How far are you willing to go for your obsession? For me, Bianca Dawson, the answer was farther than I ever thought possible. Jude Bellingham wasn't just a football star; he was my idol. I was prepared to do anything just to have him.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"I can't believe you're leaving again," Isabelle, my lovely wife, said as I packed a small suitcase.
"When business calls, I answer," I mumbled, focusing on folding my clothes neatly.
"You literally just got back," she said softly, I could hear the sadness in her voice.
I sighed, looking up to meet her eyes. "Business comes first, but when I'm back, I'll make it up to you."
I went on my phone and headed to my assistant chat, typing, Buy new diamond earrings for Isabelle.
I knew he was capable of picking something nice since I wouldn't have the time to. I kissed her goodbye, staying for a moment to reassure her. She deserved more, but this was the life she had chosen, she knew what she was signing up for what she said I do.
She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. I grabbed my suitcase, double-checking that everything was in order, and headed for the door.
It was a new day, I felt confident. I was wearing a suit by Savile Row tailor Henry Poole, my favorite designer. My mother always said, the only way you can feel good is if you look good. So no matter the occasion, I always dress well to look and feel good. Smart woman.
There's something to be said for tradition and craftsmanship, something that newer labels like Armani can't quite capture. Armani suits are fine for those who've recently come into wealth, those still dazzled by their newfound status. But old money? We appreciate the subtleties the hand-stitched lapels, the weight of the fabric, the precise fit that only a seasoned tailor can achieve.
Henry Poole is more than a brand to me; it's a legacy. Having a fashion designer for a mother, I grew up learning a thing or two, having a bit of eye for it myself. I was always in designer's especially by Henry Poole.
Each suit tells a story, made with the same care and attention to detail that's been their hallmark since the 19th century. When you wear a Henry Poole suit, you're not just wearing clothes; you're wearing history. You can feel the difference in every seam, in the way it drapes perfectly, as if it were made just for you—which, of course, it is.
Armani? It's the kind of suit you buy off the rack, something that fits most people but never quite perfectly. It's for the nouveau riche, those who don't yet understand that true luxury is particular. They see the label and think they've arrived. But real wealth, the kind that's passed down through generations, doesn't need to shout. It whispers in the details, in the craftsmanship that can only come from a place like Savile Row.
As I stepped outside, my driver was already waiting. He took my suitcase and placed it in the trunk while I settled into the backseat of the black Mercedes.
Just as we pulled away, my phone buzzed. It was a business call—another venture to discuss.
"Mr. Dawson, good morning," said the voice on the other end. "We've received the proposal for the new hotel in Paris. They're asking for your approval to move forward."
