The internet erupted in a frenzy unlike anything Herlos had seen in years. News of the company’s bold pivot hit like a thunderclap across platforms—Yeither threads spiralling into viral storms, Engram Reels racking up millions of views, LikToc stitches dissecting every detail, and Cerdit forums buzzing with speculation.
At first, sceptics scoffed—Hellen Jacksen, the ice-blonde alpha, staging a coback not with Milan runways or red-carpet gowns, but with Helly Paws?
A pet apparel line featuring cashre cat sweaters, waxed dog raincoats, quilted cow blankets, and embroidered fly-veils for horses? What the heck was it? Why pets? Was it a luxury line for pets?
Headlines scread it from Joges to fashion blogs—"From Bankruptcy Brink to Bark-and-ow Chic—Jacksen’s Wild Reinvention."
But the real bombshell landed harder—Emily Leonhart—the Emily Leonhart, Viktor’s ’disowned’ daughter, who he had removed from the CEO’s position—viral video of her with a cat—as co-owner.
Partnership papers leaked via trade insiders showed her na etched equal beside Hellen’s on the sub-brand charter.
Social dia tilines choked with reactions—shock, s, debates, stan accounts blooming overnight. #HellyPaws trended globally within hours.
[This is UNBELIEVABLE. Hellen Jacksen dressing DOGS to save her company? And EMILY LEONHART as co-boss? Viktor must be RAGING. #HellyPaws]
[I can’t BELIEVE it. Emily went from her ’cruise’ to a broken ship? Pet clothes over luxury? Genius or insane? Either way, buying the cat hoodie for Mr. Whiskers. #PetCoutureRevolution]
[I thought that she had ceased to exist. Never thought that she would make a coback.]
[Herlos is a dead company, guys. I don’t think Emily can do anything.]
[I heard that this was Emily’s idea. Besides, we have seen her genius ideas before.]
[Rember that she was removed by her father because of her ’everyday’ idea. Why don’t just do that? Why animal clothes? No one will buy animal clothes.]
[I WILL BUY! MY CAT WILL LIKE THEM!]
[I weil buy too. More clothese for my dogg...]
[Please, don’t ever comnt anywhere. Your spelling mistakes are pitiful.]
[Fuck you! Why do you need to berate him? Understand his emotions, bro!]
[I don’t like her. Rember the ti when she used to stalk Lily? She isn’t trustworthy.]
[She isn’t stalking her anymore. Why do the fans of Lily Warren have to be so negative everywhere? That woman was removed from her position, yet she didn’t give up. We should take inspiration from her.]
[I just want Lily to stay away from her!]
[Yeah! Sha on her!]
[I am excited for this]
[ too!]
[What will be Viktor’s reaction?]
[He doesn’t like his daughter. Making Lily as the brand ambassador made it clear.]
[That’s his company! He can do anything! NO ONE EXCEPT LILY DESERVES TO BE THE BRAND AMBASSADOR #LilyRocksEmilyCries]
[An oga like Lily deserves a better alpha. Emily is a piece of trash!]
◆◇◆◇◆◆◇◆◇◆◆◇◆◇◆◆◇◆◇◆
Viktor slamd the glossy magazine down on the polished walnut surface of the dining table with a crack that echoed through the high-ceilinged room, pages splaying open to a full-page spread—Emily grinning beside a mock-up of a dog in a chic knit sweater, headline screaming ’Herlos Reinvents: Pet Couture Empire Rises from Ashes?’
Elena and Alexei exchanged a quick glance across the crystal vase of white lilies, their expressions a mirror of calculated calm amid the morning light filtering through heavy velvet drapes.
"How dare she?!" Viktor’s voice bood, face reddening as he jabbed a thick finger at the photo—Emily’s raven hair loose, erald eyes bright, standing next to Hellen Jacksen in what looked like a factory floor, bolts of fabric stacked behind them like colourful ammunition.
His tailored suit jacket strained at the shoulders as he paced, the faint scent of his cigar smoke lingering from earlier.
"Viktor, your reaction is extre."
"That ungrateful brat! Dragging my na into the mud wasn’t enough—now she’s dressing dogs? Cats? Thinks this stunt will drag to my knees, begging her back to Leonhart? Never! Not in this lifeti!"
Elena set her teacup down gently on its saucer, the porcelain clink soft against the tension, her ice-green eyes steady as she smoothed her silk blouse. A half-eaten croissant sat forgotten on her plate beside a silver tray of cheeses and fresh berries.
"Calm down, Viktor," she said evenly, crossing her legs under the table. "Rage won’t change the ink. She’s playing small—pet clothes? It’s a sideshow, not a threat."
"Calm down?!" He wheeled on her, fists balled at his sides, mahogany chair scraping back as he lood. "That girl fuels my blood every damn day! First the interview, now this... Helly Paws nonsense splashed everywhere. She is a trash! Beg her back? I’d sooner burn every factory than grovel!"
Alexei leaned forward from his seat, pushing aside his own plate of smoked salmon on rye, fingers steepled thoughtful. The room’s opulence pressed in—gold-frad portraits of Leonhart ancestors glaring down, a sideboard groaning under decanters of aged whiskey and crystal glasses.
"We could counter it," he suggested, voice asured, dark eyes flicking to the magazine. "Launch our own animal section. Pet perfus, clothes, collars with our logo—steal the buzz before it builds."
Viktor’s laugh barked harsh, short as a whip. "What? Don’t joke, boy! , Viktor Leonhart, peddling dog bandanas? Preposterous! I’d look like a fool chasing her scraps. Never dilute the brand for barnyard gimmicks—our brand choke markets, not mutts."
Elena sipped her tea slow, bergamot steam curling, her smile thin and knowing. "Let her chase her whims, Viktor. Dress all the strays she wants. Reality bites harder than ambition—she’ll trip on those tiny sweaters, factories idling while influencers tire of cute. No capital, no scale; it’s a fool’s detour. She’ll crawl back when the paws unravel, begging us for rcy."
Alexei nodded slow, tracing the magazine’s edge. "Mother’s right. We should focus on our brand. Let her stall, then pounce."
Viktor exhaled sharp through his nose, sinking back into his chair with a grunt, snatching the magazine to crumple its corner. "Fine. Let the little fool spin. But when she falls—and she will—no rcy. Leonhart’s shadow will swallow her sloppy dreams." He waved for fresh coffee, the maid gliding silent; table tension simred low as he snarled loudly.
Reviews
All reviews (0)