Married To The Comatose Tech Emperor

The heavy doors of the study remained closed.

Alistair, Arthur.

He paced back and forth across the thick rug in the living room.

He held his phone tight against his ear.

Sweat dripped down his forehead.

He nodded rapidly, muttering frantic agreements into the receiver.

He hung up the phone.

He wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief and walked into the living room.

Arthur, Edwina, and Hailie looked up at him.

Alistair cleared his throat.

His voice shook slightly.

"They agreed."

Alistair looked at Arthur in disbelief.

"Maison Étoile agreed to the rush order. And they waived the emergency fee."

Arthur.

His thick eyebrows shot up toward his hairline.

He leaned back in his leather chair.

That brand was notorious for its extreme arrogance.

They never bent their rules for anyone, not even billionaires.

Edwina clapped her hands together.

She stood up, her face glowing with sudden pride.

"You see?"

Edwina looked at Arthur.

"It is the Rollins name. They know our status in New York. They respect us."

Hailie touched her collarbone.

She bit her lower lip, forcing a shy, sweet smile onto her face.

"Actually, Mother."

Hailie lowered her voice to make it sound modest.

"I played a cello solo at the Lincoln Center last week."

She smoothed the skirt of her Chanel dress.

"The head designer of Maison Étoile liked my photos on Instagram. I think they are doing this for me."

Edwina gasped in delight.

She rushed over and grabbed Hailie.

"Of course. My beautiful, talented girl."

Edwina kissed Hailie.

"When the dress arrives, you must try it on first. We need to take pictures for your social media."

Hailie lifted her chin.

Her chest swelled with vanity.

She imagined Gina standing in the corner, watching her wear the most expensive dress in the world.

At exactly three o'clock, the heavy iron gates of the Rollins estate swung open.

Three massive, black Mercedes-Benz Sprinter vans drove up the private driveway.

The tires crunched loudly against the gravel.

The maids and butlers stopped washing the windows and sweeping the steps.

They stared at the vehicles.

The side doors of the vans slid open simultaneously.

Six assistants stepped out.

They wore immaculate black tailored suits and spotless white cotton gloves.

The last person to step out of the lead van was Adrianne Vega.

She was the Director of North American Operations for Maison Étoile.

She wore a sharp, dark navy smoking suit.

Her black stilettos clicked sharply against the pavement.

Two assistants carefully rolled out a massive, heavy-duty clothing rack.

A thick, black velvet dust cover completely hid the garment hanging on it.

Arthur led his family out onto the grand portico.

He stretched his lips into a wide, fake, corporate smile.

He walked down the steps and extended his right hand toward Adrianne.

Adrianne stopped walking.

She slowly took off her dark sunglasses.

Her eyes swept over Arthur.

She looked at his extended hand.

She did not raise her own.

Arthur.

He awkwardly pulled his hand back and shoved it into his trouser pocket.

He let out a loud, forced laugh.

"Artists. Always so temperamental."

Hailie pushed past her father.

She stepped right in front of Adrianne.

She plastered her sweetest, most innocent smile on her face.

"Ms. Vega, it is such an honor."

Hailie clasped her hands under her chin.

"I am a huge fan of your work. Thank you so much for coming for me."

Adrianne looked down at Hailie.

A microscopic twitch of absolute disgust pulled at the corner of Adrianne.

Adrianne gave a single, robotic nod.

"We require your largest, best-lit fitting room. Immediately."

Adrianne.

Edwina snapped her fingers at the head butler.

"Take them to Hailie."

The assistants pushed the heavy rack up the grand staircase.

They rolled it into the massive, mirror-lined closet on the second floor.

Four tailoring assistants immediately began adjusting the overhead spotlights.

Hailie bounced on her toes.

She followed the rack into the center of the room.

She reached out her hand.

Her fingers moved to grab the heavy brass zipper of the black velvet cover.

An assistant stepped directly into Hailie.

The assistant raised a white-gloved hand, physically blocking Hailie.

"Do not touch the fabric."

The assistant.

"This piece features extremely fragile French embroidery. Only the client may handle it."

Hailie.

The blood rushed to her cheeks, turning them a splotchy, angry red.

She forced a tight smile.

"I am the client. I am here to try it on."

Hailie turned to Adrianne.

Her voice grew sharp and commanding.

"Take it out. Now."

Adrianne opened a thick, gold-embossed leather binder.

She did not look at Hailie.

She looked past the angry girl.

Her eyes locked onto the dark shadows at the far end of the hallway outside the closet.

Adrianne raised her voice.

Her tone shifted from icy professionalism to absolute, unwavering respect.

"Could someone please tell me."

Adrianne.

"Which one of you is Miss Gina Rollins?"