fabric.
— J.
That night, the studio alarm went off at 2:43 a.m.
Jessica and Liam arrived minutes apart.
Nothing was taken.
But someone had cut through one of her sketches the gown inspired by Klara’s final self-portrait. The paper was slashed in half, clean and cruel.
Jessica stared at it, jaw tight, heart thudding.
Liam stepped beside her, his voice low. “It’s not about stealing anymore. It’s intimidation.”
“Well, it’s not working,” Jessica said.
But Liam saw the flicker of fear in her eyes.
Later, alone in the backroom, Jessica sat cross-legged on the floor, the torn sketch beside her. She didn’t cry.
She redesigned it.
Not from scratch but from fire.
The new version was darker. Sharper. The bodice armored in deep navy velvet, embroidered with barbed gold thread. She didn’t name it Elegy like before.
She renamed it:
Survivor.
August read about the incident in a private email from Julien.
He sipped wine by his window, watching the rain streak down the glass.
“She reacts faster than Klara ever did,” he muttered. “But she bleeds the same.”
Then he typed a single reply:
> Good. Let her fight.
The closer she gets to the fire, the harder she’ll fall.
End of One Night in Valeria Chapter 32. Continue reading Chapter 33 or return to One Night in Valeria book page.