Christina’s POV
The mont I pushed open the studio door that morning, Ysolde burst in like a hurricane. Her hair was still wrapped in a scarf, looking like she’d just stepped out of a salon.
"Chrissy! I found soone! He’s coming right now. You have to et him."
I frowned. "That fast? Where did you dig up this talent? Is he legit?"
"No clue. Haven’t even seen his face." She pulled out her phone, fingers flying across the screen. "I asked around the pack community, posted so recruitnt ads. This guy contacted late last night. Says he just graduated from an overseas university. Twenty-two, fresh out of school."
She turned her phone screen toward .
I leaned in to look.
The screen was full of this guy bragging about his academic credentials.
"You think all this is real?" I asked.
She shrugged. "Who knows?"
"If he’s really this impressive, why co to our little studio? Foreign degree, finance major... seems like overkill."
Honestly, I hadn’t held much hope for hiring anyone. In Highrise City, talented people get snatched up by big companies. Those left were either clock-watchers or simply not skilled enough.
"He says he’s interested in jewelry design," Ysolde said. "Wants to try a different industry. Let’s just et him and see."
"Fine."
We didn’t wait long.
At ten-thirty, the door opened, and a man walked in.
White sweater, dark casual pants, no tie or jacket.
Well-dressed but not formal.
He did look like a fresh college graduate. Sunny smile, smooth skin, short black hair—a face made for advertisents.
Well, at least he looked good. These days, appearance counts as an asset, especially in the jewelry business.
Ysolde mind-linked , "Nice build. Good muscle definition. All designer clothes. Think he’s so bored rich kid?"
I replied, "He doesn’t look like soone who’ll do actual work."
Typical rich kid wanting to ’experience life.’ Probably won’t last a week before getting bored.
We both sat up straight.
I waved Priya over, and the three of us lined up on our side of the glass table.
He sat opposite us, still wearing that smile.
"Hello," he said enthusiastically. "I’m Daniel Williams, twenty-two, just graduated from Eastwick University. Looking for work. Really hoping to join your team."
His voice was gentle, his manners impeccable.
He was too perfect, which made suspicious.
Nobody this perfect would willingly do entry-level work. Sothing had to be wrong.
"Your major was finance," I said bluntly. "We’re a jewelry studio. What’s the connection?"
"I’m genuinely interested in jewelry," Daniel quickly replied with a smile. "Plus, you need custors, right? I can help. I’m good with data, sales forecasts, whatever you need, I can do it."
"We’re not at a level where we need sales forecasts. I need soone to handle basic tasks. Packing, deliveries, cleaning."
I was deliberately blunt, wanting to see if he’d back out. After all, how many finance graduates want to work as janitors?
He paused for a second, then patted his arm saying, "I’m physically fit. Tell what to do, and I’ll do it."
Ysolde gave a look.
She didn’t say anything, but her expression said it all.
I bit the inside of my cheek, trying not to laugh.
High education, good physique, zero demands.
He was like a gift from heaven.
If this wasn’t a trap, then I’d hit the jackpot.
I cleared my throat. "The pay is low. Make sure you think about it."
"I don’t care about the pay. I can start today." He took a deep breath. "Jobs are hard to find. I need experience. Big companies are too cold, too fake. Besides, I might not fit in that environnt."
He spoke without any pretense, just calm, honest sincerity.
Well, maybe I was overthinking. Maybe he really was just a graduate wanting a simpler life.
Ysolde nodded.
I quickly nodded in agreent.
Daniel stayed.
He imdiately got to work, one hand holding a broom, the other holding cleaning supplies, following Priya around like a cleaning buddy.
He ran up and down the stairs without a single complaint.
I stood by the display shelf of stone samples, watching him busy himself around the room.
His tall fra nearly filled the entire doorway.
His sneakers made soft noises against the tile floor.
There was sothing unsettlingly familiar about him that made uneasy.
It was strange. I was sure I’d never t him before, but why did he remind of soone?
I mind-linked Ysolde, "Doesn’t he look familiar to you?"
She glanced at him, "I don’t know him. If I’d seen him before, I’d definitely rember that face. But I can check around, see if there’s a Williams family among the wealthy in Highrise City. Maybe he’s so rich kid ’experiencing life.’"
"Worth a try," I said softly.
I kept trying to rember, but couldn’t place who he reminded of.
Finally, I gave up.
Maybe I was overthinking. After all, handso n tend to look sowhat similar.
I nad the studio Chris Joie and quietly opened for business on a Tuesday.
Things started falling into place.
After word got out about my studio, Octavia Grey ssaged saying she’d refer clients to .
I thanked her quickly, afraid she might change her mind.
With her recomndations, my client base would expand considerably. More effective than any advertising.
anwhile, I was preparing my initial submission for the Aurélie Award.
Design drafts, dinsion specifications, technical notes.
If I wanted to be shortlisted, all materials had to be ready before the deadline.
This award ant everything to . Winning would not only validate my design skills but also give the studio the exposure it needed.
While I buried myself in CAD files and wax models, Ysolde threw herself into her own project.
She decided to completely renovate her cake shop.
She planned to transform it into an Instagram-worthy spot where people would line up to take photos.
She hired a design team and constantly t with them, arguing about color sches and flooring materials.
The more complicated things got, the more excited she seed.
That was Ysolde. She thrived in busy chaos, as if it gave her life aning.
However, she didn’t forget my birthday.
That day, she launched a one-woman gift assault on my studio.
Shopping bags arrived one after another, the handles leaving red marks on her arms, her high heels tapping rhythmically on the floor.
"I know you don’t need anything. So by my logic, that ans you need everything."
She dumped gifts all over the sofa, chairs, and coffee table.
Handbags, necklaces, perfus, skincare sets, sweaters, hats, candles, even nail files.
My studio looked like a departnt store had exploded.
"I bought all the latest products. No cake though. You hate birthdays. So I decided on a more practical approach."
I stood in the doorway with my arms crossed, blinking at the pile as if expecting it to move on its own.
"You really scare sotis," I said quietly.
The sheer quantity was shocking.
Ysolde had always been generous, but this exceeded normal boundaries.
It was like she was stockpiling for the apocalypse.
Was she trying to relocate an entire mall to my studio? While I appreciated it, this was excessive.
"This is insane."
She grinned, holding up a lipstick. "That’s the perk of being my best friend."
Then she leaned closer, lowering her voice."My parents were thrilled when they heard about the cake shop, thinking I finally accomplished sothing. They gave a ton of money, and I couldn’t wait to spend it. Thought I’d share so with you. By the way—does Alpha Hudson know it’s your birthday? What did he get you?"
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