Chapter 13
I never thought I’d hear the words: “You’re leading the next project.”
I blinked at Parker, one of the heads, unsure if I heard him correctly.
“Wait–me?” I asked.
He smiled, nodding. “Yes, you. Julian wants you to take the lead. Full creative direction.”
I stared at the design board behind him. My sketches. My ideas. My drafts scattered across the wall like pieces of my soul.
“I don’t know…” I said softly. “Maybe someone else-”
“No,” Parker cut in gently. “Don’t do that. You’re the best person for this. You’ve always been the best at what you do. This is your time, Ms. Penelope.”
I took a breath and slowly nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
The team was assembled within the hour.
Young, driven creatives, sharp minds from different corners of the industry. And me- finally, me–in the position I had dreamed about since college.
It felt real. All of it.
#
In the days that followed, I lived in motion. My mornings started with fabric swatches and espresso. Afternoons blurred into team meetings, fittings, layout revisions, and endless color comparison. I barely noticed the time anymore.
And then, of course, there was Julian.
He always checked in on me–subtly, gently, without pushing. A coffee on my desk. A blanket when I stayed late. Little things that didn’t scream anything, but whispered everything.
“Don’t forget to eat, he’d say, placing a warm croissant near my tablet.
“I will,” I’d reply, even if I didn’t mean it.
“You’re doing amazing,” he told me once, after a long day of revisions. “They’re lucky to have you.”
I forced a smile. “I’m just doing my job.”
Still, I did my best to keep things professional. To stay focused. I wasn’t here for flattery or soft looks that lingered too long. I was here to work. To rebuild.
I didn’t want to fall again. Falling meant getting hurt. And I was too old, too tired, too bruised to stumble into someone’s arms only to be dropped again.
So I smiled. I nodded. And I worked.
Until the day I broke..
It happened on a Tuesday. I was in the bathroom cubicle, finishing up and adjusting my skirt, when the door opened and two
“…I mean, come on. Her? Leading the project?”
“She didn’t even work in fashion for over a decade.”
“Exactly. And now she gets the biggest campaign just like that?”
My heart pounded. I wanted to flush the toilet, to make noise, to do something–but I stood frozen.
“She’s obviously sleeping with Julian.”
“Oh, 100%. You should’ve seen how he looked at her during yesterday’s meeting.”
“She probably seduced him. Wore that tight little black dress.”
Laughter.
“And honestly, she kind of looks like Julian’s dead wife. Same soft face. Maybe she’s just
I pressed my hand over my mouth, the air sucked out of my lungs.
“She won’t last long,” one of them said before the door clicked shut behind them.
I sat down again, holding my breath, tears building behind my eyes. I didn’t even realize I was crying until one slid down my cheek and fell onto my blouse.
I waited until I was sure the room was empty before stepping out. I looked at myself in the mirror–red eyes, pale skin, lips pressed into a thin line.
They didn’t know me. They didn’t know what I had lost to get here. What I had sacrificed. How hard I had fought to feel human again.
And yet… it still hurt.
Not because it was true–but because a part of me feared it could be. That Julian’s kindness wasn’t about me, but a ghost. That
Chapter 13
I left the office early that day.
+ 5 Points
Called in sick. No one questioned it.
Back at the apartment, I curled beneath the covers and let it out–every tear, every ache. I cried like the woman I used to be, the one who had hidden every breakdown behind a closed bathroom door so no one would see. I cried until my body couldn’t anymore.
And when I finally opened my eyes, night had fallen.
