Chapter 20 Exclusive Release Chapter 20 Once a rigid man...
She closed her laptop, looked up, and surveyed the bustling, art-filled campus around her.
She knew that because of the previous rumors of bankruptcy, some classmates still looked at her with curiosity.
In a week, Meng Qingyuan will arrive here. Without a doubt, her legitimate sister is her enemy. It's no wonder the two sisters can't get along. The other sister is definitely eager to spread the news that she is an illegitimate child. The reputation of an illegitimate child is extremely unpleasant. Yuan Ning is disgusted by it, but there's nothing she can do about it. She can't possibly eliminate her own existence from the root.
She had no intention of dealing with the other party, but she was determined to take precautions to protect her reputation in advance.
Walking along the romantic sycamore-lined avenue of Parsons School of Management, Yuan Ning took out her phone and dialed the number for the front desk of *V* magazine, her tone calm and professional:
"Hello, this is Wynne Meng. I would like to confirm whether the sample copy of my article and the payment statement for this issue can be sent to my school address? Yes, Parsons School of Design."
*
Wynne's Window
Title: The Unspoken Language of Style
Subtitle: Why you're still on the waiting list, and she's in the VIC lounge.
Yesterday, at Balthazar, a popular upscale restaurant in New York City, the girl at the next table excitedly showed off her new handbag with a huge logo. Undoubtedly, it was beautiful; the double C logo was like a gleaming medal, proclaiming, "I can afford it."
At the same time, a woman dressed in a simple cashmere sweater and without any jewelry quietly walked in. The restaurant manager personally went up to her and led her to the seat that had been reserved for her all year round.
At that moment, the young girls fell silent.
We are used to building relationships on vanity and comparison, but no one tells us that the real passport in social situations often depends on the unseen "clothes".
1. The fabric of silence
Do you think luxury is about ostentation? Wrong. The ultimate luxury is about doing all the expensive, top-notch details in places where others can't see them.
For example, 150-count vicuña wool only reveals a halo-like luster when moving, rather than the sparkle of rhinestones; it is the perfect curve outlined by the tailoring on the back, rather than the logo printed on the back.
2. The color of authority
Look at those who truly wield power. In their wardrobes, charcoal gray, navy blue, and ivory white are the eternal dominant colors. These colors don't compete for attention; they draw it to you. When you dress like a color palette, people see your clothes. When you wear a well-tailored charcoal gray suit, people see you.
3. The most expensive accessory
It's not your Himalayan crocodile leather bag. It's your time.
It's the kind of skin that glows from ample rest; it's the kind of healthy physique that's unhurried and never been consumed by cheap fast food; it's the kind of sheepskin shoes that always look clean and flawless without needing to squeeze onto the subway.
When you diet for months to get a bag, all you get is a bag.
So, the next time you're saving up for your next "It Bag," ask yourself: Are you buying an item, or are you being enslaved by it?
True fashion is never about what you wear.
It's about who you are.
Wynne
(Parsons College senior | V Magazine intern | Private stylist for a European aristocrat)
--
Wednesday at noon, a group of four sat around a table at Balthazar restaurant.
"Hey, did you read Wynne's blog post?" Amanda leaned closer to Emily, glancing at Yuan Ning.
Emily pouted: "I saw it, but it doesn't seem to have many views. Wynne, your article is about to be published in V magazine. You're still doing those things online? Not many people will read them."
Yuan Ning shrugged as she cut the cod: "It doesn't matter, I'm just writing whatever."
Stella calmly scrolled through the comments section, reading them aloud expressionlessly, regardless of whether they were pleasant or unpleasant:
"Another loser using theory to cover up his poverty. A senior college student dares to speak out?"
Is she implying that we look stupid for carrying logo bags?
"I heard there's a Chinese girl named Wynne at Parsons College. She's from China. No wonder."
"Thinking that just because they've been exposed to a few old-money trends, they've elevated the old-money style to a god-like status. By the way, long live rock and roll! Long live hip-hop!"
