Chapter 4 .

The weight of his words settled over the room like a storm cloud. Twelve hours. Twelve hours to decode the file, complete whatever task it held, and somehow succeed where failure wasn't an option.

"Should you need research materials or clarification," Elliot added, "you may ask. But choose your questions wisely. I'm not here to hold your hand."

The redhead didn't even look up from her file. She was already scribbling notes in a notepad Elliot must have provided, her focus razor-sharp. I gritted my teeth, unwilling to let her get ahead of me.

I flipped open the file, the paper cool and smooth beneath my fingertips, and started reading. The heading caught my attention immediately:

CLIENT BRIEF: CELEBRITY WEDDING DRESS PROPOSAL

My breath caught. I reread the title, certain I'd misunderstood. Celebrity? Wedding dress? My eyes darted to the name of the client typed neatly beneath it, and my pulse stuttered.

Client: Ms. Isabella Langford

Isabella Langford. Isabella Langford. One of the biggest names in Hollywood, a globally recognized actress with countless awards and millions of fans. My brain went blank for a moment as I absorbed the weight of the task.

I glanced up instinctively, but Elliot's expression remained cool, as though handing me a file tied to an A-list celebrity was no more significant than passing out a lunch menu.

I glanced at the redhead across the table. She was unfazed, flipping pages quickly, already dissecting the task. I forced myself to refocus and read on.

Task:

"Draft a detailed concept for a custom wedding dress proposal for Ms. Isabella Langford. Your proposal must include:

A visual concept/sketch of the dress.

A breakdown of materials to be used, with justifications.

A realistic budget estimate for the production of the dress."

Additional Notes:

"Ms. Langford has explicitly requested a dress that balances elegance and innovation, a design never seen before on any runway. Cost-efficiency without compromising quality is key. Presentation must be professional and refined. You are to work under the assumption that this is a real commission for the Blackthorne Atelier."

My jaw tightened as I sat back in my chair. Was this real? I stared at the file, as though the paper might answer me. I'd heard of companies running fake exercises for applicants, testing creativity or strategy, but this? Drafting a full wedding dress design for a celebrity client?

I glanced toward Elliot, but he was already busying himself with a stack of documents on his desk, seemingly disinterested in our reactions. A bitter thought cut through my confusion.

He was serious.

This wasn't a joke, or some exercise meant to gauge how we thought under pressure. Elliot Blackthorne had thrown us into the deep end of the ocean without so much as a life jacket. If we failed, we wouldn't just lose this opportunity he'd hold us accountable for the materials and resources wasted. My gut twisted. Did he seriously mean we'd owe the company the projected costs?

My eyes darted back to the file. Yes. That was exactly what he meant.

Drafting a wedding dress one for Isabella Langford, no less was not something that happened overnight, let alone in twelve hours.

Wedding dresses were works of art, painstakingly designed with fabrics that took months to source and refine.

How could I possibly create something worthy of her in the time I'd been given?

The redhead was already sketching furiously, her pencil scratching across the provided notepad. I gritted my teeth, determination replacing the initial shock. If she could start, so could I.

I looked back at the file, flipping to the pages that followed. There was a set of guidelines:

Preferred materials: Silk, chiffon, or sustainable lace.

Themes to avoid: Traditional heavy ball gowns or anything resembling previous red-carpet designs.

Client inspiration: "Minimalist glamour," "ethereal yet bold."

There was a small, grainy photo of Isabella in casual wear attached to the notes, a hint of the client's overall style and aesthetic. She looked effortlessly chic, wearing flowing neutral tones and minimal makeup. I jotted down a quick note: She liked timeless over trendy.

Finally, I spotted the bottom line...the budget cap: $20,000 USD.

My pen stilled.

$20,000 sounded generous to an outsider, but for custom, celebrity-grade couture, it was tight. The kind of fabrics, labor, and craftsmanship expected at the Blackthorne Atelier could easily skyrocket costs beyond that limit.

I closed my eyes briefly and inhaled.

Twelve hours.

One sketch.

Materials.

Budget.

Presentation.

It was insane, but there was no time to get overwhelmed. I needed a plan. I flipped my notepad open and started organizing my thoughts. I scribbled:

Step 1: Concept. I needed an idea that aligned with "ethereal yet bold"something minimalistic but striking. Flowing lines, lightweight layers, unconventional texture.

Step 2: Materials. Silk chiffon was an obvious choice for lightness, but I'd need an element that made the dress unique. Maybe hand-stitched sustainable lace or 3D floral appliqués.

Step 3: Budget. I had to balance the cost of premium fabric with handwork and labor. The design couldn't overcommit to expensive details or it would blow the cap.

I glanced up again at the redhead. She was still sketching, lips pressed into a determined line. She had a head start, but I wouldn't let her outpace me.

"Need anything?" Elliot's voice cut through my thoughts. He was looking directly at me.

I blinked, straightening up. "Yes," I said firmly, surprising even myself. "I'll need swatches of silk chiffon, lace options, and any existing cost estimates for those fabrics. Also, a sketching kit-markers and pencils."

He lifted an eyebrow, perhaps pleased I wasn't floundering. "You'll find the fabric swatches on the shelf to your left. Sketching materials are already at your table."

I nodded, flipping my notepad to a clean page as I started blocking out ideas. A silhouette emerged in my mind, soft, sweeping fabric with sheer overlays, a train that trailed like mist, and a bold design choice in the neckline or sleeves.

Something that stood out.