Chapter 2

Leah's POV

I jerk awake at the shrilling sound of the telephone, my heart pounding in protest at the abrupt interruption of sleep.  

Beside me, Ethan groans, burying his face into the pillow. “Babe, please, make it stop.”  

I sigh, untangling myself from the sheets and padding toward the opaque desk where the telephone lays.  

"Leah Carrington here," I snap into the speaker, still groggy.  

"Leah." My father's gruff voice filters through the receiver, instantly jolting me fully awake. My heart picks up speed at the familiar tone, and I swallow hard.  

Father never calls. As a busy man, he’s never had time for idle chitchat. If he’s calling, it means it’s important.  

I straighten instinctively. "Yes, Father."  

"Judith has mailed you a few documents I would like you to look over. There’s an important project I will need you on."  

I swallow hard, taken aback. My father has never needed me to look over official documents—not after I had *disappointed* him by going after my passion: event planning.  

He had been furious when, after graduating at the top of my class from law school, I had turned down dozens of prestigious job offers and declared that I wanted to plan weddings and galas instead.  

To him, it was unthinkable.  

So, he had left me to figure things out on my own, refusing to acknowledge what he called my mediocre business. Even after I started working with socialites and turning a profit, it still wasn’t enough to impress him.  

"Alright, Father," I say cautiously.  

The line goes dead. Typical.  

Behind me, the bedsheets rustle as Ethan shifts, his voice thick with sleep. "Who was that?"  

"My father," I answer, already moving toward my laptop.  

"Everything okay? What did he want?"  

"I'm about to find out." I open my inbox and immediately spot the email from Judith. Clicking on the file, I wait as the document loads, my eyes narrowing at the images that appear.  

They’re technologically generated pictures of models wearing luxurious outfits—classic designs paired with accessories that look vaguely familiar.  

They’re beautiful, but I don’t understand what they have to do with me.  

As if on cue, the telephone blares again. I snatch it up before it can wake Ethan completely.  

"I assume you’ve accessed the document?"  

"I’ve seen the pictures, Father, but I don’t understand what this has to do with me."  

"It has everything to do with you," he replies smoothly. "We are launching our latest clothing line in six months, but for the first time, I am looking to collaborate with a renowned brand."  

"A renowned brand?"  

"Yes. A fashion brand that specializes in accessories. Specifically, Glimmr."  

I blink. "Glimmr?"  

The name alone sends a ripple of surprise through me. *Glimmr*—one of the most sought-after luxury jewelry brands in the world. They dominate the industry with bold, unconventional designs, seamlessly blending millennial sophistication with Gen Z’s love for creativity and individuality.  

There’s just one catch.  

"No one even knows who the CEO of Glimmr is," I say, gripping the phone tighter. "The founder has remained anonymous since the brand made waves. People have speculated that it’s a celebrity or a billionaire operating behind the scenes, but no one has ever confirmed it."  

Father’s voice is smug. "I know exactly who owns Glimmr."  

I inhale sharply. "You do?"  

"And I also know they’ll be at the meeting I’ve scheduled for you in two days."  

My pulse spikes. "Wait, meeting? With Glimmr?"  

"Yes. The CEO has agreed to consider a collaboration. The clothing line we’re launching, paired with their accessories, would be a game-changer. But before we discuss logistics, I suggest you check your email again."  

"Why?" I ask warily, hating the cryptic tone in his voice.  

"Because I sent you something that will make everything crystal clear."  

Then, as usual, he ends the call abruptly, leaving me standing there, phone in hand, nerves frayed.  

I glance over my shoulder. Ethan has drifted back to sleep, his arm sprawled across my side of the bed, his breathing steady.  

Last night had been… nice.  

A romantic dinner at a rooftop restaurant, the city lights stretching endlessly beneath us. Laughter, wine, stolen kisses under the soft glow of candlelight. When the evening had wound down, I had planned to return home alone, but Ethan had refused to let it end there.  

"It’s been too perfect to say goodnight just yet," he’d murmured, intertwining our fingers as he followed me back to my apartment.  

And I hadn’t stopped him.  

But as I sit at my desk now, staring at my inbox, a strange feeling settles in my chest—like last night was a dream I should’ve woken up from sooner.  

Pushing the thought away, I refresh my email. A new message from Judith appears, this time marked Urgent.  

With a trembling hand, I click on it. A set of images downloads onto my screen.  

My heart stutters as the first picture loads—a man in a tailored suit, standing confidently in front of a luxurious showroom. His dark hair is styled impeccably, his ocean-blue eyes as piercing as I remember.  

I stop breathing. My chest tightens, and my stomach churns.  

It’s him.  

Dwight.  

The man who had swept me off my feet, loved me like no one ever had, and left me shattered. The man I thought I’d marry, only to wake up days before our wedding to find him completely gone. And then, days later, announced dead.  

I click to the next photo, and there he is again—his arm draped casually over a display mannequin adorned with Glimmr’s signature statement pieces. Another photo shows him standing in a sleek design studio, surrounded by sketches and mood boards.  

It all comes together like a punch to the gut.  

Dwight is Glimmr’s CEO. The anonymous mastermind everyone in fashion has been dying to unmask.  

I stare at the screen, unable to process the whirlwind of emotions tearing through me—shock, disbelief, anger, and, most annoyingly, a flicker of something I refuse to name.  

Behind me, Ethan stirs, mumbling something in his sleep. The weight of his presence feels suffocating now, like a reminder of the life I’ve tried to build without Dwight.  

But how do you move on from someone who was supposed to be dead—only to find out they’ve been thriving in secret?  

My father’s voice echoes in my mind. He’ll be at the meeting.

Dwight. My first love. The man who destroyed me. The one who taught me never to trust blindly again.  

And now, I’m supposed to work with him? To sit across from him and pretend the sight of him doesn’t make my carefully rebuilt walls quake?  

No. Absolutely not.  

My hands clench into fists as I glare at the email. But even as I try to summon anger, memories of Dwight’s smile, his touch, his voice—all of it—invade my mind.  

I stand abruptly, pacing the room as I try to make sense of this cruel twist of fate. How could my father have known about this and still dragged me into it?  

How could  Dwight  have stayed hidden for so long?  

And more importantly… what the hell am I supposed to do now?