A Morgan that didn't end with Hart

SEIRRA'S POINT OF VIEW

The air felt different today.

Maybe it was just me overthinking again, or maybe it was the fact that—for the first time in forever—I had somewhere to go. Somewhere official. Somewhere that didn’t involve pain, or Becca’s couch, or sitting behind a screen like a ghost no one remembered.

I stood in front of the mirror for a long time. Too long. Maybe too long

Becca had laid out an outfit for me like the sweetheart she is—a clean white blouse tucked into a navy-blue pencil skirt. It hugged my waist and flared out a little past my knees. Classy. Modest. Confident. She even handed me a pair of black kitten heels and said, “These are your power shoes today.”

I didn’t say much. Just nodded. My hands were still shaking while I tied my hair into a simple low bun. I added some gloss, mascara, nothing too dramatic—just enough to look like someone who had her life together. Even if, deep down, I still felt broken.

Becca hovered like a mom sending her kid off to their first day of school. Her eyes were glassy, red around the edges. “You’re going to kill it, Seirra,” she whispered, pulling me into a hug. “I’m so proud of you. So damn proud.”

“Becca, stop. You’ll make me cry.”

She laughed, wiping her eyes. “Sorry. I’m just—God, it feels like watching someone finally breathe after drowning. You deserve this. You hear me?”

I nodded.

But truthfully? I was nervous.

I hadn’t even gotten the deal yet. This was just a meeting—one that came from a random recommendation, not a formal job posting. Just because someone thought I was “good.” What if they realized I wasn’t? What if I choked? What if this was another door that would close in my face?

But still, I had to try. Because this—this opportunity—could change everything. The man I was going to meet today? He was big. Influential. Wealthy. One contract from someone like him could drag me out of this hole. It could rewrite my whole story.

The ride there was quiet. I had music playing low, just enough to distract me from the spiraling thoughts in my head. When I arrived at the building, it looked exactly like what I expected—modern, intimidating, all glass and steel. Like power dressed up as architecture.

I stood outside for a second and took a deep breath.

“You’ve survived worse,” I whispered to myself.

Then I walked in.

The receptionist smiled politely, asked who I was here to see. I gave her the name, and after a short call, she gestured toward the elevator.

“He’s expecting you,” she said.

My legs felt like noodles. My stomach was a tornado. But I still got in. Still pressed the button.

Because I had to.

This was more than just a job. This was my shot. My chance to prove I wasn’t pathetic. That I still had something left in me.

That Seirra Morgan didn’t end with Logan.

She was just beginning.                   

The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, and I stepped into a world that didn’t feel like mine.

The hallway was clean, marble floors shining like glass, the walls lined with framed awards, partnerships, plaques—everything that screamed, you’ve made it. I felt like a tiny dot walking through it. Just this girl with a laptop in her tote bag and a mind full of hope.

I told the assistant who I was again and she smiled, all polite and professional. “He’s in a meeting right now but he’ll be with you shortly. Please have a seat.”

I nodded and took a seat on the leather couch that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. My fingers were twitching. My legs bouncing. My heart was in my throat and time felt slower than usual.

Then, ten minutes later—which honestly felt like an hour—I heard a voice.

“Miss Morgan?”

I looked up.

It was him.

Black suit, perfect fit. Watch that probably cost more than my rent. Calm eyes, a clean-shaved face, and this presence that said he owned every room he walked into. He looked busy, important, sharp—but also… approachable. Like he didn’t have to raise his voice to be respected.

“Follow me,” he said simply, and turned.

I followed him down the hallway and into his office. Huge space. Tasteful, modern, but not too flashy. The windows behind him looked out over the city like he ruled it. He sat down and gestured to the chair across from him. I sat.

There was a pause before he finally spoke.

“One of my closest friends—Salvatore—recommended you,” he said, scrolling through something on his tablet. “Said you’re good. I don’t usually give chances like this to people I’ve never heard of.”

I swallowed, nodding. “I understand.”

“But I figured… why not? He’s never let me down before.”

He put the tablet down and looked me straight in the eyes. “So—Seirra, right? Tell me what you do. Let’s talk.”

So I did.

My voice trembled at first, but I found my footing. I showed him a sample of my work—mock-ups, branding concepts, two website redesigns I did from scratch, and some animations too. I explained my creative process, how I get to know the client, how I make it personal. I told him I wasn’t just here to make things look pretty—I wanted people to feel something when they saw the designs.

He didn’t say much while I talked. Just watched. Listened. Nodded occasionally.

Then, he leaned back and smiled a little.

“Well,” he said, “you’ve got talent.”

I blinked.

“I’ll give you the contract,” he added. “It’s not a small project. It’s a full rebranding job for one of my partners. Do it right, and not only will you be paid very well, but I’ll make sure your name gets out there.”

I just stared at him, stunned.

He extended his hand. “Deal?”

I reached out, shaking it like I was in a dream.

“Deal.”

My chest swelled.

I could barely breathe.

I did it. I really did it.

Maybe… just maybe… I’m not as broken as I thought.