Chapter 52: The Birth of Mr. Angel
The moment I stepped into Camille's office, I was hit with a sensory overload.
I'd expected something sleek and refined—maybe a pristine designer's workspace filled with sketchbooks and fabric samples. What I wasn't expecting was an entire damn lab mixed with the personal aesthetic of an heiress.
The walls were lined with machines, ranging from specialized stitching stations to expensive 3D printers. The shelves were filled with bolts of fabric, each carefully labeled, displaying everything from regular cotton to experimental nanoweaves. Mannequins, some wrapped in incomplete designs and others wearing fully realized garments that could have easily been lifted from a Milan runway, stood like mute sentinels.
Beyond that, glass cases held designer accessories, some with tags from luxury brands that I knew cost more than my yearly rent back when I was just a construction worker. There were high-tech lenses, rare dyes, even reinforced stitching kits that looked military-grade. Articles and magazines were pinned to a corkboard on the far side, most featuring Camille herself. The Genius Behind the Mask,The Phantom Designer,A Revolutionary in Disguise.
It seemed like entering a cross between a private dressing room belonging to a billionaire and a state-of-the-art fashion studio.
Camille, utterly unconcerned, was still in my arms in the midst of it all.
She yawned, her eyelids still heavy from sleep, and she looped her arms around my neck without trying to get out of my grasp.
"Mm." Without opening her eyes, she whispered, "Just put me down on the couch."
I took a look around. There was a velvety, luxurious couch that appeared far too expensive to sit on in the corner of the room. However, I was not going to allow her to get away with this.
"Oh, no," I said, adjusting my grip. "You're up now. You're in your workspace. Time to get to work."
She barely moved. "Rey. It's not noon."