MasukMEEKA'S POV::
Nora and I arrive at the club, and it's already in complete, glorious chaos—just the way she loves it.The bass vibrates through my ribs, while neon lights cut through the darkness as bodies swarm together in a mix of heat, sweat, and questionable choices waiting to unfold.She had suggested we go out, have a drink and lear my mind. Discuss the little secret she just found out about. I tried to protest, half-heatedly. But Nora always gets her way.He doesn't offer a polite smile, nor does he look shocked to see me standing there in the spotlight. He just holds my gaze for a long, heavy moment before his eyes slowly drift away, taking in the rest of the studio.He looks at the display racks I spent weeks organizing. He looks at the mood boards framed on the brick wall. He watches a guest laugh while holding up one of my jackets against her shoulders.And as he takes it all in, something subtle shifts around his jaw and his eyes.Pride.God, I hate how much that hurts. It hits harder than if he’d looked at me with cold indifference. Because Slade actually knows. He was one of the very few people who saw me sitting on the floor of my apartment very late in the night, surrounded by paper scraps and crying over ruined thread tension, desperate to make this happen. He knew what this meant to me before there was a studio, before there were employees, before any of this was real.He knew the dream when it was just a pathetic, terrifyin
MEEKA'S POV::“Quit touching the display.”I freeze right where I am, my hand hovering maybe an inch over a drape of silk scarves I was trying to align.“I wasn’t touching it,” I lie, completely unconvincing.Nora just glares at me, giving me that mom look she’s somehow perfected over the years. “Meeka, I literally watched your fingers brush the fabric. You were touching it.”“Okay, fine, but I was fixing it,” I say, dropping my hand to my side. “The fold was off.”“It was completely fine. It’s been fine for twenty minutes.”“It could look better, though.”“Meeka.”“What?”She sighs, walks straight over to me, and gently takes my hand by the wrist. She pulls it away from the display table and uses her other hand to push me backward by my shoulders, physically steering me away from the clothes.“You are officially cut off,” she says, pointing a finger at me like I’m a toddler. “You are banned from touching literally anything in this studio for the rest of the night.”I stare at her, cr
It definitely didn't happen overnight. At first, I was a complete mess. I stayed buried in my tiny apartment for a week straight, ignoring the barrage of texts, keeping my phone switched off for hours at a time, and refusing to give anyone the big dramatic explanation they felt entitled to. I just stopped explaining myself. Period.And then, when the background noise of everyone else's opinions finally faded away, I pulled out that beaten-up sketchbook I’d hidden in the bottom drawer for years.I picked up a pencil. One drawing led to three. Three led to a whole folder. That folder turned into a crazy, reckless concept. The concept turned into a business plan. And that business plan became the room I'm standing in right now.God, the sheer amount of crap I had to figure out on the fly was absurd. Sourcing fabric suppliers who wouldn't rip off a newcomer. Figuring out commercial leases. Hiring people who actually knew how to construct a garment, branding, payroll, inventory. A million
MEEKA'S POV::“No, no, stop. Move it maybe three inches left.”The girl standing by the front display completely freezes up, her palm glued to the dummy's fiberglass shoulder. She blinks at me like she's waiting for the punchline.“The mannequin?”“The whole setup.”She looks out toward the glass, then back at me. “Wait, why?”“It’s swallowing all the natural light coming through the window.”“Oh..... got it, got it.” She instantly digs her heels in and starts dragging the entire heavy rig over.I stand there, arms crossed, watching the carpet bunch up under her sneakers for a second before I finally nod. “Yeah. Exactly like that. Perfect.”The whole space is absolute chaos around me right now. Over by the back wall, somebody is blasting a silk gown with a hand steamer, choking on the exhaust. Two guys are shoving a pair of clunky chrome garment racks into position while another girl leans half off a stepladder, endlessly adjusting a row of leather clutches on the display shelf.Under
Because somewhere deep down in the quietest corner of my heart, a stupid, foolish little part of me had always held onto the hope that if I ever truly needed her, she would choose me over the money. But today proved I’ve been waiting for a fantasy.I take a ragged breath. “I know you’re angry.”“You should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself,” she snarls.I stare right back at her, but the words don't sting anymore. The armor is finally up. I’ve heard too many of her insults over the years for them to draw blood anymore.“I’m not,” I say softly.Her brows knot together. “What?”“I’m not ashamed.” I turn my eyes toward the grand staircase. “I am terrified. I’m confused as hell. And I have absolutely no clue what happens tomorrow.” I look back at her one last time. “But I am not ashamed.”Her lips part, but I cut her off before she can spit out another word.“I spent my entire life doing everything expected of me,” I say, swallowing hard. “I’m done.”“Meeka—”“Stop interrupting me, Mom! I
Total silence hangs between us as she says nothing.I stand there, waiting, but she still doesn’t say a word.My eyes burn with hot, stinging tears, but I refuse to let them fall yet. “When?”Still, absolute silence.The pain nested deep inside me for decades comes pouring out like a broken dam.“You never asked me!” My voice climbs higher, shaking with years of built-up rage. “You never cared enough to ask!”“That is not fair, and it is not true!”“It is true!”She actually flinches back, but I’m done backing down.“You cared about what looked good on paper! You cared about what the neighbors and the country club members would say behind our backs! You cared about having the right shiny last name attached to ours! You cared about saving Dad’s falling business, and you cared about making sure I was the perfect little trophy daughter you could show off at galas!”“That isn’t why I pushed for—”“But you never gave a single damn about whether I was actually happy!” The words tear straigh
The drive to Meeka’s place is even quieter than the night itself.She’s slumped in the passenger seat, buried in the jacket I practically forced onto her the second she stopped shaking enough to walk. Her hands are tucked deep into the sleeves, like she’s trying to disappear inside the fabric. Sin
"Meeka."Hearing my real name stops me in my tracks.Even though I’m still angry with him, I dislike that he called me that. I wish he understood just how much I’ve come to hate it when he uses my name instead of the other one he calls me, and hearing it now only tightens something in my chest.I l
MEEKA'S POV:: “Nathaniel is tracking me.”The words crawl out of my throat, feeling heavy and bitter. But the moment they’re out in the air, a knot twists tight in my chest. It’s not just the realization; it’s the memory that slams into the back of my mind immediately after.My fingers curl into m
MEEKA'S POV::My soul has yet to return to my body. I’m frozen, not moving or breathing, just staring straight ahead, my trembling hands clinging to the wheel as if letting go would send us tumbling into space.The noise of the cheering crowd finally breaks through, and I’m jolt







