Chapter 6: The Call

Three years later.

The studio buzzed with life. Sewing machines whirred, scissors clicked, people moved quickly from table to table. Rolls of fabric leaned against the walls, and mannequins stood dressed in half-finished clothes, waiting for their turn.

In the middle of it all was Kathalina Ruiz. She was sharp, focused, her brown eyes checking every seam, every detail. Nothing escaped her notice.

“Steve,” she said suddenly, lifting a dress.

“Look at this seam.”

Steve, her right hand in everything, walked over with his usual flair.

Tall, effortlessly handsome, and always dressed like he had stepped out of a Parisian runway, Steve carried an air of casual superiority that was impossible to ignore. Even the way he leaned against the table seemed rehearsed, like a man who knew the spotlight was his by default.

“Mon dieu, Kathalina,” he sighed, his accent curling around every syllable like velvet.

“If you frown any deeper, your face will crease, and then I will have to redesign the entire lighting for the show to hide it. Do you wish to give me heart problems, hmm?”

Kathalina arched an eyebrow, refusing to look away from the crooked seam in her hands.

“It’s not my face I’m worried about, Steve. It’s stitch work. Look at this. Unacceptable.”

He pressed a hand dramatically to his chest as though she had insulted his very soul.

“You wound me, chérie. You think I would allow a single stitch to betray you on that runway? Impossible. I will fix it, immediately.” He plucked the dress from her hands with the flourishing of a magician revealing his trick, twirling it over his arm like a prized possession.

Kathalina exhaled, half amused despite herself.

 “You’re impossible.”

“And you, ma chère, are perfectionist to the point of madness.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice with mock gravity.

Kathalina shook her head, though her lips almost curved into a smile. “If it shows on the runway, it ruins everything. I won’t allow it.”

“Which is why I stay. No one else survives you longer than a week. But me? Pff. Three years, and still, I am here.”

That pulled a small laugh from her, quick and unwilling. Steve lived for moments like that when her ice cracked just enough to prove she was still human beneath the legend of Layla.

Kathalina went back to her sketches, pencil moving in sharp, decisive strokes across the paper. Her brows were furrowed, lips pressed together, the world narrowing to fabric lines and silhouettes.

The studio door swung open.

“Coffee delivery!” Maya, her younger assistant, marched in balancing a tray of lattes like it was a crown jewel.

“Extra shot, no sugar, just like you like it, boss. Don’t say I don’t love you.”

“You love your job,” Kathalina muttered, though she took the cup with a quiet sigh of relief.

“Same thing,” Maya grinned, setting the tray on the worktable and sliding the other cups toward Steve and the pattern makers.

Steve, perched on a high stool with fabric draped across his lap, raised one elegant brow.

“Mon dieu, finally. I was dying. A Frenchman without his coffee it is a crime, no?”

Maya snorted.

 “You complain like you’re eighty.”

Steve pressed his hand to his chest dramatically.

“Better to complain beautifully than suffer in silence like a fool.”

Kathalina shook her head, hiding the faintest smile as she returned to her sketch.

The studio fell back into rhythm. Machines hummed steadily in the corner, scissors snipped through fabric with practiced precision, and Maya scribbled notes from the latest fitting. Steve leaned over a mannequin, pinning fabric with quick, precise fingers, all while humming some old French tune under his breath.

It was chaos, yes, but it was her chaos. A kingdom she had built, piece by piece, and ruled with a steady hand.

Then her phone buzzed.

She barely looked at it. Usually, she ignores calls when she works. But when she saw the name, her breath caught.

Attorney Jun Soto.

Her mother’s lawyer.

The noise in the studio seemed to fade. She stared at the screen, frozen.

Steve noticed. “Boss? You, okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Kathalina pressed her lips together and answered. She turned away, walking to the corner.

“Attorney?” Her voice was calm, but her throat was dry.

“Miss Ruiz,” his voice was formal, heavy. “I’m calling to inform you… it’s time.”

Her fingers gripped the phone tighter. “…Time?”

“Your mother’s last will is ready to be read. You need to return home.”

The words cut into her. For a moment, she couldn’t speak.

“Miss Ruiz?” Soto’s voice softened. “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m here.”

Her eyes flicked back to her team. Steve was pretending to fix fabric but watching closely. The room felt quieter, as if everyone was waiting.

Kathalina lowered her voice. “It’s been three years. Why now?”

“The will set a period,” Soto explained. His tone was steady, kind. “Your mother wanted certain matters handled first. That time has passed.”

Kathalina’s free hand pressed against the table. Memories rushed in her mother’s laughter, her warm hands, the way she used to whisper, Be brave Kathy.

Her voice turned cold. “And if I don’t come?”

Soto paused on the other line, the silence stretching. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle, almost fragile.

 “Legally, we can’t proceed without you. And personally… you were all she had, Kathalina. No siblings, no other family, just you. It was her final wish that you be there to hear her words yourself.”

Kathalina closed her eyes. Her throat hurt.

“When?” she asked finally.

“Three days from now. At the family estate.”

She clenched her jaw. “I’ll be there.”

Before he ended the call, Soto added softly, “She was proud of you, Miss Ruiz. More than you know.”

Kathalina didn’t reply. She ended the call.

The world came rushing back…...machines, chatter, laughter. But her chest still felt heavy.

Steve appeared at her side, pretending to sip his latte. “Well. That looked… intense.”

“It’s nothing,” Kathalina said quickly.

“Nothing?” He raised an eyebrow. “Your face doesn’t agree.”

She picked up her pencil again. “We have work.”

Steve stayed quiet for a moment, then said softly, “Do you want me to come with you?”

Kathalina looked up, surprised. His eyes were serious, no jokes this time.

“No,” she said after a pause. “This is something I need to do alone.”

Steve nodded slowly.

“All right. But if you don’t call me every night, I’ll assume you’ve been kidnapped by people with terrible fashion sense. I’ll rescue you in sequins.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips. “Sequins won’t save anyone.”

“They’ll blind them,” Steve replied with a wink.

For the first time since the call, Kathalina laughed. Just a little, but real.

Then the silence returned, heavier than before. She stared at the fabrics on the table.

Three years of building her walls. Three years of becoming Layla, the designer no one knew but everyone wanted.

And now, with one call, the past had found her again. It slipped through the careful walls she had built, dragging with it the echo of her mother’s voice, the scent of wilted gardenias, the ache of memories she had locked away. No matter how far she had run, no matter how fiercely she had buried herself in work and silence, the past had a way of reaching for her relentless, patient, inevitable. And in that moment, listening to Soto’s voice on the other end of the line, Kathalina felt it coil around her like a shadow, she could never quite escape.