Chapter 9

Elara walked in, letting the familiar scent settle her nerves.

The large windows flooded the room with light. It wasn’t just a studio. It was a haven, a battlefield, and her confession booth all at once.

On the long center table sat sketches from last night’s ideas.

Her hands moved instinctively, adjusting a pinned muslin dress on the mannequin.

A few strokes of charcoal to a rough design in her sketchbook. A mental note to fix a neckline. It was second nature.

Yet her thoughts kept wandering.

Julian’s voice over the phone. The hesitation. The tension in his tone when he’d mentioned Leonard’s words.

“He said he was your first.”

Her stomach twisted.

God, why had Leonard said that?

What was he playing at?

He didn’t even remember that night clearly, did he?

He’d been drunk, reeking of vodka and frustration. She remembered trembling, frozen in the dark, his sharp voice telling her it was a mistake, threatening her into silence, then pretending she didn’t exist the next day.

Her chest tightened.

But what haunted her most wasn’t his cruelty.

It was the blood.

The stain on the hotel bedsheets she could never erase. The way her body had ached. The shame. The pain.

The fear.

And then… the test.

Two weeks later, her trembling hands holding a tiny white stick, tears sliding down her cheeks silently.

Pregnant.

She hadn’t spoken to Leonard since that night. She didn’t dare. And then the rumors began to devour her, turning her into something ugly in the eyes of everyone else. Slut. Liar. Pathetic nerd who fantasized about the golden boy.

No one had believed her.

No one but her mother, eventually.

Her hands stilled on the mannequin.

A knock broke her thoughts.

“Elara?” Her mother’s voice filtered through the door.

“Come in.”

Lydia stepped inside with a plate in her hands. Toast, sliced apples, and a cup of strong tea, black, just how Elara liked it.

“You didn’t eat,” Lydia said as she set the plate down.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“You always say that. But your body needs more than stress and caffeine to run a fashion empire.”

Elara smiled faintly, then sat at the worktable and picked up a slice of toast to appease her.

Lydia hovered a moment, her sharp eyes scanning the room. “You didn’t sleep well.”

“I had a lot on my mind.”

“Leonard Shaw.”

Elara stiffened.

Elara said, her voice even. “He doesn’t matter anymore.”

Lydia looked like she wanted to say more, but stopped herself. She reached forward and pushed a stray curl behind her daughter’s ear. “He might not matter to you. But that man is trouble. Always was.”

Elara set her toast down and looked at her mother. “He doesn’t know. About the baby. And I don’t intend for him to.”

Lydia nodded, her face unreadable. “And Julian?”

Elara’s gaze dropped.

“He doesn’t know either.”

“That man would do anything for you. I can see it.” Lydia hesitated. “Why haven’t you told him?”

Because she was scared.

Because what if everything changed?

Because her daughter wasn’t born of love but of a night that had left her splintered.

Because Julian saw her as a woman in control, powerful and unshakable. He didn’t see the fragile pieces she had stitched together to become that woman.

“I just haven’t,” she said softly.

Lydia reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Secrets don’t stay buried forever, darling. Especially not with men like Leonard sniffing around.”

Elara gave a tight nod, then stood. “I’ll handle it.”

“I know you will. You’re my daughter.” Lydia’s voice softened as she stood and kissed her cheek. “But don’t wait until it explodes in your face.”

Elara didn’t answer as her mother left the room.

Instead, she walked to the tall garment rack by the window, selected a bolt of black velvet, and laid it out over the cutting table. She needed a distraction. Something new to pour herself into.

Something to remind her that she was the one in control now.

Not Leonard.

Not fate.

Not even fear.

As her scissors sliced through the fabric with clean, decisive strokes, she told herself she would get through this. She had no choice. For her daughter. For the life she built. For the woman she’d become.

But her heart still beat a little faster as she glanced at her phone again.

Because the truth always found a way to rise, and hers was no longer just hers alone.

Elara was smoothing a line of chalk over the velvet when the door opened again.

Her mother’s heels clicked against the hardwood floor, though her steps were lighter this time, almost cheerful.

“Just wanted to let you know,” Lydia said, slipping her oversized sunglasses onto her hair. “I’m taking our little madam out.”

Elara looked up from the dress form she was pinning. “You’re taking her out? Where?”

Lydia smiled and shrugged casually. “She wants to see the ‘big dresses’ at the mall again. And the nanny said she’s been restless lately. So I thought, why not a little morning trip? We’ll stop by the bookstore, maybe grab some pastries.”

Elara’s lips curved as she imagined her daughter’s tiny hands pressed up against the display windows of the luxury children’s boutique, her eyes wide with wonder. “She always goes for the sequined ones.”

“She’s a Hayes through and through,” Lydia said, lifting a designer tote bag from the floor. “Born with glitter in her blood.”

That made Elara laugh, soft, genuine, a sound she hadn’t made in days.

“You sure you’ll be okay with her on your own?” she asked, a slight motherly worry in her tone even though she trusted her mother and the nanny completely.

Lydia rolled her eyes with a dramatic flair. “Please. I raised you. I think I can handle one high spirited toddler and a nanny pushing the stroller. Besides, you need time here. I know your brain is somewhere between that mannequin and that Cross boy.”

Elara glanced away quickly. “Julian’s not a boy.”

“Oh, I know.” Lydia gave her a wink.

Just then, the sound of excited footsteps echoed from the hallway, and moments later, a small blur in pink barreled into the room.

“Mama!”