Chapter 17 Exclusive Release Chapter 17 Elias's Butt...
In a European-style private villa on the western outskirts of Hushi City, China, the Meng couple were discussing their youngest daughter's upcoming studies abroad next week.
Meng Qianyue loosened his tie somewhat irritably, avoiding the disapproving look from his wife, Wang Xiulin.
"Look at her attitude! Our Meng family has raised her up with good food and drink, and I've always said that children born outside the family shouldn't be kept. That woman would rather give up her status than stay with you, which shows what kind of person she is! Meng Yuanning is a born ingrate!"
Meng Qianyue comforted his wife: "Calm down. It's understandable that she's unwilling to cooperate. Since that's the case, Qingyuan can go to school by herself. What's the big deal? Back then, Nini went to New York City alone."
Wang Xiulin's well-maintained face was slightly distorted with anger: "Back then, it was Qingmeng and Qingxing who started getting involved in company affairs. They didn't want to see such a threat remaining in the country, so they forced you to send her out."
Meng Qianyue spread his hands: "Isn't this perfect? She's been in New York for so many years and is used to the lifestyle there. She studied useless fashion management and it seems she won't be coming back. She won't pose any threat to Qingxing and the others. What else could you possibly be dissatisfied with?"
Wang Xiulin sneered: "Hmph, fine, then don't send her the $500 monthly allowance anymore."
Meng Qianyue protested in a low voice: "Wife, that's my own daughter after all. I can't just watch her starve to death."
If it weren't for the Yue family's sudden rise in power this year, surpassing the Meng family, Meng Qianyue would have continued to feed and pamper Yuan Ning. Qiao Yiya is much prettier than Wang Xiulin, and her daughter is also beautiful, much prettier than the three in his family. Such a daughter, who is also good at being charming, is naturally someone he likes.
"Listen to what she said on the phone about how capable she is, how could she be short of such a small amount of money?"
Meng Qianyue spoke up for his daughter: "You believe what a child says in anger? What twenty-year-old girl doesn't talk like that? Who wants to admit they're not doing well?"
“Alright, Dad,” Meng Qingyuan, who had been sitting quietly to the side, suddenly spoke up. “Since my sister is so assertive, why should we play the villain? Cutting off her allowance will do exactly what she wants, and it will also make our Meng family seem decisive.”
Wang Xiulin looked at her youngest daughter with some surprise, her brows furrowing slightly: "Yuanyuan, you..."
Meng Qingyuan smiled slightly: "Dad, Mom, I just think it's too undignified to use money to maintain or blackmail feelings. If she is still willing to acknowledge us, she will call back and apologize. After all, Dad was so good to her before, I believe my sister won't just cut ties like that."
Wang Xiulin was taken aback at first, then a hint of appreciation flashed in her eyes. She patted her daughter's hand: "Our Yuanyuan is the most understanding of her parents' hearts."
She turned to her husband, "Then it's settled. I also want her to know that without the Meng family, she's nothing!"
Meng Qianyue leaned back on the sofa, waving his hand wearily, his voice tinged with exhaustion: "Whatever."
Qingyuan is right. If Yuanning is really starving to death, she will call him.
In this family, a consensus has been reached. This means that starting next month, Yuan Ning will no longer receive living expenses from the Meng family, and she has only received one payment from them so far.
Yuan Ning hung up the phone and walked on the streets of New York. She wore a beautifully tailored cashmere coat and high heels, revealing her bare ankles.
The high heels clicked on the stone pavement, making a crisp yet lonely sound.
She eventually stopped in front of a boutique window.
The shop window was well-lit, illuminating her figure at that moment.
An Eastern girl wearing an expensive coat and exquisite makeup, but with empty and cold eyes.
Looking at her blurry reflection in the shop window, she felt a sharp pang of pain, which was quickly followed by an even stronger, burning sense of humiliation.
A surge of anger, resentment, and a desperate, all-or-nothing resolve welled up from the deepest part of his heart.
She slightly raised her chin, and the gaze in the shop window sharpened accordingly.
If Meng Qingyuan really comes to Parsons next week, she's certain that the woman's daughter won't let the opportunity to attack her reputation go unpunished.
Being called an "illegitimate child" is an extremely unpleasant reputation; it's an original sin.
She should never have been born in the first place.
What can we do? She's grown up so much already.
The pursuit of dignity is a human right.
Therefore, she needs a higher-level title to overshadow the reputation of being an "illegitimate child".
This title requires a combination of industry authority, social value, and personal fame.
Only in this way can she avoid being abandoned by the industry and continue to stand here.
She could no longer live in Williamsburg.
At night, Yuan Ning stayed alone in her cubicle in Williamsburg. Although she planned to move out soon, she inexplicably developed a fondness for the place. She felt very peaceful here, even on the subway.
