Chapter 6: THE NAME ON EVERY LIP

Six months later, “Stella Designs” wasn’t just a name in Seattle anymore. It was a whisper that traveled across the country, carried by brides and socialites and women who wanted to wear something that didn’t just fit their bodies, but fit their souls.

Sophia stood in the back of the studio, running her hand over the hem of Margaret Rothwell’s finished dress. It was ivory silk with layers of tulle that shifted like mist, embroidered along the neckline with tiny silver flowers—lilies of the valley, Margaret had told her, were her mother’s favorite. It was elegant, timeless, and unlike anything Cross Couture had ever produced.

Margaret had left three days ago, the dress packed safely in a custom wooden crate to be shipped to her estate in the Hamptons. She hadn’t said much when she’d put it on—just stood in front of the mirror for a long time, her eyes glistening slightly before she’d turned to Sophia and said, “You’re very talented. Whoever you are.”

She’d paid the full fifty thousand dollars, plus a bonus that made Maya’s eyes go wide when she saw the check. And she’d kept her promise—no questions about who Sophia was, no attempts to dig into her past.

But the dress had done the talking for her.

When Margaret walked down the aisle at her spring wedding in the Hamptons, photos of her in the Stella Designs gown flooded social media within minutes. Vogue featured it in their daily slideshow. Wedding Style called it “the dress of the season.” And everywhere the images went, one question followed: Who is Stella?

“People are flying in from Los Angeles just to see us,” Maya said, bursting into the studio one afternoon, her phone in hand. She was grinning, her cheeks pink from the rain. “Eleanor just called—she’s had to turn away half the inquiries because we don’t have enough space. We’re officially booked out for the next year.”

Sophia set down her scissors and looked at the stacks of fabric, the sketches pinned to the walls, the sewing machine humming softly in the corner. It felt like a dream. A beautiful, terrifying dream. She’d built this—she, Sophia Chen, the girl from Queens who’d sewn her first dress on a secondhand machine. She’d done it without Alexander’s name, without his money, without his protection.

But with success came attention. And with attention came risk.

“I need to expand,” Sophia said, turning to Maya. “But we can’t do it here. The bakery is already stretched thin. We need a separate space—something bigger, somewhere private.”

Maya nodded, already scrolling through listings on her phone. “I saw a place in the International District last week—an old warehouse with high ceilings and big windows. It’s been empty for months. The landlord is looking for someone who’ll put the space to good use.”

“Let’s go see it,” Sophia said, grabbing her coat. “Today.”

The warehouse was everything they’d hoped for—sunlight pouring through skylights, exposed brick walls, enough room for multiple worktables and fitting rooms and even a small living area for when she had to work late. As she walked through the empty space, imagining where the fabric shelves would go, where the cutting table would sit, where she could put a comfortable chair for when the babies came, she felt something settle in her chest.

This was home. This was future.

“We’ll take it,” she said to the landlord an hour later, signing the lease with the check from Margaret Rothwell.

Over the next two months, they worked tirelessly to turn the warehouse into Stella Designs’ new studio. Maya hired more staff for the bakery, freeing herself up to manage the business side of the design house. Eleanor helped them set up a discreet website where clients could view portfolios and request appointments without ever seeing Sophia’s face. And Sophia sewed—dresses for brides, gowns for galas, suits for women who meant business.

By the time she was six months pregnant, her bump heavy and round under her loose smocks, Stella Designs was the most sought-after name in custom fashion on the West Coast. Women talked about “the mystery designer” at dinner parties, wondering who Stella was, where she’d come from, how she could possibly understand their stories so well.

But not everyone was a fan.

One rainy Tuesday, as Sophia was finishing a sketch for a red carpet gown, the bell above the studio door chimed. She looked up, expecting Maya or Eleanor. Instead, a man stood in the doorway—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a dark suit that looked expensive even from a distance. He held a leather folder in his hand, and his eyes scanned the room like he was taking inventory.

“Ms. Stella?” he asked, his voice flat.

“I’m the designer,” Sophia said carefully, keeping her scarf wrapped around her lower face. “How can I help you?”

“I’m from Cross Industries,” he said, stepping further into the room. “My name is Marcus Hale. I’m the Director of Acquisitions. We’ve been following your work.”

