The Designer's Revenge

My seven years at Charming Design make up my entire career, and they are also seven years of entanglement with Chris Green. Today is the day the Chief Designer selection results are announced. My knuckles went white as I gripped the folder. "Bella Scott, your application has been rejected." Chris Green's voice came from behind the desk, cold and emotionless. I suddenly looked up, meeting his cold, dark gaze. "Why? Last year, the 'Splendid Series' brought in thirty million in revenue for the company, and my embroidery craftsmanship was the core competitive edge." "Your embroidery is too old-fashioned and can't keep up with the market." He tapped his fingers on the table: "The Chief Designer is Cindy White." Cindy White, the younger sister of his first love, Rachel White, has been with the company for less than six months. "Old-fashioned?" I laughed out loud. "Chris Green, did you forget it was my embroidery pieces that opened the door to our very first client when we started this business?" He frowned, his tone impatient: "Bella Scott, stop making a fuss." The Company needs fresh blood; Cindy White's designs better resonate with the younger generation. I said no more and turned to leave his office. In the corridor, Cindy White approached carrying coffee, a provocative smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Bella, Chris said your embroidery techniques are too outdated. From now on, you should learn more from me." "When my embroidery was displayed at the international exhibition hall, you were still playing with paints." I walked past without so much as a glance. Three days later, news came from the studio—the embroidery commissioned for L Palace had been destroyed. When I arrived, the piece I had poured three months of effort into was in ruins: the silk threads were torn and tangled, and the crucial peacock tail feathers were completely ruined. Cindy White stood aside, wiping tears from her eyes, pulling on Chris Green's arm with a look of grievance. "Chris, it's all my fault—I was careless and didn't hold it properly while organizing..." Chris patted the back of her hand, then turned to look at me, his gaze cold and hard: "Bella Scott, this project is your responsibility—you must fix it." "I didn't break it." I stared at the smugness in Cindy's eyes and spoke deliberately, word by word. "It's useless to say that now." He took a key from the drawer. "I've locked the Studio door. The people from L Palace will come to pick up the goods in three days. If it's not fixed by then, you'll take full responsibility." "What about tonight's charity gala? We agreed to go together." I still clung to the last shred of hope. He paused, his tone indifferent: "I'm taking Cindy White. You focus on repairing the embroidery." The moment the door locked, I heard Cindy White laughing outside. Only the faint glow of the desk lamp remained in the studio. I sat by the embroidery frame, my fingertips tracing the broken silk threads, and suddenly my eyes filled with tears. Seven years of relationship couldn't withstand a few tears from his first love's sister; ten million in revenue meant nothing next to the words, "Your embroidery is too old-fashioned." I took out my phone and scrolled through the chat history with Chris Green, deleting every message— from our awkward first meeting to his support during our startup—all wiped clean. Calls, W Chat, even our shared cloud photo albums—all blocked and deleted. My fingertip was pricked by the needle, a drop of blood fell onto the embroidery cloth, spreading into a small dark red stain. Gritting my teeth, I picked up the embroidery needle again—not for Chris Green, but for the effort I had invested over the past three months. In the early hours of the next day, the embroidery was finally repaired. Watching the pale dawn light outside the window, I opened the ticketing app and booked the earliest flight to S City. While Chris Green was basking in glory with Cindy White at the banquet, I walked out of the Charming Design doors carrying only a simple suitcase. This time, I didn't look back.