She opened her laptop and began browsing the newly established Blogger website and fashion forums.
While browsing the blogs of these writers, scholars, and fashion enthusiasts, she gradually developed an idea: she would be among the first to cultivate a personal image online.
Currently, the term "internet celebrity" has not yet appeared in the public eye.
That evening, Yuan Ning started a blog called "Wynne'Window" on the Blogger platform.
The sound of her fingertips tapping on the keyboard was so clear, and Yuan Ning's thoughts gradually expanded. In this era where print media still prevails, she was pursuing having her name published in major authoritative magazines, while also showcasing her energy online.
"Wynne'Window" will be a channel that combines brand analysis, insider scoops, and sharp commentary. With all her current resources, she can create a lot of great content.
Meanwhile, the article she wrote for V magazine, "How Classic Items Regain Their Glory in the Unrestricted Year of 2000," has been completed and submitted. If Marjorie Winters finds it acceptable, she will publish her article on a page in the next issue of V magazine. This will be the first time Wynne Meng's name has appeared in New York City's most authoritative fashion magazine.
On Sunday afternoon, Yuan Ning spoke on the phone with her mother, Qiao Yiya, who was at the mahjong table. It seemed that her mother was doing well after returning to her maternal grandparents' home.
At least, Qiao Yiya doesn't have to worry about housing and food. She just doesn't know if her mother is adjusting well after losing those designer bags and jewelry.
After the call was connected, a crisp sound of shuffling cards came through the receiver, mixed with a few words of conversation in the southern dialect. The background noise was noisy and full of everyday life.
"Hey, Nini?" Qiao Yiya's voice trailed off, carrying a hint of the joy of just winning a hand—a languidness familiar to Yuan Ning, the kind that comes from years of pampering. "Why are you calling at this hour? Mom's busy. Boom!"
"Nothing's wrong, Mom, I just miss you."
Yuan Ning did not tell her mother that she had spoken to her father on the phone, and that the man should no longer appear in their lives.
“If you want to come back, then come back. Mom will buy you a plane ticket.” Qiao Yiya’s voice was full of laughter, then she lowered her voice, “Nini, life over there must be tough.”
Yuan Ning's heart sank: "No, Mom, I'm doing even better than before."
Hearing her mother's voice so happy, as if she had completely recovered from her disappointment, Yuan Ning felt a sense of relief.
"That's good. Mom knows you're smart. You chose this path yourself, Nini. Since you're going to stay there, you must do your best to stay and climb up the ladder, to show those Meng family people... Ugh, what Meng family? You'll have nothing to do with them anymore. By the way, Mom has some money left. I'll transfer some to you. Sigh, this little bit of money probably won't even be enough to buy a bag over there. Life really can't go on like before... Huh! Quick, let's count the money."
Hearing this voice, it seemed that her mother had completely come out. Yuan Ning breathed a sigh of relief, but at the same time felt puzzled.
How could a woman like my mother suddenly stop being love-obsessed?
"Mom, you should keep the money for yourself. I found an internship with a high salary, enough for me to live comfortably."
"Internship? What internship? Won't it be too hard? Nini, you've never suffered before..."
Yuan Ning thought to herself that once her financial situation improved next month, she would gradually buy Chanel clothes for her mother and fill her wardrobe again.
Then, the sound of a mahjong table came through the receiver: "Yiya, your little boyfriend is here to pick you up again in his Mercedes-Benz W14. Oh my, you're so lucky. Go on, go on, I won't bother you two anymore."
Yuan Ning gasped, "Mom! My mom!"
What little boyfriend?
On the phone, Qiao Yiya lowered her voice and scolded, "My dear daughter, why are you so loud? You're going to deafen your mother."
"Mom, do you still believe in men? Does this man have a wife?"
Yuan Ning felt a rush of blood to her head. Her mother really only knew how to take shortcuts, huh?
"Nini, don't worry. Jian Zhou is only twenty-five years old this year. How could he possibly have a wife? Besides, we're in a normal relationship, which is in accordance with social morality. Don't overreact. He's very good to Mom... and he'll be very good to you too, okay? Alright, alright, Mom will hang up now. I'll transfer you ten thousand yuan tomorrow."
Yuan Ning wanted to ask a few more questions, but then she heard the hum of a luxury car coming from the other end. It seemed that Qiao Yiya had already gotten into the car and was about to go on her date, so she hung up the phone.
Yuan Ning didn't know whether to laugh or cry. To put it bluntly, her mother was a dog that couldn't stop eating shit.
With a "beep" sound, Yuan Ning opened her phone and saw that the three thousand US dollars that Van der Berg had transferred to her account and the five hundred US dollars that V magazine had transferred had arrived.
She contacted a real estate agent to rent a new upscale apartment and scheduled a viewing for today.
