CHAPTER EIGHT

Grace’s pov 

Four years.

The thought settles quietly, but it doesn't stay there.

My fingers pause over the sketch pad, the pencil hovering mid-line. The curve I was drawing loses shape, the line breaking off.

For a second the line blurs, not because it wasn't beautiful but because something else presses in.

Four years…and I'm still here. 

I set the pencil down, my palm smoothing over the fabric sample beside me. The silk shifts under my touch. Clean lines, structured cut, better than anything I have seen before. 

A faint smile touched my lips but it didn't reach my eyes. The truth still sits there. 

Ava.

The name lingers longer than it should.

She has been gone for four years yet…my jaw tightened 

Nothing changed.

My fingers press into the fabric, wrinkling its smooth surface before I flatten it. 

I exhaled through my nose, this isn't the time, not today.

Today changes everything.

I will prove to Desmond that I'm all he needs.

My lips curve again.

Everything has to be perfect. “It has to be,”  I murmured under my breath

The black dress fits exactly the way I need it to be. The slit runs clean along my thighs. My hair falls over my shoulders.

The moment I stepped into the conference room, it felt quiet. My heels whispered against the polished floor as I took my place. Conversations fade, eyes follow.

Nothing about me is accidental. 

At the far end, Desmond stood composed as ever. His gaze held mine for minutes, almost like a warning.

I tilted my head, a deep breath followed. 

This is my moment. 

After today, Desmond wouldn't  have a reason not to make me his wife.

I moved with ease, it was time. Fingers brushing lightly against  the table as I begin, my voice firm. I walked them through the designs, concepts and visions. Every detail flowed gracefully… 

For a moment, it feels right. 

Then the room goes quiet.

The smile that once filled my face faded. Before I could say another word, a voice cut in

“Interesting,“ one of them said, leaning back in his  chair, fingers tapping once against the arm rest. His eyes narrow slightly. 

I clamped my lips, my fingers pressed lightly into the table.

“This isn't what we asked for” another voice, sharper 

My gaze flicks to Desmond, his brows lifted, his eyes shifted briefly towards the door.

My chest tightened

“I believe this direction is stronger” I say, my voice steady “it improves the previous…”  The rest of my words were cut off.

“We didn't ask for improvement, we asked for consistency” another investor snapped.

Silence.

Desmond says nothing.

Soon the door swung open, every head tilted as the woman walked in.

My gaze lifts slowly, taking her in. The ivory suit, tailored to precision. The kind of confidence that demands attention without asking for it.

For a second, the room shifts.

Desmond’s lips broadened and his legs couldn’t hold still as he approached her.

“Welcome” he said, his hands reaching for hers.

“This is SG, the famous designer you requested.”

“SG?” I murmured 

The room stirs immediately.

I straightened, my gaze sweeping over her.

The moment her design was revealed, my lips parted slightly.

She steps forward, presenting her designs, laying them out with quiet confidence.

For a brief moment, something flickers in the room…

I fold my arms loosely, waiting.

Then it fades. 

“This isn't it either.” One of the investors says flatly.

A sharp inhale through her lips, barely noticeable but it’s there.

Another exhales, clearly disappointed. “This is not SG’s work.”

She bit her lips slightly, her fingers tightened around the folder in her hands.

Minutes later chairs scraped against the floor, papers gathered.

“We’re wasting time. This is not what we invested in.” A woman snapped. 

The sound of their shoes echoed like a reminder of what had happened. 

My fingers tightened at the edge of the table.

When the investors left, her steps faltered toward the doorway but arms crossed her.

“Stop” Desmond’s voice rose.

“You seemed convincing when we met.”

“Why did you impersonate SG? You could have said you didn’t know her, why make a fool out of me in front of the investors?” He asked

The moment her lips parted, Desmond turned away.

“Take her away” he said

I stood still, trying to process everything.

My head tilted slightly towards him and our eyes locked for a second.

“You said you could handle it” he snaps

My fingers curled slightly at my side

 “I did,” I replied, holding his gaze. “That was a better direction…” 

He didn't let me finish

“I didn't ask for better,” he said flatly. “I asked for results.”

“Results?” I flared back

“You had no faith in me Desmond” my voice sharpened.

“Faith?” His eyes harden. “You should have known the investors are not idiots.”

“Was that plan B?” I asked.

He turns away, “Meeting’s over Grace”  voice cold.

The footsteps disappear, leaving me behind.

The strength drained from my legs so suddenly, and my hand curled against the edge of the table, until the tension finally snapped.

The design sits in front of me perfect but useless.

A slow breath leaves me.

“Who the hell is SG and how did Ava find her?” I muttered.

She died yet it still feels like she has something on all of us.

My lips pressed into a thin line.

No, this isn't over.

Whoever  SG is… I will find her.