Wen Yin rose, her smile edged with an apologetic tilt. “The fabric might have been taken by Shen Ziying. Wait here—I’ll go find it and bring it back, okay?”
The designer, seeing her humble manner, waved her off. “It’s fine. I’m not in a rush. Just bring it by when you find it.”
Wen Yin breathed easier and scanned the cavernous studio for Shen Ziying’s figure as the designer walked away.
A few seconds later, her brow tightened.
Shen Ziying was nowhere to be seen.
After asking several designers, Wen learned the girl had slipped out sometime earlier. Wen tracked her down to the restroom and found her exactly where she expected.
She didn’t waste words. Wen spread her palm and her voice went cool. “Where’s the fabric?”
Shen Ziying looked down at her with a haughty curl of the lip, pretending innocence. “What fabric?”
She finished and moved to wash her hands. Wen took a breath; a faint, controlled anger settled into her features.
“Only the two of us went into that room,” Wen said. “The fabric was lent to me. You’d better bring it out now.”
Shen continued washing, even taking a moment to admire her fresh manicure. “I told you I didn’t see your fabric,” she said lazily. “If you’re going to stand here wasting my time, you should check your own station.”
She clicked back into her heels and turned toward Wen, just barely taller in those stilettos, her tone smug.
“After all, aren’t you the great Designer Wen? Nothing’s impossible for you, right?”
She blew a mocking breath against Wen’s ear, eyebrows raised—pure provocation.
Wen wanted to smash her face.
“Sensible as ever,” Wen thought, controlling herself. “Shen Ziying, do you know what that fabric is?”
Her obsidian eyes fixed on Shen without a flicker of emotion. The look made Shen uneasy. Wen had asked the question before, testing the waters; Shen’s earlier bravado had just dug the trap deeper.
Shen frowned and feigned ignorance. “What, exactly?”
She paused, lips pressed together. Her careless mouth had just handed Wen everything.
“That fabric isn’t ordinary,” Wen said, voice steady. “It’s a rare material the company acquired after a lot of effort. It was going to be the highlight of the new collection. Now it’s missing. Neither of us can get away with this. Tell me—what will the team leader do to us if it’s lost?”
Shen snorted disdainfully and scanned Wen from head to toe. “Of course you come from the sticks. Isn’t it just an important piece of fabric? I’ll have my dad sort it out.” She shoved Wen aside and tried to walk out, her figure mocking as she looked back. “I don’t know how a country bumpkin like you even got this job,” she drew out, then feigned surprise as if a thought struck her. “No way… could it be what I think?”
She took another contemptuous look, all the unspoken cruelty on her face.
Wen’s expression remained placid, calm as a still pool, but there was a quiet authority in it that made Shen flinch. She remembered the slap Wen Zi had suffered before—her face had been bruised for days. Shen’s bravado faltered.
“It’s just a piece of fabric. My dad will fix it,” Shen muttered to herself as she pulled out her phone.
Someone grabbed her wrist before she could step away. Shen twisted and found herself staring into Wen’s steady eyes. Wen yanked open the restroom stall door and shoved her in, then stepped into the stall behind her.
Shen’s back hit the cold tile hard. Pain mixed with the chill and she made a small sound. She was about to yell when she looked up and their gazes met—ice against fire.
Wen didn’t touch her. She crossed her arms and stood in front of her, voice low and cutting through the restroom hush. “Shen Ziying, I always thought you were thoughtless, but not this thoughtless. You’ve lost a designer’s most basic integrity—tampering with a new piece.”
Shen’s act finally cracked. “I—I didn’t,” she stammered. Her voice shrank; she wouldn’t meet Wen’s face, glancing away.
“I don’t care who told you to do this,” Wen said. “Right now, return the fabric. Immediately.”
Wen could endure Shen’s small cruelties directed at her, but she would never allow anyone to harm the designs themselves. She couldn’t — and she wouldn’t.
Shen swallowed and forced out, “It’s…under the table. I just—accidentally—”
Before she could finish, Wen opened the stall door and walked out, not listening to anything that came after. Shen stood frozen for a moment, then scoffed and trudged back to the studio.
When Shen returned, pandemonium had already erupted among the designers. Confused, she wriggled through to the center and saw Luli’s face, which said everything without words. Luli grabbed her and pulled her aside.
“Don’t you know?” Luli hissed. “That Wen Yin girl—she messed up the teal fabric!”
Shen blinked. Messed up? It was only a scrap of cloth—what was the fuss?
The designer who had lent the fabric was frazzled beyond reason. The bolt had always been scarce; each group had been allotted only a small piece, and now this had happened.
Wen stood quietly, her gaze fixed on the fabric lying on the table. Her expression was unreadable. After a beat, she nodded almost to herself. “Shen Ziying came back,” she said softly.
The lending designer lunged at her, grabbing her sleeve. “Why is this like this? Why is there a footprint on it?”
Following the frantic look, everyone turned. The teal material bore a single, unmistakable footprint—dark and stubborn. No amount of rubbing removed it.