The matter needed to be finalized as soon as possible. At three o'clock in the afternoon, Yuan Ning arrived on time in front of a well-preserved pre-war building in the Upper East Side. A uniformed doorman opened the heavy brass door for her. The lobby had gleaming marble floors and antique lamps, and the air was filled with a mixture of high-end fragrances and natural floral scents.
The real estate agent was a young woman who spoke very quickly. She enthusiastically introduced the building: "This building is very quiet. As you can see, the residents are of high caliber. It's only two blocks from Central Park, and the homeowner is a professor in the Stanford Art Department."
The apartment was on the twelfth floor. Opening the door, sunlight streamed into the room through the huge windows.
Hardwood floors, high ceilings, and a spacious balcony with views of the city skyline.
Unlike the high-rise apartments in Manhattan that are full of technology, this place has a sense of historical weight, like the Van der Berg mansion.
"This is fine." Yuan Ning didn't hesitate for long, interrupting the agent's endless introduction. She liked this place.
After signing the contract and paying the deposit and four weeks' rent, Yuan Ning's $3,500 was quickly gone. When the key landed in her palm, the feel of the brass gave her a moment of disorientation.
In any case, things are getting better.
That evening, Yuan Ning, with her meager belongings, officially checked into the apartment. She stood in the center of the empty living room, looking around. There was a lot to buy: furniture, tableware, decorations… her wardrobe also needed to be filled with the latest luxury items, but she wasn't in a hurry.
She stepped onto the balcony and looked down at the bustling traffic and pedestrians below. From this angle, New York City was no longer the monstrous beast that would devour her, but a canvas from which she could freely express herself.
On Monday, Yuan Ning was organizing clothes hangers at the V magazine office when she received a call from Richard, Elias's assistant.
“Miss Wynne, the suit the boss ordered four months ago has arrived from London and is now undergoing final adjustments at Dunhill Salon. The boss would like you to come this afternoon for the final touches and to pick it up at the Van der Berg residence. I will send the address to your mobile phone.”
The instructions were given swiftly, and the call was ended just as quickly; Yuan Ning had no choice but to obey her boss's orders.
After renting a new apartment, Yuan Ning had very little cash left, and she still needed to carefully plan her expenses for the week.
After finishing her hectic work at the magazine, Yuan Ning took a bus to Dunhill Salon, which cost her less than a dollar in transportation fees.
At six o'clock in the afternoon, Yuan Ning pushed open the heavy, unmarked mahogany door of the suit workshop.
Upon entering, the tranquility of the room instantly swallowed up the noise of the street. This was another world, a world that Yuan Ning had never set foot in before.
When Yuan Ning saw the face of the old tailor in front of her, dressed in a three-piece suit and with his hair perfectly styled, her eyes widened. Perhaps it would be more appropriate to call him "Master Tailor Lucien Moreau".
In New York's fashion circles, his name is legendary.
For Yuan Ning, who has not yet graduated or has just stepped into the fringes of the fashion industry, meeting such a person is enough to become a topic of conversation for her in any situation.
“Ms. Meng, Mr. van der Berg has given the instructions. Please come with me.”
Lucien Morrow led Yuan Ning through the outer room, which displayed antique sewing machines and fabric samples, into a more private inner suite.
The lighting here is precisely controlled, like in an art gallery. A charcoal gray three-piece suit, as if it had a life of its own, hangs on a separate hanger covered with black velvet.
Simply by sitting there, it already dominates the space.
Just like its owner.
Wearing white gloves, Lucien Moreau began explaining the details of the suit to her, Elias van der Berg's stylist, his tone tinged with pride:
“The fabric is a rare vicuña wool blend produced by Scabal’s workshop. You see,” he gestured for Yuan Ning to feel it with the back of his finger, “it has an extremely subtle velvety sheen under the light.”
"The shoulder treatment is typical of the Roman style, soft and natural."
"Please note the cinched waistline and the treatment of the back curve. During the hand-sewing process, we need a deep understanding of the wearer's physique, which we call creating a 'sculptural feel' in the clothing. However, the body measurements we have for Mr. Elias are from four months ago. During the production of this garment in London, Mr. Elias did not have time to come and try it on repeatedly. Therefore, we need you today to bring more accurate body measurements so that I can make final adjustments."
“At the seams of the lining, we embroidered the Van der Berg family crest.”
Yuan listened quietly, her professional knowledge and keen senses being put to the fullest use at this moment.
The weight of craftsmanship is fully embodied in this suit. Yuan Ning took a deep breath and felt the heritage and accumulation hidden beneath the glamorous facade of the fashion industry.
"Four months is enough for a person's muscle definition to change subtly. I need you to provide these data, especially the curves of the chest, lower back, and hips."
