FALLING FOR THE COLD BILLIONAIRE NEXT DOOR
She wasn’t trying to comfort me—she was giving me direction.
And maybe that was what I needed.
⸻
Mr. Goh’s atelier sat on a quiet street, tucked behind ivy-covered walls. The moment we stepped in, the air changed—rows of fabrics lined the walls, spools of thread in every color stacked neatly, mannequins half-dressed in experimental cuts.
Mr. Goh greeted us with a small bow. His calmness contrasted the vibrancy of his workspace.
“You’ve brought me something interesting, Madam Bello,” he said, before turning his attention to me. His eyes, sharp and discerning, skimmed over the portfolio I carried.
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