Chapter 4

VICTORIA

I stared at the photo until the first light of morning crept through the curtains. But what got me wasn’t the picture itself, it was the note.

“Time to make your move.”

It made me feel so confident.

I traced the words with my finger until the letters started to blur. I didn’t sleep at all. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Trent’s face, his stupid smile, and his voice saying things like, “We’re a team, Victoria. Always.”

Except, we weren’t.

By noon, I’d made up my mind.

“Are you sure about this?” Isabella asked, following me as I pulled on my blazer.

“Yes,” I said simply.

“You barely know this guy.”

“I know enough,” I said, grabbing my purse. “He’s the first person who’s given me a chance.”

“I’m so proud of you, girl. Just text me if you start feeling like you’re in a movie where the girl disappears after lunch.”

I laughed softly. “I’ll be fine, Izzy.”

Before I knew it, I was standing in Clark’s office.

The building overlooked the city like it was right at the center of it. Everything about it screamed power, but in a laid-back type of way. Clark was sitting behind his desk with his sleeves rolled up, reading something on his screen.

When he saw me, he smiled slightly. “You came.”

“I barely slept,” I said.

“I figured.” He stood and gestured toward the chair across from him. “Coffee?”

I shook my head and sat down. “Let’s skip the small talk.”

He seemed amused. “Straight to business, then.”

“You said you wanted to help me start my fashion brand,” I said. “But I’m not doing this for you or Trent. I’m doing it for me.”

He only smiled wider. “Good. That’s exactly why I want to work with you.”

I leaned back a little, studying him. “You’re not just using me for your revenge against Trent, are you?”

He held my gaze for a long moment before answering. “Trent is a part of it, yes, but I respect your talent, Victoria. You have something real. I’m not here to destroy, you are.”

His words made me smirk a little. “That’s comforting.”

He chuckled. “If I wanted to use you, I wouldn’t be offering this.”

He opened a folder and pushed it toward me. At the top was a contract. My eyes moved to the bold letters on the first page.

*Hale Couture.*

My breath caught. “That’s… my name.”

“It’s your brand,” he said. “It will be developed with your vision and designs, and you’ll have full ownership.”

I looked up at him, searching for a trick somewhere in his expression, but there wasn’t one.

“I’ll do it,” I said before he could even speak. “But I want full control. No tricks of any sort.”

Clark smiled. “Agreed.”

He reached for a pen and slid it across the table. My hands didn’t shake this time. I signed my name like it was the start of something new, because it actually was.

When I left his office, the air outside felt lighter.

Later that night, I told Isabella.

“So you’re really doing this?” she asked, beaming.

“I have to,” I said. “If he built an empire from my pain, then I’ll build one from my strength.”

She nodded. “Okay, boss lady. Let’s make it happen.”

We packed up everything we could fit into a suitcase, and I flew to Los Angeles the next morning.

Clark’s team met me at the airport—two assistants, a driver, and a woman named Lila who seemed to know every fashion contact in the city.

By the second day, they had found a studio space. It was a bright, open floor with tall windows and white walls. When I walked in, I felt like I could finally start breathing properly again.

“This is yours,” Lila said with a grin. “Clark said to make sure it feels like home.”

I turned around slowly, taking it all in. “It already does.”

From that day on, everything moved fast.

I sketched for hours, barely eating. The sewing machines arrived, followed by bales of fabric, mannequins, and every single thing I would need. My fingers hurt most nights, but I didn’t care.

For the first time in months, I felt so alive again.

Clark checked in every few days, sometimes just to ask about my progress, and other times to quietly drop off new materials or contacts. He never hovered, but somehow, he always knew what I needed before I did.

One evening, I was adjusting a dress on a mannequin when I realized I hadn’t seen him all week. I was about to leave when his reflection appeared on the glass door.

“You don’t sleep, do you?” he asked, stepping inside.

“Not until I win,” I said, smiling a little.

He leaned against the doorframe, watching me. “You sound different.”

“How so?”

“Less broken,” he said. “More dangerous.”

I laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is.”

He walked closer and handed me an iPad. “Thought you should see this.”

I frowned and took it from him. “What’s this?”

“Something that might interest you.”

The headline at the top of the screen made me stop breathing for a second.

*RHODES ENTERPRISES UNDER INVESTIGATION FOR FRAUD.*

I blinked, before reading the smaller text under it. *Authorities launch inquiry into allegations of false account statements and misused funds.*

My mouth went dry. “What… what did you do?”

Clark only shrugged. “Well, the first domino has fallen.”

“Clark—”

“Relax,” he said, cutting me off softly. “I didn’t fabricate anything. I just gave the right people the right information.”

“Information about what?”

“About the money that was never his,” he said simply. “The money you invested.”

My heart pounded. “You told the press?”

“I told the truth,” he said. “They’ll do what they want with it.”

I sat down slowly, still holding the iPad. Looking at Trent’s company name on the screen gave me a strange feeling. It wasn’t happiness or guilt, but something in between.

I stared at the screen, still trying to process it. Part of me wanted to be mad at Clark for not warning me first. Another part of me wanted to thank him.

He stepped closer and placed a hand on the desk beside me. “This is only the beginning,” he said. “You’ve got your life back. Now let’s make sure he loses his.”

I looked up at him. “You really don’t like him, do you?”

Clark smirked. “Let’s just say he and I have history.”

I wanted to ask more, but my phone buzzed suddenly.

The screen lit up and the name on it made my stomach drop.

Trent.

I hesitated before picking it up. The message was short, only three words.

Trent: We need to talk.