NOVEL NEXT Chapter 295: Cousins
Meanwhile, in another part of the city, the air smelled of perfume, hot fabric presses, and ambition sharper than shears.
Aelitha Ninevyn lounged in the corner chair of Fiera's designer office, her glossy black nails tapping against the armrest. Her lips curved in a wicked smirk as she scrolled through Fiera's phone.
Lux's message glowed at the top.
Housewarming. Intimate. Exclusive.
And below it? The reply she had just sent—pretending to be her oh-so-perfect cousin.
"Oh, Lux," she whispered to herself, tongue darting across her lips. "You really shouldn't trust who answers your texts."
She leaned back, crossing her legs, her skirt riding up just enough to tease. The office was chaos—racks of half-finished gowns lined against the wall, fabrics strewn across the cutting table, assistants dashing in and out carrying sketches and coffee. And Fiera? Her cousin was buried in her studio across the hall, barking instructions at three seamstresses, her fiery temper running wild.
Perfect distraction.
Perfect chance.
Aelitha glanced around the desk, where Fiera's personal effects lay scattered: sketches, pins, perfume bottles, and that phone. Fiera was careless when busy, and today she was very busy.
Because after the last runway—after Lux had stepped out in Fiera's designs, smirking, glowing under the spotlight—her cousin's brand had blown up. Everyone wanted a piece of what Fiera had touched. Everyone wanted the fire he had lit.
And Aelitha?
She was sick of it.
Sick of the family praising Fiera. Sick of her mother saying, "Why don't you do something like your cousin?" Sick of being compared to the Ninevyn golden girl.
Her own clothing line was struggling. And she'd tried. She had tried to catch Lux's attention—at the hotel, a few days ago. She'd come in with her best smile, her bodyguards trailing her like trophies, and she had offered him a deal. Modeling. Maybe more.
But Lux had rejected her.
Not just rejected.
Humiliated.
In the elevator, of all places.
Her thighs pressed together just thinking about it. That smirk. That voice. The way his aura had hit her—like heat in her blood, like someone flipping a switch she didn't even know was there. He didn't touch her. Didn't need to. Just leaned close, whispered something devilish, and smiled like he could read every filthy thought in her head.
Her bodyguards had stood there, frozen under his charm, and she—she had barely made it out of the building intact.
And now?
Now she had his message in her hand.
She twirled a strand of her hair around her finger, smirk deepening. "Why should Fiera get him? Why should she get everything?"
Fiera had the fame. The spotlight. The brand blowing up after the runway. Everyone was talking about her. The family wouldn't shut up. "Look at Fiera. Look at how she's doing. Maybe she should guide you, Aelitha. Maybe you should follow her example."
Aelitha hated it.
So when Lux's name lit up the phone, when she saw the words "housewarming party," she didn't even hesitate.
She'd replied instantly. Just enough to make sure she'd get her way in.
And then she erased it. Erased the entire thread. The message was gone.
She locked the phone, set it neatly back on the desk, and crossed her legs again, smirking.
Jackpot.
Fiera might have gotten Lux on the runway. But Aelitha?
She'd have him tonight.
She'd walk into that mansion in her best dress, let her cousin choke on jealousy later, and maybe—just maybe—she'd make Lux hers.
Because she'd seen the way he looked at women. Seen the stories. Heard the whispers from the high society circles.
And more recently—the private group chats. The housewives' ones. Aelitha had friends everywhere, even in those bored, gilded little social circles. Last night and this morning, they'd been buzzing with nothing but Lux Vaelthorn.
Snapshots were already circulating—grainy, stolen angles of him at the pool yesterday. Black swimming trunks, water sliding down his chest, muscles cut like a sculptor had gone mad with perfection. The kind of body that made women type in caps lock with too many emojis. Some joked about sending their husbands away on longer business trips. Some said he looked like he could bankrupt them with a glance and they'd thank him for it.
Aelitha had stared at those pictures far too long.
He wasn't just a man. He was a storm.
And storms didn't stay in one place.
If she couldn't have the fame, she'd have the man who made it.
The sound of heels clicking down the hall jolted her.
Fiera's voice, sharp and commanding, echoed as she snapped at her staff. "No, not that hemline. Fix it. Do I have to do everything myself?"
Aelitha slid the phone across the desk just in time, her smirk smoothing into an innocent smile.
The door opened, and Fiera swept in—hair pinned high, fire in her eyes, her hands covered in stray chalk and threads. She didn't even notice Aelitha at first. She grabbed the phone, unlocked it, glanced at a notification from her suppliers, and tossed it back down.
"Gods above," Fiera muttered, rubbing her temples. "Orders won't stop coming. I barely have time to breathe."
Aelitha tilted her head sweetly. "That's good, isn't it? You're famous now."
Fiera shot her a glare. "Fame doesn't mean anything if you can't keep up. If you ruin a client's dress, that's it. Gone. They'll move on to the next trend. I need to stay on top of it."
Aelitha smirked inwardly. 'On top for now.'
She stood, brushing imaginary lint off her skirt. "Well, I'll leave you to it, cousin. I thought we could talk, but you look… busy."
Fiera waved her off distractedly, already barking into her phone at another supplier.
Aelitha walked out of the office, her heels clicking on the marble, her smirk widening with every step.
Busy little Fiera, drowning in fabric and fame. Too busy to notice the trap right under her nose.
Tonight, Lux would open the door expecting one Ninevyn.
And he'd get another.
And Aelitha?
She intended to make sure he never forgot it.