My first day in The Metro Fashion District.

My to-do list was packed tight.

I felt like a soldier marching onto a battlefield, loaded down with design blueprints.

There wasn’t a single second to breathe.

The studio was a chaotic sea of sketches, fabric swatches, and prototype garments.

Every day was a relentless blur of negotiating with textile suppliers, tweaking collections for Fashion Week, and running endless video conferences with my team.

I even worked straight through my lunch breaks.

Clutching my iPad, I sketched like a woman possessed, my body wound up as tight as a clock.

I had absolutely no time or energy to waste on Garrett.

Whether he and Vivian were officially together, or what they were doing right now—it didn’t matter.

Were they laughing at my stupidity, or frantically making up for their lost seven years?

Those toxic questions used to keep me awake all night, but now, they didn’t even cross my mind.

I only knew one thing for certain.

The moment this chaotic season ended, I would hire a lawyer and file the divorce papers.

He could chase his precious Vivian all he wanted.

I was going to build my own life and shine under the bright lights of this city’s

fashion scene.

One afternoon, I attended a massive international textile expo.

I was deep in a technical discussion with a supplier about fabric printing techniques when a smooth voice sounded behind me.

“Hannah Wright, your ‘Bloom’ collection is absolutely stunning.”

I turned around to find a man in a flawless tailored suit. He was incredibly handsome, carrying an air of effortless sophistication.

He held one of my promotional lookbooks, his eyes bright with undisguised admiration.

He extended a hand. “Julian Yates. I handle the regional operations for Alice, the Italian luxury textile brand.”

Julian Yates. The name clicked instantly.

We had exchanged a few brief, formal emails before, but I never expected him to be this young.

I shook his hand, offering a polite smile. “You flatter me, Mr. Yates.”

His expression remained warm and sincere. “I mean every word. Your designs are incredibly intuitive. Especially this specific piece—the embroidery layered over the fine worsted wool.”

My gaze dropped to the page his finger was resting on.

I froze.

I had poured my soul into that exact design, tearing through thirteen drafts.

Ultimately, I had used delicate silk threads to embroider classical patterns onto timeless European fabric.

It was a quiet fusion of modern romance and deep heritage.

It was my little secret, a personal touch so subtle that even my closest colleagues hadn’t picked up on it.

Yet, he had seen it instantly.

We stood in that quiet corner of the exhibition hall, talking until the security team started closing the doors.

We covered everything from fabric processing to deep creative philosophies.

He wasn’t just knowledgeable. He caught every single hidden nuance I had woven into my work.

It felt like meeting an old soulmate.

As we walked out, he offered a sincere invitation. “I really hope we can collaborate on a deeper level soon.”

“I’d also love to show you around the district. There’s an incredible Italian bistro nearby. Let me take you out sometime?”

I nodded with a smile, my heart perfectly calm.

But for the first time in years, I felt the solid, grounding warmth of being appreciated, respected, and truly understood.

Over the following weeks, our work brought us together constantly.

Julian always made sure to drive me home whenever I pulled late-night sessions at the studio.

When I was tearing my hair out over fabric choices, he was always there with sharp, objective advice.

He even remembered my severe nut allergy, personally calling restaurants ahead of time to ensure every menu was completely safe.

That level of meticulous, protective care was something I had never experienced in my seven years with Garrett.

Just as I was finally settling into this beautiful, productive rhythm, completely severing myself from the past, I walked down to the street outside my studio and froze.

Someone was standing right beneath the streetlight.