Chapter 6

I woke up at five in the morning, too nervous to sleep. The interview was at two in the afternoon, but I needed every minute to prepare.

Tessy was already awake, feeding the twins in the kitchen. She'd laid out clothes on the back of the couch for me. A black pencil skirt, a cream silk blouse, and a blazer that actually fit properly. Real professional clothes, not the oversized things I'd been hiding in.

"Thank you," I said, touching the soft fabric of the blouse.

"You're going to kill it today," Tessy said, bouncing one baby on her hip. "Just remember, you're not asking for charity. They need you as much as you need them."

I wasn't sure that was true, but I appreciated the confidence.

I spent the morning reviewing my portfolio, practicing my pitch in front of Tessy's bathroom mirror. Sustainable luxury wasn't just a trend. It was the future. Consumers wanted beautiful things that didn't destroy the planet. They wanted to feel good about their purchases, not guilty. I could give them that. I could transform Vance Fashion House from an outdated has-been into a relevant, profitable brand.

I believed it. I just needed Mr. Cross to believe it too.

By noon, I was dressed and ready. The clothes fit perfectly, making me look professional and put together despite the secret I was hiding underneath. My small bump was barely visible at twelve weeks, especially in the structured blazer.

"You look like you own the place already," Tessy said, walking me to the door.

"I feel like I'm going to throw up."

"That's just the baby. And nerves. You've got this, Chloe. Go show them what you're made of."

I took the subway to Midtown, clutching my portfolio against my chest like a shield. Cross Luxury Group headquarters was impossible to miss. A gleaming glass skyscraper that reflected the winter sky, all sharp angles and modern architecture. The kind of building that made you feel small just looking at it.

I walked through the revolving doors into a lobby that screamed money and power. Marble floors, minimalist furniture, enormous abstract art on the walls. Everyone moving through the space looked important and busy.

I approached the reception desk, trying not to feel intimidated.

"Chloe Thorne. I have a two o'clock interview with Mr. Cross."

The receptionist checked her computer and smiled. "Fifteenth floor. Rachel Kim will meet you there."

The elevator ride up felt like it took forever. My reflection in the mirrored walls showed a woman who looked calm and professional. Inside, my heart was racing and my palms were sweating.

The fifteenth floor was just as impressive as the lobby. Floor to ceiling windows overlooked Manhattan, the city sprawling out below like a promise or a threat. The reception area had sleek furniture and more abstract art. Everything was black, white, and chrome. Cold. Expensive.

A young woman with glossy black hair and a perfect smile approached me immediately.

"Ms. Thorne? I'm Rachel Kim, Mr. Cross's executive assistant. It's so nice to meet you."

She shook my hand firmly. Her grip was warm, but I noticed something in her eyes. Nervousness. Maybe even worry.

"Thank you for seeing me," I said.

"Of course. Your portfolio was very impressive. Mr. Cross specifically requested this meeting himself." She gestured for me to follow her down a hallway lined with photos of fashion shows and magazine covers. "Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?"

"Water would be great."

She led me to a conference room that took my breath away. One entire wall was floor to ceiling windows with a view of Manhattan that made me feel like I was floating above the city. A long glass table dominated the space, surrounded by modern chairs. Everything was pristine and perfect.

"Mr. Cross will be with you shortly," Rachel said, setting down a bottle of water. Then she hesitated, like she wanted to say something else.

"Is everything okay?" I asked.

"Yes, of course." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "It's just that Mr. Cross is in an unusual mood today. He's been very focused on this meeting. Just be yourself. You'll do great."

That was a strange thing to say. An unusual mood. What did that mean?

Rachel left, and I was alone in the room with my portfolio and my racing thoughts.

I spread my sketches across the table, arranging them to tell a story. Sustainable luxury wasn't about sacrifice. It was about innovation. Natural dyes that were more vibrant than chemical ones. Fabrics that were stronger and more beautiful than traditional textiles. Construction techniques that created zero waste while producing stunning silhouettes.

I'd been working on these concepts for years, developing them in secret while Travis took credit for every innovation I gave him. This was my chance to prove they were mine. To prove I was more than just the wife who happened to have good ideas.

I practiced my opening statement under my breath. "Mr. Cross, thank you for this opportunity. I believe sustainable luxury is the future of fashion, and Vance Fashion House can lead that transformation."

The door opened.

I looked up, ready to smile and shake hands and make a professional first impression.

Time stopped.

The man walking through the door was him. The stranger from the club. The man who'd made me feel alive and wanted and beautiful for one perfect night. The man whose baby was growing inside me right now.

Lucien Cross.

His dark eyes met mine across the conference room, and I watched recognition flash through them. Shock. Then something unreadable.

He was even more devastating in daylight and business clothes. Perfectly tailored suit that probably cost more than my rent. Dark hair swept back from his face. Those sharp cheekbones and intense eyes that had looked at me with such hunger.

Neither of us spoke.

The air between us crackled with tension and unspoken words and the memory of everything we'd done together. His hands on my body. His mouth on mine. The way he'd made me forget everything except pleasure and connection and feeling wanted.

He was the CEO. The man who held my future in his hands.

And I was pregnant with his child.