The Day He Donated My Heart, I Reset the World Chapter 07

The Day He Donated My Heart, I Reset the World Chapter 07 Her Best Work Is My Garbage

Aow voice came through the phone. Warm. Unhurried.

“Of course. I’ve been keeping a seat warm for you, Ms. Vance.” Lucien said.

Something I’d been holding since the second life started loosened in my chest. Not relief. Not gratitude. Just -the quiet certainty that someone had seen me.

My mouth curved.

“You won’t be disappointed, Mr. Saint–Laurent. What I bring to the Gala will put Celeste’s entry to shame.”

Because the piece she was planning to compete with–every thread of it was my work–stolen right off my table while I wasn’t looking.

I hung up. Looked up–both of them were shocked.

I raised an eyebrow. “What? You think I’m being reckless?”

Nora waved both hands–flustered. “No! No, it’s not–we just didn’t expect-” She was already sitting by my side, hand on my arm. “I’m not putting you in a guest room by yourself–that’s not happening.”

I smiled. Soft.

“I love to stay with you, Nora. This is the most comfortable I’ve been in months.”

I hesitated. Bit my lip.

“Heads up. Next few days, I’ll be up stitching at weird hours. Like, 2 AM /weird.” I tried to keep it light. “If it gets to you, just tell me to shut it down.”

But that wasn’t what I was saying. What I was saying was: do I get to exist here?

Nora’s hand landed on mine. Not a pat. A weight.

“Knock it off. You don’t ask permission to breathe in your own house.” She didn’t let go. “Cole said it and I’ll say it louder–whatever you need to do, we’re in. You want to stitch until sunrise? Go for it. And trust me— I’ve slept through a fire alarm before. You’re fine.”

With Nora’s words, I stopped asking permission. The next few days, I stitched. Sun up, sun down–the house went quiet and my hands kept moving.

The divorce didn’t wait either.

Court ruling came down on a Thursday.

Cassian Hayes. Infidelity. Full fault.

Every asset. Every account. Every property.

Mine.

Competition day.

elled her perfume before I saw her.

Celeste was holding court in the center of the hall. My embroidery on a stand behind her.

When she saw me, her whole body locked. One second–blank.

Then the mask loaded. She was at my side before I could blink.

“Aurelia. Babe. I thought you said this spot was mine? You said you were done with all this.” A little laugh apologetic, performative. For the people watching. “And now you’re here? Come on. Don’t you think it’s a little desperate?”

I looked at her hand on my arm. Then at the piece behind her.

“That thing? You really built a whole personality around something I threw out. That’s not embarrassing for me, Celeste. That’s embarrassing for you.”

Her hand fell off my arm. The warmth drained out of her face like someone had pulled a plug.

Then it came back–different. The venom rising slow from somewhere deep. Her eyes locked on mine.

“You just wait, Aurelia.” She stepped back. Chin up. That smile back in place–not the nice kind. “First place is basically locked.” She paused. Tilted her head. “Because Mr. Saint–Laurent said it was the best work he’d seen in years. To me. Privately.”

She crossed her arms. Nails digging into her elbows. Voice going sharp, thin.

“You know what’s actually perfect? You cut ties with the Vances. Because when I take that trophy? I won’t have to pretend you exist. No you hovering in the background of my photos.”

The nerve of her. I laughed–quiet, incredulous. The kind of laugh that slips out when someone’s audacity crosses into something almost beautiful.

“Celeste.” I closed the distance between us. “Let’s make this interesting. You win–I never touch a needle again. I disappear from this world.” A beat. I watched it land. “But when I win–you stand in front of every person in this room and tell them what you are. A thief. Every thread on that stand came from my hands. And you’re going to say it. Out loud.”

Her eyes flickered–cornered animal weighing fight or flight.

I leaned closer. Lips near her ear.

What’s

“What’s wrong? Take the bet. Unless you know you can’t win on your own.”

“Excuse me? Like I’m scared of you?”

Celeste screamed it. Actually screamed.

“Mark my words! If I lose, I’ll do whatever you want. But if you lose? Don’t ever show your face in this industry again!”

“Okay.” I nodded. Casual like she’d asked if I wanted cream in my coffee. “Sounds fair. But let’s make it

official. Lucien can judge.”

ned. A man stood three steps behind me. Dark suit cut sharp. Metal–rimmed glasses. Hands in his

pockets. That was it. He didn’t need anything else.