Chapter 10

Elara bent just in time to catch her daughter, lifting her up with a small twirl before settling her on her hip.

The little girl, barely three, had soft curls bouncing around her round cheeks and the most soulful dark eyes, eyes that looked so much like his it made Elara’s heart pause sometimes.

But her lips were Elara’s. Her spirit, too.

“Where are you off to, princess?” Elara asked, brushing a lock of hair out of her daughter’s eyes.

“Granny said we go see the big sparkly dresses and get cake!”

Lydia cut in with a huff. “I said pastries. You said cake.”

The little girl giggled, burying her face into Elara’s shoulder.

Elara kissed the top of her head, the scent of baby shampoo wrapping around her like a cocoon. “Be good, alright? No tantrums like last time at the pastry shop.”

The child gave an exaggerated pout. “But they had no pink cake…”

“We’ll try again,” Lydia said as she stepped forward, taking her granddaughter’s small coat from the back of a nearby chair. “Come on, sweetheart. Let Mommy finish working her magic.”

As Elara set her daughter down, the little girl reached up and pressed a kiss on Elara’s cheek. “Love you, Mama.”

“Love you more,” Elara whispered.

Lydia smiled as she watched them. “You’re a wonderful mother, Elara.”

Elara met her eyes, those same sharp, intelligent eyes that had been so full of disappointment when she first broke the news of her pregnancy.

She remembered the shouting. The slammed doors. The weeks of silence.

But time had softened the sharp edges.

Now, Lydia was not just her mother. She was her anchor. Her partner. Her strength.

“You weren’t happy about her at first,” Elara said quietly, as she knelt to help her daughter slip on her tiny boots.

“No,” Lydia admitted. “I wasn’t. I was scared. For you. For her. For what people would say. I saw how broken you were and I hated that I couldn’t protect you from it.”

Elara nodded, keeping her gaze down.

“But,” Lydia continued, crouching beside her, “when I first held her, I understood. You didn’t ruin your life, Elara. You saved it.”

Elara’s throat tightened.

She turned and hugged her mother for a moment, their daughter between them, babbling about the cake she would have whether they agreed or not.

“Go,” Elara finally said, pulling away. “Before she convinces you to buy her another crown.”

“She already did,” Lydia said, lifting the tote again. “It’s in the car.”

As they left, the door clicked gently behind them, and silence returned once more.

But it was a different silence now.

Not empty.

Filled with purpose. With memory. With emotion.

Elara stood still in the center of the room, staring at the velvet gown she was making for an upcoming elite showcase. Her fingers brushed the fabric again, but her mind was elsewhere.

She picked up her phone from the table and saw a missed call from Julian again, his name glowing at the top.

Julian Cross, 45 minutes ago.

With a soft sigh, she hit “Call Back” and waited.

It rang once.

Twice.

And then, his voice, smooth, deep, and achingly familiar, answered.

“Elara.”

“I missed your call again...” she said, crossing over to the windows, staring out at the long driveway curving down through the trees.

There was a pause. Then: “Are you busy?”

“I’m in the middle of something. Why?”

Elara’s voice stayed even, eyes still fixed on the driveway where her mother’s car had just disappeared beyond the stone gates.

The sunlight danced across the windowpane, but her thoughts were murky.

Julian’s voice came through the receiver, steady as ever. “Lunch. Just the two of us. Or...” a pause, slightly playful, “should I be making a formal appointment through your assistant now?”

That drew a small smile to Elara’s lips, the kind that came reluctantly. “I don’t take lunch with people I’m paying.”

“Perfect. I’ll pay for yours,” he said smoothly. “Then I can call it a business meeting and maintain your terrifying schedule.”

She exhaled softly, turning from the window and returning to the draped mannequin in the center of the studio. “What’s this about, Julian?”

“Something I think you’ll want to hear,” he said, voice lowering slightly. “And an impromptu investor is showing up at my office this afternoon. He asked about your brand specifically. I thought it might be smart to have you there to impress him with your usual magic.”

Elara’s brows lifted as she considered it.

“I wasn’t told there were any meetings today.”

“There weren’t,” he admitted. “This one’s off the books. Marcus said the man came in through a private channel.”

A flutter of uncertainty passed over her heart. “And he asked for me?”

“By name.”

Elara was silent for a second too long.

“Elara,” Julian said softly, reading the pause too well, “you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I can handle it on my own.”

“No,” she said quickly, firm. “I’ll be there. Where’s lunch?”

A smile slid into Julian’s voice. “My private rooftop garden. Quiet, beautiful, no photographers. And I just had the chef switch to seasonal ingredients, you’ll like it.”

She shook her head but gave a soft laugh. “You spoil me.”

“I haven’t even started.”

Her stomach fluttered, damn him for being so natural with lines like that.

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

“I’ll have the table set.”

He hung up first.

Elara stood for a moment in the silence, heart thrumming with something she refused to name.

She turned back to her sketchpad and quickly tucked it into her tote.

She didn’t know who this surprise investor was, but if they were interested in her specifically, she needed to be prepared.

And if Julian was calling her into something discreet and last minute, she trusted it mattered.

She walked into the dressing alcove beside the workroom and changed into a dark olive green wrap dress that skimmed her waist and flared below the knees.

The fabric hugged her like a whisper and gave off quiet power.

She paired it with nude heels, minimal gold jewelry, and pulled her hair into a sleek bun.

Not too formal. Not too casual.

Not the girl they once knew.