After some catching up, I got straight to the point, "You've heard about Kevin's fashion show, right? All of his designs for the show are based on drafts you originally created. I need those original drafts as evidence of his plagiarism."
Freddie's hand paused mid-pour, spilling tea on the table, "You two are …"
"I'm planning to get a divorce." I cut his words.
After leaving Freddie's studio and getting into a cab, I looked down at the brown-paper-wrapped chocolate in my hand.
Tears welled up as I tore open the packaging, recalling Freddie's words as he handed me the sketches, "Amy, if you're certain about leaving, then don't look back."
I wiped away my tears, took photos of all the sketches and sent them in an email to a journalist I knew in Paris.
Then I hurried to the Paris DNA testing center, where I obtained the fake paternity test results Kevin had used back then. Since my passport had been used for the records, it was easy to retrieve all the evidence I needed.
With everything secured, I took a cab to the venue. By the time I arrived, Kevin's patience had clearly worn thin.
"She's here!" someone in the crowd called out and all eyes turned toward me.
Kevin visibly relaxed, though his face still held traces of anger. He grabbed the design drafts on the table and threw them in my direction.
"Amy, you're impressive! Making everyone wait for you! Hurry and get changed!" The entire venue echoed with his angry shouts and the staff, visibly uneasy, ushered me backstage.
In the dressing room, my eyes immediately landed on the wedding gown at the center of the room.
This gown, inspired by me, was Freddie's design, with tens of thousands of pearl-white gems delicately adorning the hem.
Three years ago, when Kevin said he would give me this wedding dress, I was stunned and urged him not to plagiarize. But he didn't listen, even naming the dress 'Moonlight Garden.'
Back then, he wanted nothing more than to declare his love for me to the world. Over time, even I began looking forward to wearing it. But something that came into being dishonestly wasn't meant for me in the end.
As I traced the gown's intricate embroidery, a mixture of bitterness and sorrow filled me. My gaze lingered on the cuffs. "Who altered this dress?" I asked.