Chapter 28 Exclusive Release Chapter 28 Wynne is really...
The heavy soundproof door did not completely block out the piercing gazes and whispers inside the hall; those sounds became a blurry noise.
Yuan Ning leaned against the cold marble wall, her fists clenched tightly, her nails digging deep into her palms, trying to suppress her trembling with pain.
But it was to no avail.
She didn't even know whether it was anger or sadness that caused her to lose control of her body.
Large tears rolled down her cheeks, quickly blurring her vision. She hated this. She bit her lower lip hard until she tasted a metallic sweetness, which stifled her sobs, leaving only suppressed, intermittent gasps.
Her prized Dior gown now lay heavily at her feet, like a tangled midnight nightmare.
Those words echoed wildly in her mind.
It seemed that no matter how far she ran or how high she climbed, they were always there, ready to drag her back into the mire.
My phone vibrated twice; a message popped up.
Yuan Ning listlessly opened her phone to check the message, which was from Marjorie Winters.
She felt a jolt, a sense of foreboding washing over her.
【Wynne, I don't care about your personal life or the truth. But *V* magazine can't afford to get involved in this unnecessary trouble and controversy. You don't need to come to the magazine office next week. Your payment for articles and any outstanding fees will be paid as usual. Good luck.】
That's all for now. Not a single wasted word, not a single superfluous phrase. Marjorie Winters' style remains as crisp, ruthless, and efficient as ever.
The impact of the event came much faster than she had imagined.
So, will Elias be next?
He was the epitome of orthodoxy, inheriting an ancient surname, with aristocratic upbringing ingrained in his very being, especially his almost obsessive adherence to order and boundaries, the class barriers built upon bloodline and a clean background…
He instinctively rejects anything out of step with the times, and his worldview is based on clear class divisions...
What will he think of her?
Did he also believe that her very existence was a mistake, and that her becoming his dress consultant was a desecration of Van der Berg's noble status?
Yuan Ning could almost picture his words; he wouldn't judge her, he would simply fire her cleanly and decisively.
The phone didn't stay silent for long before it started vibrating continuously.
She picked up her phone; it was Elias calling.
Tonight's commotion was indeed quite significant. If she remembered correctly, according to Elias's schedule, he should be attending a family meeting right now.
This also made him call back quickly, showing that the words "illegitimate daughter" have considerable power.
Yuan Ning sneered and slammed the phone down.
He ignored her three phone calls that day. Why should she answer when he calls?
After the call ended, it kept ringing, and she hung up on it one after another without hesitation.
I don't know what I'm struggling with, and is it even useful? What's meant to happen will happen eventually.
Yuan Ning no longer maintained a respectable appearance. She let herself slide down to the cold ground, burying her face between her bent knees and arms, letting her tears soak the expensive taffeta fabric.
Outside the building, the night was thick.
A silver-gray Aston Martin V12 Vanquish sat quietly in the shadows on the street corner.
Justine told him that she was hiding alone in a small room inside.
But he didn't intend to go inside to search; after the tenth call was disconnected, he sent a text message.
Her phone vibrated again, and Yuan Ning was about to get angry. Why was Elias so persistent? She was already miserable enough; she had no energy left to deal with him!
She picked up her phone, about to hang up, when the screen suddenly lit up, casting a small, eerie blue halo on the cold ground.
The message from Elias van der Berg was clearly displayed on the screen:
I'm right outside, come out.
She paused, as if another century had passed, when another message arrived:
I'll help you stand back up.
Elias didn't send any more text messages or make any more calls. He certainly wouldn't go inside. He just sat in the car and waited for her. If she came out, no matter what she looked like—distraught or soaked to the bone—he wouldn't let her be a loser.
She will come out.
Elias waited silently for a quarter of an hour. He raised his arm and took one last look at the clock. He had come out of the family meeting and didn't have much time to waste with her.
Wynne, you only get one chance.
He certainly didn't think Wynne was the kind of person who would wait for him to offer care and comfort, nor could he provide that.
