Chapter 536

Chapter 536:

“See you,” I said, standing at the door and waving as Étienne climbed into the car with the rest of his delegation. My smile stayed fixed in place.

The moment the cars disappeared down the drive, my team erupted into cheers.

Peter Carl enveloped me in a tight hug, and Louis-Francois nearly tripped over his own feet, sprinting back inside to grab the case of champagne he had been saving.

“We did it!” Clémentine cried, flinging her arms around us, her voice thick with emotion. “Mirabelle, we did it p>

I wriggled free, grinning until my cheeks ached. “Yeah, we did p>

After two grueling months, our autumn/winter jewelry collection was finally launched. Today’s meeting had sealed the deal with Cartier’s Paris distribution arm. Soon, our necklaces, earrings, and statement pieces would adorn runway models and grace the pages of Vogue, Elle, and Harper’s Bazaar.

Valmont & Cie was still reeling from the financial mess Fabrizio had left behind, but this was a start. A damn good one.

The team herded me into the conference room. Champagne corks popped, glasses clinked, and laughter mixed with tears.

The celebration stretched from afternoon to dusk, but I bowed out when they proposed moving on to Le Procope and then a bar.

“You have to come!” Peter Carl pleaded. “You’re the reason we’re still standing p>

“Not a chance,” I said, pointing at the dark circles under my eyes. “I’ve looked like a sleep-deprived panda for weeks. Time to reclaim my humanity p>

I called the restaurant to put the team’s dinner on the company tab, then sent them off, still giddy.

I slid into my rented Peugeot 208 and drove back to my flat on Rue de Rivoli.

I had moved out of Ashton’s building the day after we broke up.

Two months of silence followed.

I buried myself in work and, when that failed, in wine—just enough to knock me out before the memories could surface.

𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖈𝖊: gⲁ𝗅۞𝗇𝗈۞ν𝖊𝗅𝘀۞ⅽ𝗈𝗆

“Get a grip,” I whispered each night, reaching for a warmth that was no longer there.

It took a week to stop making coffee for two.

For sixty straight days, I arrived before the cleaners and left after everyone else. I would have slept at the office if Peter Carl hadn’t threatened to report me for fire hazards.

Now, with the launch behind me, I had no excuses left. Just an empty flat and a microwave meal for one.

Halfway through my sad dinner, I called Priya.

“Sales dipped slightly this month,” she said.

“Expected,” I replied. Mira Joie bore my name, and with me gone, it was bound to happen.

“The new OEM factory’s a dream. Faster turnaround, cheaper rates. I’m tempted to shift all production there instead of splitting orders p>

“Do it,” I said. I half-listened as she talked about lost wax casting and electroforming, but my focus drifted.

I had avoided calling Priya, preferring email.

Priya meant Skyline City. Skyline City meant Ashton. And Ashton meant silence.

Yvaine once said, “A good ex is a dead ex.” She would cheer if hers vanished as cleanly as Ashton had.