Gilded Vendettas • James M. Beaufort.

Chapter 10 • The Role.

I got a fear, oh in my blood
She was carried up into the clouds, high above
If you're bled I bleed the same
If you're scared I'm on my way

—-

As someone who used to thrive on school drama and loved watching her brother audition and play protagonist roles, I understood the importance of roles.

Just as codes are crucial to law, fabric is essential to dressmaking.

Roles define our actions and identities.

But this time, everything about my role, my mind, and my entire being had changed.

◌⏳┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈⿻*.·

Inside, the atmosphere was a flurry of activity. Staffs moved about with purpose, and the opulent decor screamed wealth and status. We were greeted by Tristan.

"Sir," he greeted James, then turned to me. "You must be Miss Wertheimer-Costa."

I nodded with a soft smile. "Hi."

"Welcome. I'm Tristan, the master tailor here," Tristan said. I chuckled as he continued, "I used to see the dress that Miss Lydia cut for you—really pretty."

I felt a pang of nostalgia as Tristan mentioned the dress Lydia had cut for me.

It was a reminder of a time when things were simpler, when Lydia and I were just friends and James was still a part of our lives.

James' reaction was subtle, but I noticed the slight shift in his demeanor.

It was as if he was caught off guard by the mention of the dress, perhaps reminded of the moment he had sketched me in it.

I glanced at him, our eyes meeting briefly before he looked away. There was an unspoken tension between us, a silent acknowledgment of the past and the complicated emotions that still lingered beneath the surface.

Tristan, oblivious to the undercurrents between us, continued with his introduction, leading us further into the showroom. As we walked, I couldn't shake the feeling that our visit here would unearth more than just memories of dresses and sketches—it would force us to confront the tangled web of our past and the uncertain future that lay ahead.

James dragged me along, leading me to the Beaufort showroom collection, dating back to 1848.

"We've prepared a few dresses for you," Tristan said while guiding us to the gowns. Before me was a fabulous pink gown, embroidered with lace, accompanied by a dark suit for men.

The sight was breathtaking, the gown exuding elegance and sophistication.

"I recognize this," I muttered, recalling the dress that had sparked a debate with Margot about why Chanel had never ventured into ballgowns.

"It was showcased last year at the Victoria and Albert Museum. I was there with my sister."

Tristan seemed impressed. "Absolutely right."

"I've been there. This collection was exhibited at the Victoria and Albert Museum after my brand's collection," I continued. "This pink gown is really beautiful."

"These are all just reproductions," Tristan explained. "The originals are too delicate to be made accessible to the public."

I nodded in understanding. Our own estate housed collections from the 1900s that weren't made accessible to the public either.

"So, does it help?" James's voice broke through. He was lounging on a couch, sipping something from a glass, looking every bit like a king on his throne. His smugness was both amusing and slightly annoying.