Stella looked up at her as she read, "Wynne, should I continue reading?"
Yuan Ning shrugged indifferently: "It's okay, Stella. I only started blogging for fame, not to get people to agree with my views. It's true, I'm only twenty years old this year, and I'm not even sure what's right for myself. But if I don't get criticized, where will the buzz come from?"
“That’s just how the internet is, there are all kinds of people.” Amanda kindly moved her phone over and scrolled to the positive comments. “Look, someone even said, ‘The blogger’s core idea is that style transcends the logo. Think about whether your overall style matches it? Or do you have a personal style? Or are you just obsessed with logos? Don’t you people who carry Chanel bags on the subway get tired?’”
Yuan Ning's gaze swept over them indifferently, and she gave a self-deprecating smile: "It seems there are still people willing to listen to my nonsense."
"Thank you, blogger, for dissuading me from saving up to buy this bag. Rather than relying on Louis Vuitton to package myself, I've decided to focus on improving myself. Once I've earned enough money, I'll feel more comfortable carrying it. Maybe by then, I won't even need that bag anymore."
Emily read the comment aloud, raising an eyebrow: "Looks like you're going to attract some poor girls as fans, Wynne."
Emily has always been mean-spirited, and Yuan Ning is used to it.
“There will be people who appreciate me and become my fans, Emily. Not everyone who reads a book can only understand the surface.” Yuan Ning tossed those words back expressionlessly.
Lunch ended in a subtle, superficially relaxed atmosphere.
In the afternoon, Yuan Ning was more focused on her fabric science class than ever before. She needed to work harder than ever to improve herself, as she was about to graduate and didn't have much time left to absorb knowledge.
After class, she took her books to the library to research for the next feature in V magazine.
As Yuan Ning sat down and turned on her computer, she received an email.
"This is Moira Young Studio. We saw your blog post about 'The Silent Language of Style,' and Ms. Young appreciates your insights. We are about to release our new season collection and would like to ask if you would like to come and preview it and share your thoughts on social media?"
Moira Young? Sounds like a Chinese-American designer. But Yuan Ning had never heard of her before in the industry.
Out of politeness, before replying, she opened a search engine and entered the name Moira Young into the search results.
A minute later, she slumped into her chair, her face pale. Clearly, the other person was even less famous than she was; their studio was located in a low-rent neighborhood in Brooklyn, with minimal media coverage and barely a thousand blogger followers. The email didn't even specify how much payment would be made; it essentially asked her to go and promote them for free.
A surge of anger at being slighted, mixed with a sense of powerlessness, welled up inside me.
Yuan Ning leaned back in her chair, the library lights casting quiet shadows on her face. She thought of her fledgling blog, which needed content, a unique perspective, and even stories.
It's natural for a well-known blogger to collaborate with top brands, but for a fledgling blogger to discover and support a promising independent designer is a high-return investment in itself.
Once she understood this, she sat up straight again and began typing rapidly on the keyboard, her tone polite and professional in her reply:
"Dear Moira Young Studio,"
Thank you for your invitation and for your interest in 'Wynne's Window'.
I have received the preview invitation. Out of responsibility for the quality of the content, I need to understand the core concepts and design information of the series in advance.
Additionally, regarding the collaboration, all content publishing on my platform involves content creation costs. Please share your collaboration budget so that we can conduct an evaluation.
If your content is exceptionally high-quality, we can discuss it further.
Looking forward to your reply.
After sending the email, Yuan Ning closed her laptop. Perhaps this was a pointless waste of time, or perhaps it would bring unexpected opportunities.
In New York City in 2000, countless people might become rich overnight. Who can predict such a stroke of luck?
Looking back now, getting the job as Elias's style consultant was incredibly lucky; it was a perfect storm of timing, location, and circumstances that brought her this opportunity.
That evening, Yuan Ning returned to her newly rented apartment, where Richard shared Elias's weekend itinerary with her.
"The boss is having an informal business meeting at Winged Foot Golf Club on Saturday morning. Dress code: Business casual. Please dress accordingly."
