Chapter 6 - The Stolen Portfolio|
By eight o'clock the next morning, the scandal from the Aurelia Grand had exploded across every news outlet in the city.
Front-page headlines splashed photos of Ava Monroe holding her ripped emerald gown, framed beside captions detailing the missing auction necklace. Victoria Whitmore had already hired a high-profile public relations team, painting Ava as a disturbed, bitter stepdaughter who had attempted to sabotage Bianca’s big fashion debut.
In the penthouse, Ava sat at the dining table, wearing a simple cream sweater and black trousers Niko’s staff had provided for her.
She flipped through a digital tablet showing the morning news.
“They’re claiming the necklace was worth two million dollars,” Ava said, her voice tight with anger. “They’re telling the police I slipped it into my scarf while fixing the models’ clothes backstage.”
Niko stepped out of his private office, wearing a dark blue suit, holding a steaming cup of espresso.
“The police won't touch you,” Niko stated calmly.
“They’ve already issued a summons for questioning, Mr. Moretti,” Ava countered, looking up at him. “My father controls the local precinct.”
Niko set his cup down and leaned against the table, looking down at her with a dangerous, quiet confidence.
“Richard Whitmore controls a few corrupt officers in the precinct,” Niko said. “I control the building those officers work in. You aren't going to any police station, Ava.”
Before Ava could reply, Marco walked into the room carrying a large black leather portfolio.
“Boss,” Marco reported, laying the portfolio on the table. “We secured Miss Monroe’s personal belongings from the Whitmore mansion before they could lock the estate down.”
Ava gasped, pulling the portfolio toward herself. She unzipped it hastily.
Inside were hundreds of original sketches, fabric swatches, and hand-drawn technical patterns—the real collection that Bianca had claimed as her own for the gala.
“They didn't burn them?” Ava whispered, tears brimming in her eyes as she touched the pencil lines drawn by her own hand.
“Victoria thought you’d never come back for them,” Marco explained with a faint smile. “She had them stored in the laundry room cupboard.”
Niko looked at the sketches, his eyes assessing the brilliant, intricate linework. “Your work is exceptional, Ava.”
“It’s my mother’s technique,” Ava murmured softly. “She taught me how to draft patterns before I could read.”
May you like
Niko pulled the gold key from his pocket and set it beside her sketches.
“Then it’s time to go downstairs,” Niko said. “And claim what else she left for you.”