The real world is cruel; whether to admit defeat or turn the tables, she has to stand up and decide for herself.
In the last minute he allowed himself to wait, Wynne pushed open the fire door on the side of the building and stepped outside.
The cold winter wind lashed at her like a knife, and she, dressed in thin clothes, almost lost her footing.
Elias flashed his headlights, and the silver-grey Aston Martin was parked in the shadows closest to the exit.
She raised her head and looked in his direction, her back gradually straightening.
The car window was one-way glass; she couldn't see inside, but he could see her.
The car headlights shone on her midnight blue taffeta dress, and he saw her staggering towards him in her high heels.
She swayed.
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel for a moment, but he didn't move. He saw her straighten up again; she stopped swaying. She walked more steadily and faster. Her deep blue skirt billowed in the cold wind, like a stubbornly burning flame in the night.
Elias watched silently.
He recalled many scenes.
He recalled that at the Balthazar restaurant, she had her back to him, her slender neck straight, as she ate chicory salad in small bites.
I remember when we left the pizza shop, she said, so softly it sounded like a sigh, "It's snowing."
And now, she is stepping out of the shadow of that banquet hall filled with humiliation and whispers, walking towards him, towards the path he has provided... perhaps leading to a deeper abyss, or perhaps to a truly higher place.
Is she vulnerable? Yes, she looked utterly disheveled at that moment.
There was still fire in her eyes. That fire was soaked through with tears, battered by the cold wind, and perhaps even doubted by herself, but it still burned. Not very brightly, but exceptionally stubborn, and astonishingly bright in the light of the car headlights.
A few seconds later, the car door lock made a soft "click".
She bent down and went inside.
A warm aura instantly enveloped her, mingling with the scents of fine leather, cigar smoky notes, and his signature cool Penhaligon's Blenheim Bouquet. This was a space that belonged entirely to him.
Elias didn't look at her, but instead raised his arm and glanced at the time again: "You've been dawdling for too long, Miss Wynne."
Yuan Ning silently pulled down the makeup mirror above the passenger seat and looked at her face from left to right.
“I need to touch up my makeup, Mr. Elias. Thank you for waiting for me.” Her voice was a little hoarse.
Elias finally turned his head, his gaze shifting from her freshly applied lipstick to her cleaned-up eye makeup and those stubborn black eyes, and a slow smile appeared on his lips.
"You're welcome, miss. It's a gentleman's duty to wait for a lady."
Yuan Ning smiled back at him.
He turned his gaze back to the front and steered the sports car away from there.
Yuan Ning wouldn't ask him what he was going to do; she had already gotten into his car, and she completely trusted him.
“Your Dior outfit today is beautiful, Wynne, but it’s more like a loud shout.”
“The true embodiment of power is a silent, original version from 1947; she doesn’t need to speak, and everyone will bow down to her.”
Twenty minutes later, he led her into the private collection room of a famous designer, allowing her to see the legendary dress in person.
At the end of the corridor was a double walnut door. The waiter pushed it open, and a completely different world unfolded before him.
Yuan Ning felt almost suffocated, and tears welled up in her eyes.
On the central mannequin, encased within a cylindrical glass dome, is...
She began to reflect on the significance of her journey to this point.
The ivory-white silk was of a warm, lustrous color, without any beadwork, sequins, or elaborate lace. There was only a very fine black trim around the neckline and a thin black belt at the waist, no wider than two fingers.
Yet this seemingly "simple" garment exudes a silent, powerful presence.
It stood there quietly, as if it were a complete universe in itself.
Elias stood by the glass dome, not urging Yuan Ning on. He had his hands in his trouser pockets, turned slightly to the side, and his icy blue eyes fell on his tuxedo before slowly moving towards her.
“On February 12, 1947, at 30 Avenue Montaigne in Paris,” his voice rang out in the quiet space, with a calm, historical tone, “Christian Dior’s first haute couture collection, ‘New Look,’ was launched here. This show changed women’s clothing after World War II and redefined luxury.”