Winged Foot. Yuan Ning was no stranger to this name; it was one of New York City’s most prestigious and exclusive golf clubs, with memberships passed down through generations, a true gathering place for the old money.
To outsiders, this place is heavily guarded and not a place that money can buy. Yuan Ning had only heard of it and longed for it before. If she had become Jasper's girlfriend, she might have become a regular there.
Yuan Ning opened Elias's electronic wardrobe, clicked on the casual wear section, and moved the mouse across the screen, quickly imagining various matching possibilities in her mind.
She wanted to do her best in her job as a dress consultant, even though she knew that playing it safe wouldn't upset her employer. Elias was a very tolerant person in some ways, but she still wanted to give him something fresher and more creative each time.
A navy blue polo shirt? Or a classic off-white V-neck cashmere sweater? She needed a look that looked effortless yet maximized Elias's personal charm.
After all, with such a face and such a perky butt, he shouldn't be wasted.
She wanted to find a pair of pants that would show off his best backside when he swung the club.
Just as she was engrossed in her work, her phone vibrated again. It was a reply from Moira Young's studio, faster than she had expected.
"Ms. Meng, thank you for your prompt reply. Attached are the inspiration for the new collection, fabric descriptions, and some design sketches. If you are interested, you can visit our studio at 3 PM on Sunday. We understand that your content creation requires resources, but our current budget is limited. We hope this collaboration can be conducted through an exchange of garments. We firmly believe that the clothes themselves speak for themselves. We look forward to your feedback."
Well, they just won't pay.
Yuan Ning was slightly disappointed; she had just moved into this apartment and was very short of money.
She moved the mouse and, a few minutes after opening the attachment, sat up slightly.
The lines sketched on the design draft are full of spirit. Although the fabric used is not the kind commonly used by top luxury brands, it has obviously been carefully selected and specially treated, presenting a rough and sincere texture. The inspiration notebook reads "urban nomadism", from which she can feel a stubborn creativity that has not been tamed by the market.
She couldn't help but think that such a design and style, in Elias's words, would inevitably be described as something only a homeless person would wear.
But these designs coincided with the "style speaks volumes" philosophy she advocated on her blog, and she knew why the other party had approached her.
Although she still resisted free publicity, since making money was her top priority right now, but... if these clothes were indeed as good as they looked, they could improve her personal image and the quality of her blog content. Besides, what if Moira Young was a dark horse?
After confirming the itinerary with the other party via email again, Yuan Ning returned to the computer screen to design outfits for Elias.
As the night wore on and she finished her work, a wave of exhaustion washed over her. But whenever she looked out from the balcony on the twelfth floor, which offered a fantastic view of New York City’s dazzling nightscape interwoven with the lights of countless homes, she felt instantly at ease.
She'd be willing to work all night if she had to live here; she's twenty years old and has plenty of strength.
Aside from a few basic pieces of furniture, there was nothing else here. Even the bed she slept on consisted of just a mattress placed on the floor. But she stubbornly insisted on living here, in a place that even with her high salary of $3,500 a week, she could barely afford.
She didn't turn on the main light and went straight to the balcony. The winter night was bitterly cold, and she was wrapped in a fur coat. Two blocks away, Central Park slept in the night, and further away, the skyscrapers of Midtown Manhattan shimmered with light.
Here, she can see both tranquility and prosperity, and she can also more clearly perceive her own position—she could be kicked out of Manhattan if she is not careful.
On Thursday evening, Marjorie was taking her to an invitation-only, private art preview dinner in a private gallery at a top-tier art gallery.
"Wynne, go to the dressing room and pick out a dress. Come with me tonight."
Marjorie's instructions were always concise and clear. Yuan Ning tried hard to suppress the excitement in her heart; in situations like this, she couldn't resist using her connections.
She chose a deep royal blue halter-neck velvet dress, styled her long hair into a loose yet elegant low bun, and wore only a pair of small pearl stud earrings on her earlobes.
