SUPREME STYLIST: RETURN OF THE HUMILIATED GENIUS

Chapter 0004: "Why me... why?"

Rowan let out a bitter laugh that cut through the night.

"Is this some kind of movie," he said, "and how do you even find me. No one has ever cared about my existence..but you.. you walked into a dump to offer me half your wealth?"

"That's one ridiculous joke. The joke of the century it is." He chuckled. "Who are you... exactly?"

Silence followed the question. Tree branches whipped aggressively in the distance, carried into everyone's hearing.

The woman put a simple smile on her face and straightened up. Not a single rumple flawed her velvet gown.

She stretched out a hand for Rowan to grab.

"Boss.." one of her guards, the nearest one wanted to protest, but she simply waved at him back.

The woman let out a warm smile. "You can call me Joyce, CEO of Royal stitches." She said with a knowing smile.

Rowan paused, his gaze intensive now. "Royal Stitches?" He repeated thoughtfully.

Royal Stitches.

That name toll a bell.

His eyes lightened up in recognition.

Rowan was one, out of the Sixty million followers of Royal Stitches. The Royal Stitches is the biggest Fashion conglomerate in the world until they disappeared two years ago, leaving the world spreading rumors about sudden disappearance,

Some people said they went bankrupt, some assumed the mysterious CEO of the Company is dead, leaving the Company operation toppling.

But out of the blue, a strange woman had just showed up to him, introducing herself as the Enigmatic CEO of Royal Stitches

Rowan let out another disbelieving laughter. "If this is some kind of prank then you chose the wrong guy to prank. Royal stitches, they're gone. They just vanished. Two years ago. So if you think you can just walk up to me, yapping shit, then you're at the wrong stop."

The woman smiled lightly, nodding her head like she'd seen more reasons to stay.

"Looks like I'm not wrong about you afterall." she gave a curt nod, "on the twenty seventh, 2024. Your comment on my last video on Ins*****m. Remember?" She raised a brow.

Rowan swallowed hard, his mind casting back to two years ago.

"You're my mentor, Joyce Lang. I wish to see your face one day to boldly tell you I'll get to your height, and surpass your. I want to be a world Class Fashion Diva." The woman quoted. Words for words. No single hitch.

Rowan's jaw dropped. He blinked in confusion. "How..how did you know.." His voice died in his throat.

"That was your comment on my last Video," the woman said, watching his stunned expression, "I saw the fire burning inside you reading those words. So, Rowan I'm offering you a chance to prove to the world, to show the Golden Thread that you're not at the bottom."

Rowan's fist tightened. The humiliations, the mockery. Two years of being placed at the bottom bottom of the academy, two years of his family looking down on him as insignificance. His fist tightened.

"If this woman isn't yapping shit," he said in his thoughts. "then this is really my chance to prove them wrong, to put all of them where they belong."

Rowan lifted his head, his eyes burning with something new...hope...resolve..revenge. He grabbed the woman's hand and rose to his feet.

"That's more like it, Ro." Madame Joyce smirked.

Without asking, the bodyguards formed a double line, leaving a clean path to a sleek white Royce Rolls phantom. Rowan walked side by side with Madame Joyce.

One bodyguard opened the door and stepped behind it.

The air conditioner hit Rowan. Crisp and Sterile. New leather. He stared into the interior and his jaw slacked.

Damn!

The ambiance was bathed in warm amber light. Merely looking at the plush leathers sittings, Rowan assumed that just one cost of it must cost more than his entire room— Black and white, blended with precision and flawless accuracy. The white stitching woved through the leather seamlessly.

Rowan had never been this close to a car that looks so expensive. It wasn't the kind in his father's garage— the old beat-up fiat. This one is the kind he'd only seen on screens.

"After you, Rowan." Madame Joyce brought his mind back with a gentle smile.

Rowan slipped into the Car. He didn't lean back immediately, darting his head around to take in the palatial interior. His head cooled drastically, forgetting his earlier suicidal intents. The anger simmering inside melted into the moment.

Madame Joyce stepped inside. The door didn't click until she settled comfortably.

She leaned slightly and pressed a button at the back rest of the front sitting t. A sleek shelf slipped out. She pulled out a smart golden case, input some code and unlatched it to reveal a black premium leather document holder. Tucked at the margin of is a gold Aurora diamante pen.

She flipped the premium holder. Resting inside is a clean A4 paper with visible prints. At the top, a bolder print displayed: TRANSFER OF DEED.

"You can go through everything." She handed the document to Rowan.

Rowan stared into the prints, taking in the contents with steady gaze.

As his eyes darted from one word to the next, his eyes froze in one place. His eyes widened.

"Half of your wealth?...and your Fashion Academies? $500 billion worth!!?"

The words came out in a gasp.

Madame Joyce simply let out a light smile.

Rowan blinked. The document felt heavy in his hand now. It actually trembled. Really trembled. Like the weight it carried outmatched any metals.

"But why me..why me?"