Chapter 81: The Woman in the Dress
Ivy tried to leave through the side corridor while every camera still faced Julian.
It was her last clever instinct and her first impossible wish of the morning.
The unpaid dress followed her like evidence, whispering over the polished floor.
A Milan assistant reached for the train because fabric still mattered to people with invoices.
Ivy slapped the hand away. Do not touch me, she hissed.
The sound cut through the official silence and turned two security officers toward her.
Miss Chen, one called. Please remain in the hall.
Ivy walked faster, but she did not run because running looked guilty.
The dress would not allow dignity at speed, only drama without control.
She lifted the skirt with both hands and tried to glide toward the side door.
A camera turned. Then another. Clara Wren turned too, and the room understood.
A second story was trying to escape before the first had finished bleeding.
The side door was closed, not locked dramatically, only closed with professional calm.
A security officer stood before it with one hand raised.
Miss Chen, you have been asked to remain available for questions.
I am not part of this, she said, too quickly to sound innocent.
Behind her, Julian was being led toward the main doors and failing at invisibility.
Not part of this had become the favourite prayer of everyone near him.
The officer’s voice stayed calm. You are named in financial records and supplier correspondence.
Ivy stared at him, and the dress trembled where her hands gripped it.
I am pregnant, she said, because that sentence had opened rooms before.
We are not detaining you, Miss Chen. We are asking you to remain available.
Legal calm was useless to vanity, which needed rescue rather than procedure.
She turned and saw phones everywhere, each one catching a different angle.
The train, the frozen face, the officers, the white silk, the waiting.
A financial blogger was still livestreaming from the back row, whispering into his phone.
Is that the mistress? someone asked. Another voice answered, That’s the unpaid dress.
Ivy heard enough to turn pale before any lawyer named the problem.
She searched for Julian, but he had reached the doors surrounded by officers.
For the first time, she understood standing beside power was not owning any.
At the front, Serena stepped away from the microphone and did not look back.
That hurt more than being named; Ivy had prepared for hatred, not dismissal.
Martin handed a folder to the supplier’s solicitor, who had entered almost silently.
The solicitor looked at the dress with professional sadness and perfect timing.
Miss Chen, the atelier reserves all rights under the unpaid ownership agreement.
The livestream caught every word, and the comments began moving too fast.
Ivy opened her mouth, but old tricks had nowhere to stand.
The solicitor added that the dress must remain available for inspection or recovery.
Recovery sounded gentle. It meant the silk covering her had better protection than she did.
Julian disappeared through the doors, leaving her calculation, blame, and no promise.
Two officers guided Ivy away from the corridor without touching her more than necessary.
The train dragged after her, gathering dust beneath the exchange logo.
Clara Wren wrote one sentence in her notebook and underlined it twice.
A woman who wanted a throne discovered she was listed as an expense.
By noon, the clip had a title strangers understood across gossip feeds.
The Mistress Tried to Escape in a Dress She Didn’t Own.
At Serena’s flat, the video arrived while the kettle clicked off.
Serena watched ten seconds, closed it, and filed it under Supplier Exposure.
Then she told Martin not to let humiliation outrun documentation, because documents and cameras lasted longer than spectacle.