As Elias's clothing consultant, Yuan Ning received this body information on her first day, but before that, she had rarely taken the time to carefully consider those numbers.
But at this moment, looking at the suit in front of her, his image instantly flashed into her mind.
From the silhouette of her back in Balthazar restaurant to the shoulder line of Daniel sitting sideways in the restaurant, to the chest outline faintly outlined under the cashmere sweater in front of the fireplace in the study, and... the muscular strength of his upper arm instantly tensing when he grabbed her neck.
He wasn't physically present, but his presence, through the unfinished suit, powerfully enveloped her, forcing her to rationally recall his body in her mind.
“I understand.” Yuan Ning stepped forward, took out her laptop from her handbag, and pulled up Elias’s latest body data.
But that's still not the most accurate; the most accurate is her senses and her sensitivity to the cut of clothing.
She needed to recall and depict his body in a way that was almost tactile, while at the same time, she needed to rationally transform those tactile sensations into data.
“The shoulder width needs to be increased by one millimeter. Mr. Elias’s trapezius and deltoid muscles are more full than the previous measurements.”
Lucien Morrow twitched his eyebrow, picked up an extremely fine silver chalk, and made a mark on the inside of his shoulder line.
Her gaze shifted downwards, landing on the curve of the suit jacket's front. The tailor who made it seemed very confident in Elias's pectoral muscles, as there was a lot of slack in the fabric. Yuan Ning could imagine how full and wide the suit would look on Elias.
Looking at the data alone, Yuan Ning felt that she couldn't adjust the suit to suit him best. But besides the data, she also had her senses, and she began to boldly visualize her employer's body in her mind.
“The curve from the lower back to the hip line…” She paused, the elegant and powerful lines outlined by his Neapolitan trousers as he turned to leave flashing through her mind. “The curve here might need to be more… rounded and firm. Yes, the highest point of the hip line might need to be raised by a millimeter to maintain elegance when walking. After all, it doesn’t look very good if that area is taut.”
After all, Elias's buttocks weren't small, or so Yuan Ning recalled.
After she finished speaking, Lucien Morrow did not respond immediately. He simply examined the suit again with his discerning eyes before his gaze returned to Yuan Ning.
“A very accurate observation, Ms. Meng. It seems that Mr. Van der Berg’s choice of you is not without reason.”
Lucien Moreau's praise was highly authoritative, and Yuan Ning felt a satisfaction that transcended the material realm; it was the highest praise for her professional abilities.
Lucien began making final adjustments to her dictation, while Yuan Ning was working with this master craftsman to polish a "work of art." This sense of participation gave Yuan Ning immense satisfaction.
When the adjustments were complete, Yuan Ning walked out of the workshop carrying the handbag containing the haute couture suit. The city lights were already on in New York.
She glanced at the time; it was almost nine o'clock. She needed to get to the Van der Berg mansion as soon as possible.
But she still had extra money for a taxi. Clutching the handbag, which no one knew contained an expensive suit, she boarded the bus heading to Willow Street.
As the bus traveled through New York City at night, Yuan Ning held the handbag on her lap, her fingers stroking the smooth leather surface of the bag. The bus swayed slightly, but her thoughts drifted back to that quiet workshop.
Her conversation with Lucien Morrow still resonates in her mind, bringing her a professional warmth.
For some reason, after her life took a sharp turn for the worse, she gradually saw a wider world. She stopped worrying about not being able to shop lavishly in the boutiques on Fifth Avenue, and she began to realize where the real luxury goods were hidden.
A seemingly simple suit required her to use all her senses to understand it. It was a silent rule, one that required an extremely high threshold to access, something that transcended money and was closer to power and art itself.
When she chose "fashion management" as her major, Meng Qianyue supported her, but he also complained about it.
"The rich have money but nowhere to spend it, which is why luxury goods exist. For the rich to circulate their money, brands need to create expensive products specifically for them to buy. Fashion is the same; isn't the fashion industry just a place to coax the rich into spending money? In reality, it's a fake, glamorous place with no substance. But your dad is rich, so if my good daughter wants to have fun, she can go in and have some fun."
Indeed, in Yuan Ning's past understanding, the fashion industry was a game of money, and she was deeply addicted to it because she was just a vain, materialistic little girl who enjoyed bling bling.
The bus stopped at a stop near Willow Street. There were still many passengers on the bus. Yuan Ning was holding a handbag in her hands. Worried that the surface of the bag would be creased from being squeezed, she could only carefully support it with her arm.
She squeezed off a bus, her carefully styled hair now a mess from the wind, looking utterly disheveled.
She looked up and saw Elias's Aston Martin slowly stop in front of her.
The car window rolled down, revealing a cold and stern face: "Miss Wynne, don't tell me you're transporting my $10,000 suit on that crowded bus."
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