Four

I woke before sunrise the next morning, as if my body remembered a time when every day began with purpose. The city beyond the window was still mostly dark, but the horizon carried a sliver of pink light that promised morning. I dressed quickly in clothes that shimmed between comfort and determination: black trousers that moved silently, a crisp white blouse that showed no hint of logos, and flats that made no sound when I stepped across the floor.

I drank coffee from a simple mug while Julian prepared breakfast at the small island kitchen. He did not offer idle conversation, but his presence felt supportive. I chose to count that as a kind of alliance. So much in the world was falling apart, but here there was a space that felt quietly solid.

While I ate, I opened my encrypted laptop and reviewed the overnight updates from Mara. She was already on the front lines. One of the boutique clients I had counted on had flagged a TV segment in which Alessia appeared. Alessia had said I had abandoned the company while “on the verge of a breakdown.” The boutique was concerned that association with my name might raise questions for their own owners and investors.

Some of the board were doing what they always do when fear rippled through the company. They completely followed the tide. They had not revoked Roman’s CEO title yet. That allowed them to pretend nothing serious was happening. But I could see through it. It would not last. The more they moved in his direction, the more unstable they appeared.

I closed the file and opened a fresh one. Channeling energy into structure felt better than letting distractions creep in. Today would be about setting the studio in motion and planting the seeds that would grow into something no one could dismiss.

I closed my eyes, and the quiet thrum of my own heartbeat reminded me something important: I was not powerless. I owned strategy. I had leverage. I knew their moves before they made them.

I looked up when Julian cleared his throat softly and indicated the doorbell had rung at the main entrance.

“It is our first contractor,” he said, holding the door open with fluid assurance. “He will help us with the studio set up.”

A man entered. He had a tall, lean figure with focused eyes and a tidy appearance. He introduced himself as Marco Daley and said he had worked with secluded clients before. He carried floor plans on a clipboard and walked through the apartment, measuring spaces with quiet competence.

I handed him the tablet that showed the coded room layout.

“We need a mobile cutting table and a small sample storage area over there,” I said, pointing to the corner near the window.

He nodded, tapping details into his device. “Lighting is also important. You cannot judge fabric accurately without it.”

“I agree,” I said. “No color compromises. That affects quality and perception.”

Julian stepped back, not interrupting unless asked. His restraint was deliberate.

Marco glanced again at the view beyond the windows. “Space makes work better,” he said. “Good light, good air. It makes the designs breathe.”

I kept my eyes on the man as he spoke, because I was still testing every person who set foot on this floor. I watched to see if he paused, if he questioned my direction. He didn’t. He simply confirmed it. That was what I needed.

By late morning, I had sketches up on the nearby table with cloth samples arranged next to them. The fabric was soft to the touch. The colors underneath perfect natural lighting were somewhere between charcoal, ivory, and midnight blue—colors that spoke of confidence without shouting.

I realized I was lighting a fuse. I was done watching things fall apart. I was rebuilding, first internally, then externally.

That afternoon, Mara’s message popped up again. She had pulled an internal memo that Roman had circulated. He was pitching the idea of a “reinvention plan,” which to him meant bringing in new designers, new investors, and new leadership under the guise of “enhancement.” She said he had circulated this among the board in a private meeting, so if anyone felt uncomfortable, they could raise their hand. She was checking to see if any resistance was forming, but she expected them to wait until after the next press cycle.

I kept sipping my coffee as I read. I could feel the pressure building inside their plan. I could almost hear the creak of the foundations giving way under the weight of their ambition.

I shut the message and looked at Julian.

“They are cornered,” I said quietly. “But they don’t know it yet. They still think they are in control.”

“That is our advantage,” he replied.

By evening I was already taking measurements of closets and storage areas. I was coordinating contractors for noise walls and ventilation. Every action was precise. Every detail mattered.

When I turned on the lamp near the workspace, I looked at the city skyline and reminded myself that retaliation was not enough. I would return on my own terms. I would rise from this foundation in full view.

I would show them all including board members, clients, media, that power without presence was nothing.