The flagship launch of Osei Maison didn't just meet the projections; it obliterated them.
By the time the heavy glass doors finally locked at midnight on Sunday, the massive retail warehouse in the Meatpacking District was practically stripped bare. The initial inventory—a capsule collection designed to last six months—had vanished in under forty-eight hours.
The online portal, sustained by Iralis's aggressive rerouting through the Vanguard servers, had processed orders from eighty-six countries.
Ryan sat in the VIP mezzanine lounge, a glass of bourbon resting on the polished mahogany bar. The ambient amber lighting cast long shadows across the empty leather sofas. The relentless, chaotic roar of the weekend was gone, replaced by a heavy, vibrating silence.
Zara sat beside him.