When she appeared in front of Marjorie, the editor-in-chief's sharp gaze lingered on her for two seconds: "Do you know why I brought you along?"
"Why, editor-in-chief?"
“You’re really presentable,” Marjorie commented, raising her chin haughtily. “Remember, look more, listen more, talk less. Your face alone is enough.”
The gallery is hidden in a plain white cube space with a low-key exterior. The dinner is a standing-room buffet. Yuan Ning follows behind Marjorie, trying her best to play the role of assistant, while also listening carefully to catch the industry trends and aesthetic directions revealed by Marjorie in her conversations with various people, collectors, artists, and foundation directors.
At the same time, her posture was impeccably elegant.
"And who is this?" The silver-haired designer, who was talking to Marjorie, noticed Yuan Ning.
The other party was Alexandre Kiyokawa, a French-Japanese designer who was highly respected in the French fashion circle. Yuan Ning was very happy that he had noticed her.
“Wynne Meng, my intern,” Marjorie’s introduction was brief.
“Wynne,” Marjorie instructed without turning around, “darling, could you please bring us two more glasses of champagne?”
"Okay, editor-in-chief."
Yuan Ning sensed that Marjorie was deliberately trying to get rid of her, but perhaps her boss just felt that an intern wasn't qualified to be introduced to a top designer.
She had no choice but to turn and leave, a fleeting look of disappointment crossing her face.
She has always admired Alexander's designs and can talk fluently about every one of his shows. If she had the chance to chat with him, she was confident that she could impress him and perhaps even get some opportunities to collaborate with him, or even be invited to attend his shows in France.
But... well, she should still go get the champagne.
The fleeting disappointment on Wynne's face was like a gentle breeze across water, quickly restoring her composure.
Just as she was carefully carrying two glasses of champagne, preparing to return, an art critic who was excitedly gesturing to express his views suddenly stepped back, his elbow unexpectedly hitting Yuan Ning in the waist.
Yuan Ning felt a sharp pain in her lower back, her high heels wobbled, her arms lost their balance, and her two champagne glasses began to sway.
If the two champagne glasses were to fall to the ground, not only would her velvet dress be soaked with champagne, but the falling glasses would also cause quite a commotion.
Even if it was the other party's fault at first, she was still embarrassed enough. All the media, critics, designers, and foundation directors present tonight would only remember her disheveled appearance, not her beauty and elegance.
Yuan Ning wanted to be famous, but not in this way.
She reacted quickly to steady herself, using the strength of her ankle to desperately control her stiletto heel, which was already half-bent. The pain made her gasp, but she didn't fall, and the champagne in her hand remained intact, without spilling.
The only consequence was that, in order to maintain her balance, her ankle twisted violently at an extremely awkward angle.
The art critic apologized repeatedly: "I'm sorry, are you alright, ma'am?"
A sharp pain shot through her ankle, making her grit her teeth and endure it. She managed to stand up straight and waved her hand, saying, "I'm fine."
She endured the pain and tried her best to keep her steps steady until she handed the champagne to Marjorie and Alexander Kiyokawa.
“Thank you, darling.” Marjorie took it, her gaze lingering on her face for a moment, as if sensing what had happened, but it wasn’t the right time to ask questions or comfort her subordinate.
Alexander merely nodded slightly to her, his attention more drawn to Marjorie's current topic.
Yuan Ning retreated to a slightly concealed position behind Marjorie, subtly shifting some of her weight to her right leg. She felt herself breaking out in a cold sweat.
Until they saw Elias van der Berger walking slowly past a large sculptural installation, accompanied by Theodora van der Berger, who was also the host of the banquet and the owner of the gallery.
Elias was adept at catching people's gazes; at the same time Yuan Ning saw him, he also saw her.
His gaze swept coldly over her from head to toe. Yuan Ning had always felt that she had no need to pretend in front of him; he could see right through her, so easily.
She then saw him whisper a few words to Theodora before walking toward her.
