The soft hum of classical music floats through the air, blending seamlessly with the clink of silverware and the low murmur of conversations. Giselle sits at a corner table in L'Amour d'Or, one of Slateport's most exclusive restaurants, the kind of place where fortunes are whispered over champagne, and deals are sealed with the flick of a wrist and a diamond-encrusted pen. She’d chosen the table strategically—bathed in the warm glow of the chandelier but tucked just far enough from the main floor to provide privacy.

Her fingers trace the edge of the crystal glass in front of her, filled with a rare vintage from Kalos, though she has barely touched it. Dressed in an elegant black gown that hugs her frame perfectly, a statement necklace of diamonds cascading down her neck, Giselle looks every part the powerful woman she wis. Her sleek black hair is pinned back, the lines of her face sharp and poised—ready for what comes next.

She glances at her watch, its subtle glitter catching the light. The hour of the night draws near.

The waiter approaches, silent and respectful, refilling her water glass without a word. She waves him away gently, her mind already on the conversation that is to come. A joint fashion line, she had proposed—a union of two fashion giants. The Fontaine name has history, but Giselle has something far more important: vision. And, of course, the quiet understanding that this partnership is only temporary. It isn’t in her nature to share the spotlight for long.

Mirabella Fontaine