The moment I stepped into Camille's office, I was hit with a sensory overload.
I'd expected something sleek and refined—maybe a pristine designer's workspace filled with sketchbooks and fabric samples. What I wasn't expecting was an entire damn lab mixed with the personal aesthetic of an heiress.
The walls were lined with machines, ranging from specialized stitching stations to expensive 3D printers. The shelves were filled with bolts of fabric, each carefully labeled, displaying everything from regular cotton to experimental nanoweaves. Mannequins, some wrapped in incomplete designs and others wearing fully realized garments that could have easily been lifted from a Milan runway, stood like mute sentinels.
