I Made His Wife’s Dress Now I’ll Marry Another Chapter 66
Visible Seam’s first public presentation had no closing wedding dress.
I made nine coats, one for each of the master patterns whose name had been restored. Each one kept only a single structural element from the original. Everything else was redrafted.
Behind every piece hung a transparent label.
Design, pattern drafting, cutting, sewing, embroidery—the names were listed by the actual work done. No one was compressed into “the team.”
After looking over the collection, Marguerite tapped the hem of the third coat with her cane.
“You’ve got half a centimeter too much ease here.”
Sofia answered immediately. “That’s for movement, not an error.”
The two of them argued on the spot for ten minutes.
In the end, Marguerite admitted Sofia was right.
When Sofia came back backstage, the tips of her ears were red, though she pretended it was only from the heat.
My mother arrived wearing the ivory coat, genuinely designed for a dialysis patient. The hidden closures were still there, and on the inner label was my name—along with the name of the samplemaker who had traced the production copy all those years ago.
A reporter asked if I was using the presentation to declare war on Sabine.
“The ruling is already in effect,” I said. “I don’t need to keep stitching her into every garment I make.”
“And Whitmore?”
“They use the silhouettes they’re licensed to use, and they pay what the contracts require. Beyond that, my studio has nothing to do with them.”
My inbox was not flooded with orders that night.
There were only seven.
My apprentices and I sat on the floor and calculated the hours required for each one. We confirmed we could take on no more than five.
We declined the other two.
A studio doesn’t have to work its people to the point of collapse to prove it deserves to exist.