Sophia’s blood turned to ice. She gripped the edge of the table to keep her hands from shaking. “Cross Industries doesn’t buy small design houses,” she said, her voice steady despite the panic rising in her throat. “We’re not for sale.”

Marcus smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re not looking to buy. We’re looking to hire. Mr. Cross is very impressed with your recent work—especially the dress worn by Margaret Rothwell at her wedding. He’d like to offer you a position as Head Designer for Cross Couture. A salary of two million dollars a year, full creative control, your own team.”

Two million dollars. It was more money than she’d ever dreamed of. It would secure the babies’ future for life. It would give her access to the best fabrics, the best resources, the biggest stages in the fashion world.

But it would mean working for Alexander. It would mean stepping back into his world. It would mean risking everything she’d built on her own.

“Tell Mr. Cross I’m flattered,” she said, turning back to her sketchbook. “But I’m happy where I am. I don’t want to work for anyone else.”

Marcus didn’t leave. He took another step closer, his eyes flicking down to her stomach for just a second before meeting hers again. “Mr. Cross doesn’t take no for an answer easily. He knows you’re operating under a pseudonym. He knows you’re hiding something. In this industry, secrets can be expensive. Especially when they involve intellectual property.”

The threat hung in the air, heavy as the rain outside. He knew. Or at least, he suspected.

“I don’t have any secrets that concern Cross Industries,” Sophia said, her voice sharp now. “And my designs are my own. If Mr. Cross has a problem with that, he can come talk to me himself. Otherwise, I’d like you to leave.”

Marcus studied her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. He pulled a business card from his folder and set it on the table. “Think about it, Ms. Stella. The offer stands for one week. After that… things might get complicated.”

When the door closed behind him, Sophia sank onto a stool, her legs shaking. She’d known this day would come. She’d known Alexander wouldn’t let her stay hidden forever. But she hadn’t expected it to happen so soon, not when she was so close to having everything she wanted.

She picked up the card—sleek black with gold lettering, Alexander’s name printed at the bottom. She’d seen that card a thousand times, sitting on his desk in the penthouse, tucked into his pocket when they went out to dinner.

She pulled out her phone and called Eleanor. “I need you to do something for me,” she said, when her friend answered. “I need you to find out everything you can about Marcus Hale. And about what Alexander is planning.”

Eleanor didn’t ask questions. “I’ll get on it. Are you safe?”

“I’m safe,” Sophia said, looking at the empty studio around her. “For now.”

That night, after Maya had left and the warehouse was quiet, Sophia sat at her worktable and pulled out the silver button Alexander had sent her. She turned it over in her fingers, watching the tiny constellations catch the light.

He was looking for her. He was trying to bring her back into his world. But she wasn’t the same girl who’d left New York two years ago. She was stronger now. She had more to lose. And she had more to fight for.

She set the button down and picked up her pencil, opening a new page in her sketchbook. She’d design a new collection—one that would show Alexander exactly what he was missing. One that would prove she didn’t need him to be successful. One that would make sure Stella Designs was a name no one could ever take away from her.

She’d call it Unbreakable.

As she drew, she felt the babies kick—strong, rhythmic movements against her hand. She smiled, pressing her palm to her bump.

“He thinks he can scare me,” she whispered to them. “He thinks he can control me. But he doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. He doesn’t know that we’re stronger than he ever was.”

The next morning, Eleanor called back, her voice tight with urgency.

“Sophia—you need to see this,” she said. “Marcus Hale isn’t just from Cross Industries. He’s also connected to the syndicate your ex-husband’s family has ties to. And he’s not just looking for a designer. He’s looking for you. I found a file on their server—your name, your old address in Queens, even the flight records from when you left New York.”

Sophia’s heart stopped. They had her information. They knew where she’d been. They were closing in.

“What do I do?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Eleanor paused, then said, “There’s only one way to protect yourself and the babies. You have to go public. You have to show the world who Stella is before they tell their version of the story. You have to take control.”

Sophia looked out the window at the Seattle rain, at the city that had become her sanctuary. She’d hidden for so long. She’d stayed in the shadows to keep her babies safe. But maybe staying hidden wasn’t safe anymore. Maybe the only way to protect them was to st

ep into the light.

“Okay,” she said, her voice steady now. “Let’s do it. Let’s show them who I am.”