His gaze returned to the dress.
“This one,” he paused, “is one of the original sample garments worn by the opening model in that legendary show. It’s not any later copy or modification. Every stitch on it came from Mr. Dior’s original workshop.”
He looked at Yuan Ning, slightly raising his chin to indicate the ivory-white dress, "It doesn't need to shout. Wherever she appears, she is the center. She is silent, and everyone must listen."
Yuan Ning remained silent for a long time.
She took two steps forward and gently placed her fingertips on the glass dome.
An unprecedented shock, and... an even stronger desire, swept over her.
Powerful attire is not about piling up prices or pandering to trends; it is groundbreaking creation, a confidence that defines the era, and a quiet strength that stands firm despite the passage of time.
"Thank you for showing me this, Elias. I understand what I want now."
Elias strolled to the side and took a glass of champagne from the waiter.
“Wynne”.
He called her gently.
Yuan Ning turned around and looked at his face.
“I’m not just bringing you to see it, Wynne, to wear it back to that place.”
Elias checked the time again. "You don't have much time left to turn this around."
Yuan Ning's breath caught in her throat; she even wondered if he was joking.
“Wynne, I have it all: money, status, connections, and privileges.”
She stepped back slightly, then suddenly realized what was happening.
Half an hour later, Yuan Ning returned to the building where the Chamber of Commerce dinner was being held, still wearing it.
Elias stopped the car, turned to look at her, and said, "Go ahead, and remember to let the reporters take pictures of you at your most beautiful."
She wore long white silk gloves on both arms and asked in a low voice, "What if... I still mess it up?"
"What if I wear it and still look like a bewildered clown? What if I simply can't handle the weight it carries?"
“Risk and reward are always directly proportional, Wynne. That’s an ironclad rule of the capital markets.”
Yuan Ning's heart began to pound violently. If she lost again, she would never be able to stand up again. This was Elias's intention.
"Okay, Elias, will you come with me?"
She had already placed one hand on the car door.
Elias slowly shook his head: "Wynne, I've already given you a bargaining chip. If I were to play along with you again, it would be too much of a cheat."
Wynne should have her own life challenges.
"Then look at me, okay? Just like last time at the golf club."
"good."
She pushed open the car door, her high heels stepping onto the smooth marble steps, each step steady and clear.
Her dress may not change others' opinions of her, but it can become her armor.
Her clothing reflects her style and personal will. Yuan Ning has personally proven that "style speaks volumes," and she will regain her voice.
The security guard at the entrance recognized her, a look of surprise flashing across his face.
Clearly, no one expected her to make a comeback.
The door was opened, and a warm breeze and noisy voices rushed in.
The banquet would not be interrupted by a small incident. Yuan Ning stood at the door and paused for about two seconds.
Someone noticed her, and soon countless eyes were cast her way.
Curious, surprised, scrutinizing, and disdainful, like countless fine needles, pierced her bare skin.
Meng Qingyuan was surrounded by several girls her age, and her eyes were still red.
Clearly, such emotions were too impactful for a girl her age, and they couldn't be calmed down quickly.
The more she thought about it, the more she hated it, and the more indignant she became. With the encouragement and persuasion of those around her, tears of grievance began to fall one after another.
But Yuan Ning came back.
The silk fabric rustled softly against her body, her skirt tracing an elegant arc. Her gaze was fixed straight ahead, over the throng of people, her face expressionless, as if she cared nothing at all.
Meng Qingyuan considered herself a victim, but the perpetrator returned with his head held high, which instantly made her stop crying and leave her only with anger.
"Meng Yuanning! How dare you come back?"
Meng Qingyuan also attempted to incite public condemnation against her.
Yuan Ning felt helpless. When would her younger sister understand that the best way to put herself in the spotlight is through her own abilities, not by causing scandals?
"Meng Qingyuan." She looked directly at her for the first time, and Meng Qingyuan was momentarily speechless at her direct gaze.
