The Day He Donated My Heart, I Reset the World Chapter 08

The Day He Donated My Heart, I Reset the World Chapter 08 The Morning After

as Lucien Saint–Laurent.

He closed the distance in long, easy strides. His gaze found me first.

“I heard every word. From the back.” His voice low and steady.

I met his eyes. No hedging.

“Mr. Saint–Laurent. The terms are set. Her entry takes first–I’m out of this industry. No coming back. Mine does she tells the whole room that work came off my table.”

Celeste materialized at his side before I finished. The next her hand was on his forearm.

“Lucien.” Soft. Fragile. Like she was the one who’d been wronged. “You told me this was mine. You said it. …Did I misunderstand?”

Lucien glanced at her hand on his arm. Then at me.

Nothing for a beat. Then–flat, unbothered-

“Then let’s settle it. I have time. I’ll judge.”

The Gala started before his words dried.

Hours bled away. Judges whispered behind cupped hands. Then–the only moment that mattered.

Celeste was already moving. Heels clicking through the crowd like gunshots.

She stopped in front of me. Smiled. The kind of smile you give someone right before you watch them bleed.

“Aurelia.” Sweet. Lethal. “First place is mine. You might as well start packing up your needles. This industry doesn’t need you anymore.”

She let it land. Watched my face for the flinch.

I looked at her. Calm as still water.

“The results aren’t out yet, Celeste.” I tilted my head. Not mocking–worse. Curious. “You sure you want to do this in front of everyone?”

Her jaw tightened. Something ugly flickered behind her eyes–then vanished. She opened her mouth-

The host’s voice cut through the speakers.

“And the winner of this year’s Grand Prix de la Haute Couture is–Aurelia Vance.”

And just like that, the room lost its mind.

Celeste? Celeste was frozen. Not.elegant–frozen. Not poised–frozen. Frozen the way a computer freezes.

“But–how-” She murmured. “That’s not true–she’s not-”

bed up. Every head turned. Every phone rose. Every pair of eyes said the same thing: Wow.

I walked to the stage and took what was mine.

After the Gala, I got three steps past the exit.

Then his voice–behind me, close, not loud but everywhere–the way a sound gets when the room behind,

is silent.

“Aurelia.”

I turned. Lucien leaned against the doorframe. The light behind him was warm. It caught the edge of hi jaw and pooled in the hollow of his throat.

“Yes?” I turned.

He just walked over, put the phone in my hand, and hit play.

The video ended.

He pocketed the phone. Then–simply, like reading a list of things he’d already handled-

“It’s done. The Vance estate went under this morning–full liquidation. Your ex–husband’s been transported to a black–site. No extradition. I did all of this for you.”

He wasn’t watching for my reaction. He already knew it.

“I’ve been keeping a seat. Director of Design. Ten million. Saint–Laurent Group.” His eyes held mine. “It’s yours. If you want it.”

My mouth curled, saying yes before my brain caught up. I nodded.

“Absolutely.”

One week later, I walked through the front doors of Saint–Laurent Group. Tailored blazer. Clean heels. Marble underfoot.

Whatever had been pressing on my chest for two lifetimes–it wasn’t there anymore.

And then–finally–the life that was mine.