The eighty-seventh day.
There were only three days left before Fontaine family’s ninety-day suspension period ended.
The Fontaine family’s legal team sent me an email every single day.
The wording changed from “please reconsider” to “urgent.”
Then from “urgent” to “final notice.”
I didn’t reply to a single one.
It wasn’t because I was angry.
I truly didn’t want to go back and be the designated heir they could cast aside whenever they decided they didn’t need me.
That night, I stayed in the studio working on my final assignment.
My phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
I answered.
“Sloane.”
It was Tahlee.
Her voice was soft.
No crying.
No panic.
“How did you get my number?”
“I found it in Rhys’s phone.”
I didn’t say anything.
She stayed quiet for a few seconds.
“Sloane…”
“I gave back the Fontaine family crest brooch.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because I wanted you to know.”
“After you left that day, everything at home fell apart.”
She paused.
“Phoebe cried for a week.”
“Uncle Charles’ company almost collapsed.”
“Rhys flew to Paris twice.”
“Graham took the heirloom necklace back from me.”
“He said it never should have been mine.”
I kept holding my pen.
I kept drawing.
“And then?”
“Then I started seeing a therapist.”
“A real one.”
“Not a watch.”
“Not everyone bending over backward for me.”
Her voice was calm.
Nothing like the old Tahlee.
“The doctor said my problem wasn’t my heart.”
“It was emotional dependency.”
“I got used to using my illness to make everyone focus on me.”
“Whenever people stopped looking at me, I felt like I couldn’t survive.”
“But I wasn’t going to die.”
I put my pen down.
“What about now?”
“I’m taking my prescribed medication.”
“I’m doing cognitive therapy.”
She took a deep breath.
“Sloane…”
“I’m not calling to ask you to come back.”
“I just wanted to say one thing.”
“I’m sorry.”
“All those things you gave up for me…”
“I knew they were never mine.”
“But I pretended I didn’t know.”
“Because as long as I kept pretending…”
“My family would keep handing them to me.”
A quiet sob came through the phone.
“Don’t come back.”
“Just be happy there.”
“The Fontaine family situation…”
“Let them figure it out themselves.”
I leaned back in my chair.
I looked out at the Paris night.
“Tahlee.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re the first person who has ever told me not to come back.”
She went silent.
Then she laughed softly.
“Because I finally understand…”
“Some things lose their shine when they’re taken instead of given.”
After the call ended, I looked down at the line drawing in my hand.
It was the first draft of my final design project.
A dress.
Not a princess gown.
A simple, clean dress.
A dress that belonged only to me.
I signed my name in the bottom right corner of the design sketch.
Not Fontaine family’s daughter.
Not Tahlee’s Sloane.
Not Graham’s girl.
Just Sloane Fontaine.