Hot Driver - S01 E47

Story 6 days ago

Hot Driver - S01 E47

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 47

—

Maeve fainted flat on the floor with a loud thud.

For the first few minutes, nobody noticed her at all.

Every gaze in the hall had already shifted, magnetized entirely toward Ivory’s dress, the collective attention of the room narrowing to a single, glittering point.

The dress was a glamorous white and silver mermaid gown, its fitted bodice cut in a dramatic sweetheart neckline that dipped low at the center, framed by structured, upward-winged shoulder pieces that gave the whole silhouette a bold, statement-making finish right from the top. Cascading down from the shoulders were voluminous, ruffled off-shoulder sleeves made of soft, cloud-like tiers of fabric that puffed out generously before tapering at the wrist, adding a romantic, feminine drama that beautifully offset the sleek, body-hugging fit of the rest of the gown. The body of the dress was completely encrusted in shimmering silver sequins and crystals that caught the light with every movement, tracing the curves of the figure down to the knee before the skirt flared out into a dramatic mermaid trumpet, finished with a delicate feathered hem that trailed softly into a sweeping train, giving the gown an unmistakable air of luxury, elegance, and red-carpet glamour.

If beauty and pure, unfiltered awe could blind a person, most of the hall would have gone dark by now. None of them had seen a dress this beautiful in their entire lives, and it showed on every slack-jawed face in the room.

“Maeve’s passed out!” someone finally shouted, and heads turned, attention splintering for just a moment.

Sure enough, Maeve lay unconscious beside her own mannequin, crumpled and forgotten in the shadow of Ivory’s triumph.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd instantly.

“Why did she faint?”

“Someone get her out of here.”

“Is she even breathing?”

Guards rushed forward, lifting her limp body and carrying her briskly out of the hall while the rest of the room barely spared her a second glance, already pivoting back to the real spectacle of the evening.

“This dress should be up for auction already please. I desperately want to get this,” one billionaire declared, already reaching for his bid paddle.

“I want it,” another voice called.

“No, I’ll be the one to get it.”
The arguing continued, voices layering over one another in eager, competitive excitement.

At the front, Ivory allowed herself a small, private thrill. She was happy — genuinely, deeply happy — to watch people lose their composure over something she’d built with her own two hands, thread by thread, sketch by sketch. She glanced sideways at Maeve’s abandoned mannequin.

It’s an exact copy of my initial design, she thought, frowning slightly. How did she even get her hands on that sketch?

Could one of my own designers be feeding her information? she wondered. Someone on my team, reporting back to the enemy?

She filed the thought away for later — something worth investigating properly, once the excitement of tonight had settled.

Her eyes drifted across the hall and found Duane’s. He gave her a small, private thumbs up, and something warm bloomed instantly in her chest, an urge rising unbidden to cross the entire hall and throw her arms around him right there in front of everyone.

I’ve been smiling an awful lot lately, she thought, catching herself mid-smile and immediately feeling foolish for it. Am I actually letting myself soften? Is that really what’s happening to me?

The question sat there, unanswered, refusing to resolve itself no matter how she turned it over.

The walls I built so carefully, she thought, the ones I reinforced brick by brick after everything Ron did — they’re starting to crumble. Why? It can’t be for a man. It absolutely cannot be for Duane, of all people
.
She reminded herself, forcefully, of exactly what Ron had done to her all those years ago. The betrayal. The humiliation. The wound that had never properly healed no matter how many years she layered over it.

She shook her head sharply, physically dislodging the thought, and deliberately turned her face away from Duane entirely, focusing back on the crowd instead.

Diana, meanwhile, could easily have passed as the happiest woman in the entire hall.

She watched her eldest daughter — her brilliant, headstrong, guarded eldest daughter — receive an outpouring of admiration from some of the wealthiest people in the country, and something maternal and proud swelled fiercely in her chest.

I want one of these dresses too, Diana thought, already planning the conversation in her head. I’ll ask her to make me something just as beautiful.

Her smile, in that moment, rivaled the brightness of the hall’s chandeliers.

Arthur sat beside her, expression carefully neutral, though something quieter moved behind his eyes. He’d raised this girl when no one else had wanted the responsibility, when her own biological circumstances had made things complicated, and watching her stand there now, celebrated, powerful, untouchable — he felt something close to pride settle heavily and warmly in his chest.

I don’t regret taking her in, he thought. Not for a single day.

Duane, for his part, had noticed Ivory’s gaze drift elsewhere, and rather than dwelling on it, he redirected his own attention to the dress itself, studying the craftsmanship with quiet appreciation.

It really is beautiful, he thought. She built that with her own hands. No wonder the whole room’s lost its mind over it.

A few rows back, Abigail sat curled slightly toward her phone, exchanging texts with Tyler, giggling softly at whatever he’d just sent, careful to keep her laughter contained enough not to draw attention.

The auctioning began in earnest not long after.

A woman raised her bid paddle first. “One billion.”

“One point five billion,” another voice countered almost immediately.

“Babe, I want this dress,” a woman murmured to her husband nearby, loud enough for those close by to hear. “I love it so much.”

“I’ll get it for you,” he promised, already raising his own paddle. “Three billion.”

The hall quieted briefly, the wife beaming at the assumption that she’d already secured her prize — until another woman’s voice cut sharply through the pause.

“Four billion,” the new bidder said, cool and composed.

“Five billion,” the husband shot back instantly, jaw set with determination, unwilling to lose in front of his wife.

In the middle of the crowd, Abigail felt a familiar longing settle in her chest. I want that dress too, she thought. I could easily buy it myself. But I want my husband to get it for me.
She pulled out her phone and typed quickly, Tyler’s contact saved simply as Boo.

Abigail: I want the dress, hubby.

The reply came back almost instantly, as though he’d been waiting, phone already in hand.

Boo: Anything you want, dearie pookie.

Abigail’s smile widened uncontrollably. She glanced up and found Tyler’s eyes already on her from across the hall. He winked. She returned it, biting back a grin.

Meanwhile, the bidding war between the woman and the determined husband had only escalated.

“Ten billion,” the woman said.

“Twelve billion,” the man countered.

“Fifteen billion.”

“Eighteen billion.”

Then, a voice entirely different from either of theirs boomed from the back of the hall — sharp, commanding, carrying an authority that made every head in the room crane around to locate its source.
It was Tyler. His bid paddle stood raised high above his head, steady and unwavering.

“Thirty billion,” he said.

The entire hall fell utterly silent.

Nobody dared raise the price beyond that. The husband’s face fell instantly, his earlier determination collapsing into quiet defeat. His wife looked equally crestfallen beside him.

The other woman lowered her paddle as well, clearly conceding.

Nobody spoke for several long seconds.

Abigail beamed in her seat, unable to fully contain her joy. Ivory caught the expression from across the hall, brow furrowing in confusion.

What’s she so happy about? Ivory wondered.

Arthur, equally puzzled, scoffed quietly beside his wife. “So Tyler has some new woman in his life now? Barely a month since the divorce papers were filed. How pathetic.”

Diana said nothing, though privately, disappointment settled heavy and cold in her stomach at the thought.