Yuan Ning's pupils widened slightly. It was quite common for the two to bump into each other in such situations; the upper-class circle in New York City wasn't very large. But this wasn't her working time, so what did he want with her?
Could it be that he's here to offer his concern? Or is such a big CEO here to exchange a few pleasantries with this insignificant little employee?
The idea was a bit funny, so Yuan Ning chuckled twice.
Elias was already standing in front of her. Yuan Ning stopped smiling, straightened up, and became serious.
"Is there anything I can help you with, boss?"
Elias positioned himself between himself and a massive pillar, completely isolating Yuan Ning. She simply leaned against the pillar to rest.
“Regarding Saturday’s itinerary,” Elias said calmly, keeping his eyes fixed on her, “Richard forgot to mention one thing. After the meeting at the golf course, I will fly directly to Newport on my private jet and will not return until Sunday night. Please adjust your work details accordingly and pack any casual clothes you need for Sunday in your suitcase.”
He appeared calm, as if he were simply giving instructions.
"Boss, if you need anything else, just email me. There's no need to... get so close."
Elias did not back down an inch, his eyes still fixed on her.
Yuan Ning began to guiltily avoid eye contact; she felt as helpless as a scumbag.
"And, Miss Wynne, could you explain what you did on Tuesday morning?"
Elias's voice was very low, like the deepest note played on a cello, audible only to the two of them.
“I…” Yuan Ning lowered her eyes, avoiding his gaze. She felt her throat go dry and tried to remain calm, but under his intensely imposing gaze, her legs began to weaken.
She could even smell all the scents on him, which made her dizzy.
"Didn't I already explain?" Her voice trembled slightly, as if tickling someone, whether from the pain in her left foot or something else. "You smell so good, so good that I can't help myself."
After saying the last word, she closed her eyes tightly and turned her head away forcefully, as if she dared not see anyone.
Elias scoffed lightly: "Looks like you know you're ashamed."
His mockery traveled through the air to her head, and she dared not look up. She didn't know how to describe it, but he made her feel like her grandfather had discovered that she was hiding a male model in bed, making her feel both absurd and shameful.
Yuan Ning shook her head vigorously, then realized something and nodded vigorously: "Mmm!"
Elias's expression changed slightly, as if he was pondering how to deal with this shameless, uneducated little girl.
He finally spoke again, his voice deeper than before: "Ms. Wynne, I remember we signed a Supplementary Code of Conduct, which explicitly prohibits any attempt at intimacy beyond the scope of our profession."
“I remember, boss.” Yuan Ning raised her head, her dark eyes now shimmering with tears. “I was wrong…” Her feet hurt so much!
"I promised you I wouldn't fire you, so I will sue you for indecent assault..."
Yuan Ning raised her hand and abruptly covered his lips: "This one won't do, let's choose another one. Besides, if I don't admit it now, you can't sue me."
Elias's lips were covered by hers, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You won't admit it?"
A few seconds later, he turned his head away impatiently, raised his hand, and instead of rudely swatting her away, slowly and firmly grasped her wrist, removing her hand from his lips.
He pulled down a little bit of the collar of his shirt, which was tightly bound by a tie. The red mark left on Tuesday was still there on Thursday, small and round, right on his prominent Adam's apple, silently telling what had happened between them.
“This is the evidence.” He seemed arrogant about having kept it all this time. He leaned closer to her, lowered his voice, and said in a stern, breathy tone, “You’ve been too rude, madam. I’ll have to send you to jail for a few days this time so you can learn some manners.”
Seeing him pull down his collar, Yuan Ning's eyes widened for once, and she leaned closer.
How beautiful! That touch of pale red stood out so starkly against his perfectly white neck, a veritable provocation to the naive young girl.
Yuan Ning blinked as she watched, her face flushing slightly as she swallowed hard. She knew that if a rigid man ever opened his collar, it would be a fatal blow.
-----------------------
The author's note: Flies don't land on eggs without cracks; I suggest Elias reflect on himself.
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