"Bringing private family feuds into a public setting focused on business, professionalism, and future development, broadcasting them aloud, attempting to replace factual analysis with moral judgment, and negating personal effort based on family background—do you think this is appropriate? Does this truly align with the 'propriety' and 'decency' that we, the seniors gathered here tonight, are pursuing?"
Yuan Ning neither refuted the label of being an illegitimate child nor defended her mother.
She speaks through her personal charm and self-worth. Everyone present is a capitalist; no one is stupid and will only stand up for someone for the sake of morality.
“I couldn’t choose my birth. But I can decide my own path in life. I am Meng Yuanning, also known as Wynne Meng. Tonight, I stand here on my own behalf to exchange ideas and learn from you all, and to explore potential collaborations. If you value my abilities, I’m happy to meet you all.” She raised her champagne glass and gracefully looked around.
Several investors were the first to recover from their brief shock. The twenty-year-old girl had a calm face and an upright posture, which was more pleasing to the eye than her desperate shouts.
After all, every family has its share of scandals; it's all just public drama and behind-the-scenes deals.
The biggest harm this incident caused Yuan Ning was nothing more than rumors and gossip.
On the contrary, bringing up this matter in this kind of setting is really lacking in manners.
Meng Qingyuan's face was still wet with tears. She was stunned for a moment and was about to make a scene again, but fortunately, the older women around her were still rational and quickly pulled her back: "Let's talk about it downstairs."
Upon learning that Yuan Ning is currently a visiting researcher at the Guggenheim Museum, several art investors took the initiative to get to know her.
After all, there are many benefits to be gained if a particular exhibit can be placed on display through her.
Yuan Ning simply stated her current research direction and what kind of East-West dialogue she wanted to create at the exhibition. Her words revolved around the intersection of textile aesthetics research and cultural commerce. After just a few words with her, one could tell that her attitude was professional and serious.
There's no need to bring up those scandals again; she deserves to be viewed from an equal and business-oriented perspective.
Ultimately, the dinner returned to its original purpose: to facilitate resource exchange and achieve mutual benefit among Chinese investors and entrepreneurs.
Elias van der Berg turned away and walked into a Chinese-style conference room on the second floor.
“Mr. Van der Berg, I really didn’t expect you to show up in my little Chinese Chamber of Commerce.”
The air is filled with the fragrance of fine agarwood, and the interior furnishings are exquisitely crafted.
Ming-style huanghuali wood table and chairs, a fragment of a Song Dynasty landscape painting on the wall with a serene and distant artistic conception, and wisps of smoke rising from a Xuande incense burner on the desk.
The banquet's organizer, Shen Yuxiu, founder and managing partner of the transatlantic private equity firm Qingyun Capital and honorary chairman of the New York Chinese Chamber of Commerce, personally brewed the tea. With fluid movements, he warmed the cup, poured from a high position, and then poured it from a low position, pushing a cup of amber-colored tea in front of Elias.
He was thin, wore gold-rimmed glasses and a Chinese-style stand-up collar suit, and his demeanor was a blend of scholarly elegance and banker's shrewdness.
"Sir, you are too modest. The people downstairs combined are enough to influence a significant portion of the capital market."
Elias had never dealt with any Chinese people, except for Wynne.
But since he had already arrived here today, he naturally could not escape the eyes of Shen Yuxiu, the chairman of the Chamber of Commerce, and was thus invited here.
"This is Wuyi Mountain Da Hong Pao, last year's autumn tea. Mr. Van der Berg probably hasn't tasted it."
Elias picked up the thin-walled white porcelain cup but did not rush to drink. He raised his icy blue eyes and looked directly at Shen Yuxiu: "Mr. Shen, your Chinese Chamber of Commerce looks powerful, but in reality, it's just like a pile of loose sand. Look at the ridiculous joke you've made today."
Shen Yuxiu's face stiffened. Every invitation to tonight's banquet had been rigorously reviewed before being sent out, and the banquet's scale and class status were beyond question.
