novelraw Chapter 445 445 — Terms of Alliance
Chapter 445 445 — Terms of Alliance
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Cruella showed no concern whatsoever about monopolizing Givenchy's attention. She spoke as she pleased:
"So, you dragged me all the way from London… have you finally decided to support my claim to the title?"
"Actually," Givenchy replied calmly, "I have something I'd like your help with. An exchange of conditions—fair, wouldn't you say?"
"Acceptable." She took a drag from her cigarette and exhaled to the side. "What do you need?"
Givenchy didn't answer directly. Instead, he gave a subtle look.
"Let's find somewhere quieter."
"Fine."
---
The group moved to a small meeting room beside the banquet hall. After instructing security to keep others away, Givenchy closed the door.
Cruella recognized Givenchy and Philippe Venet immediately.
But the other three?
Two young people and an older woman—unknown.
So she did what she did best.
She evaluated them.
---
Her eyes landed on Henry first.
"Pass."
Henry blinked. "What did I do? I got dismissed in one glance?"
Cruella stepped closer, cigarette holder in hand, and spoke bluntly:
"That suit—Givenchy, seven years old. Designed for successful men over fifty.
"The cut allows for… less disciplined physiques. On you, it fits—barely acceptable.
"But the shoulders, the waistline—this was altered off-the-rack. Poor tailoring. Small flaws everywhere."
She adjusted his collar, fingers sliding down to his tie.
"For someone wearing outdated clothing, with mediocre tailoring… do you have any reason for me to take you seriously?"
She didn't wait for an answer.
"No. You don't."
Then—
A pause.
"But," she added, "I'll give you this—the tie. Excellent taste. Though I doubt you chose it yourself."
She glanced sideways.
"Sapphire blue with white diagonal zebra stripes. Silk. Philippe—this is yours, isn't it?"
Givenchy chuckled, nudging his old friend.
"See? She says your craftsmanship has declined."
Philippe bristled. "I've had presbyopia for years! Did you notice any flaws? If so, why didn't you tell me?"
"My eyesight isn't what it used to be either," Givenchy said, raising his hands in surrender.
Cruella smirked.
"Philippe, if your eyes are failing, stop working. No one stitches forever."
Henry nearly whistled.
What a personality.
---
Next came Charlize and J.J. Harris.
Cruella looked them over.
"…Acceptable."
And that was it.
Both wore older Givenchy gowns—conservative, properly fitted. Women's eveningwear was easier to adjust, leaving no obvious flaws to critique.
Cruella wasn't foolish.
She knew Givenchy hadn't brought these people here by accident.
So she stopped wasting effort on superficial judgment.
---
Turning back, she asked:
"This involves them, doesn't it?"
"Yes," Givenchy said. "Simply put—Ms. Charlize Theron has a film premiere next month.
"They've been targeted. No designer is willing to work with them. So they're looking for someone… bold enough to step in. Perhaps even make a move into Hollywood."
Cruella narrowed her eyes.
"Targeted? By what?"
Givenchy glanced at Henry, uncertain how much to reveal.
Henry didn't hesitate.
"Vampires."
A beat.
"Not metaphorical. Not symbolic. The kind from bedtime stories."
Cruella raised both index fingers beside her mouth, mimicking fangs.
"You mean the badly dressed, medieval-looking creatures with terrible taste?"
Henry nodded. "Those. Though they've modernized their wardrobe."
"So why aren't you consulting priests instead of me?" she asked flatly.
Henry replied:
"Because in Hollywood, they control a significant portion of the lower and mid-level infrastructure. Their influence rivals major studios.
"They're using commercial pressure against us. So we respond commercially.
"We avoid escalation—if possible. Once it escalates, the damage spreads.
"But I won't drag uninformed people into something that could turn violent. This is my first direct encounter with them. I don't know how far they'll go.
"Next step could be bloodshed."
---
Givenchy interjected gently:
"It's not quite that dire. They avoid exposure, which limits them. From what I've seen, firm refusal is usually enough to make them back off."
Henry didn't correct him.
For someone like Givenchy, that was true.
For others?
Not necessarily.
---
Cruella ignored the reassurance.
She looked straight at Henry.
"What do I get?"
Direct. Unfiltered.
Henry didn't expect Givenchy to carry the entire cost.
But he also had no idea what Cruella valued.
So he answered plainly:
"What do you want?
"I'm the CEO of Stark Pictures. I have resources—at least compared to most people. I doubt you're interested in AR wearable systems.
"And that technology isn't ready for market anyway.
"So tell me what you want. It's faster than guessing."
He laid his cards on the table.
Even technical cooperation wasn't off-limits—though AR was still premature.
---
Cruella didn't even ask what AR was.
Instead—
She stepped directly in front of Charlize.
The future "Ice Queen," not yet at her peak presence—but already tall, poised, and unflinching.
Half a head taller than Cruella.
The two women locked eyes.
Neither yielded.
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