This deviation was something he hadn't anticipated.
A sharp glint flashed in Shen Yuxiu's eyes behind his glasses, before they became as calm as an ancient pool.
His hand holding the teapot paused in mid-air for a moment, then resumed its smooth, flowing motion: "I wonder what Mr. Van der Berg is referring to?"
Elias did not mention the "Meng sisters' dispute" he was referring to. If he had said it directly, it would have shown too obvious bias and would not have been in line with his position.
But Shen Yuxiu was a shrewd person. Elias only made one point, and without either side needing to spell it out, he already knew which of the sisters the other supported.
“Haha.” Shen Yuxiu leaned back. “I understand, Mr. Van der Berg. If we have the opportunity to cooperate in the future, I hope you will not refuse.”
After the dinner, Elias sat in his car waiting for Wynne to come out.
But Wynne has her own car, so she can drive herself home.
Yuan Ning didn't glance at Elias when she came out of the banquet. Elias, with his hands on the steering wheel, frowned deeply.
The night breeze blew the hem of her dress and her black hair that was draped over her shoulders.
A man she had just met that evening kindly draped a coat over her shoulders, saying, "Miss Meng, it's windy tonight, you should wear this."
Yuan Ning thanked him, wrapped her coat tighter, and walked towards her Ferrari. She had drunk a lot of champagne that night, and of course, she had won the favor of many people.
The champagne made her steps unsteady, and she happily opened the car door and got into the driver's seat.
Elias was right behind her. He honked his horn, but the woman ignored him.
Just as the red Ferrari let out a deep roar and pulled out of the parking space, Elias rolled down his window and shouted, "Wynne, stop the car!"
The car in front had obviously put on rock music, which was wafting out from the convertible roof.
The Ferrari, like a red fish, glided into the river of light in New York City at night.
Elias's eyes darkened, and he stepped on the gas and chased after them.
Champagne, rock music, and convertible sports cars—these are the perfect conditions to cause an accident.
Elias accelerated again, and the Aston Martin had a clear advantage on the straight. She hadn't gone far when he forced her to stop.
Yuan Ning felt angry. She looked up and saw that Elias had already opened the car door, gotten out of the car, and was walking towards her.
The look in his eyes when he looked at her was extremely fierce.
Elias, why did you leave me?
Wynne was staring at him, her voice thick with alcohol.
Elias walked over to her, bent down, reached over her, and deftly pulled out the car keys, abruptly stopping the rock music.
Then, he leaned on the car door frame with one hand, his eyes scrutinizing her flushed cheeks and slightly unfocused gaze in the dim light.
"Wynne, are you feeling better?"
Yuan Ning raised her chin: "I feel much better!"
"So, ma'am, drunk driving can result in license suspension and a $1,000 fine. Are you ready?"
He leaned down again, put his arm around her waist, and helped her unbuckle her seatbelt. Then he straightened up and looked down at her: "I'll take you home."
Yuan Ning was taken aback at first, then stared at him blankly.
Yuan Ning tilted her head back, her dark eyes, misty with alcohol, staring intently at him, reflecting the dim light of the dock and his excessively handsome face so close to hers.
His eyelashes were long, and his icy blue eyes took on a deep, almost inky blue hue in the shadows. He had a high nose bridge and lips with soft lines.
“Yes, sir…” she murmured, repeating the sentence softly and sweetly, with a drunken haze and an almost naive obedience.
But her eyes shone with an astonishing brightness, like two small flames burning in the night.
Elias was pleased with her docile response, and the next moment, her arm was around his neck.
Then, she pulled down forcefully, tilting her head back and pressing her soft, slightly cool lips precisely onto hers.
Wynne was so sweet; her fingers and lips were so soft. She pressed her lips to his and made a sweet "Mmm" sound.
It was as if, when she kissed him, she was incomparably happy.
Elias froze, sensing her sweetness more than her provocation.
She seems to really like him.
"Yes, if that's the case," he gently lifted her head, "good girl."
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