This feels wrong. Threatening.
"Eve."
Bryce's voice is smooth, practiced. The voice that once made me feel special now just makes me feel tired. And a little sick.
I turn slowly, keeping my expression neutral even though my heart is already racing. "Bryce."
He's dressed in an expensive suit, his hair perfectly styled, his smile sharp as a blade. Everything about him screams entitled, and I wonder what I ever saw in him. How I ever thought this man cared about me.
"You look well. Business must be good."
"It is." I don't elaborate. Don't give him anything. Lucy taught me that—don't feed the trolls, she says. Don't give them ammunition.
"I heard about your upcoming show. Very ambitious." He leans in slightly, invading my space, and I catch the scent of his cologne—too strong, trying too hard. My stomach turns. "I hope you're being careful. The fashion world can be brutal to those who overreach."
The threat is subtle but unmistakable, and anger flares hot in my chest. How dare he? How dare he stand here and threaten me like he has any right to an opinion on my life?
I meet his eyes, refusing to flinch even though my hands are shaking. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm quite capable of managing my career."
His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Are you? Because from where I'm standing, you're making some dangerous moves. It would be a shame if something were to... derail your success."
My pulse pounds in my ears. This is a threat. A real, actual threat. Part of me wants to throw my coffee in his face. Part of me wants to scream at him, ask him who the hell he thinks he is.
But I've learned that men like Bryce feed on reactions. So I give him nothing.
"Miss Sinclair?" The barista calls my name, and I turn away from Bryce without another word, collecting my coffee with hands that tremble only slightly.
When I glance back, he's still watching me, and the look on his face makes my stomach turn. Cold. Calculating. Mean.
This isn't over. Whatever petty revenge fantasy he's nursing, he's not done.
I walk out into the crisp morning air, my hands tight around my cup, trying to calm my racing heart. Bryce is pathetic, a child throwing a tantrum because I dared to be successful without him. I can’t believe I once fell for him. I looked up to him, thought I was lucky to have him. Until I saw how little and weak he was. I left him and haven’t looked back.
But the timing unsettles me. First the stalking, now Bryce's threats. My carefully controlled world is fracturing from multiple directions, and I don't know how much more I can take.
At the office, Lucy is waiting for me, her face pale, and my stomach drops before she even speaks.
"We have a problem," she says, thrusting her phone at me.
It's an article by Isabelle Dubois, one of the most influential fashion critics in the industry. The headline alone makes my blood run cold: "Sinclair's Fall from Grace: When Ambition Outpaces Talent."
No. No, no, no.
I read the scathing review of our upcoming collection—a collection she hasn't even seen yet. Every word is a carefully aimed dart, questioning my design choices, my vision, even my character. It's not just criticism; it's a character assassination dressed up as fashion commentary.
My vision blurs. This is my life's work. Years of fighting to prove myself, to build something beautiful and meaningful, and she's tearing it apart with lies.
"How did she—we haven't shown this collection to anyone outside the team," I say, my voice tight with barely suppressed panic.
Lucy's hands are shaking. She looks like she might cry, which makes it worse because Lucy never cries. "Someone leaked information. Or fabricated it. Eve, this could destroy us before we even get to fashion week."
The timing is too perfect. Bryce's threat, and now this. My mind makes the connection immediately, and cold fury settles in my chest, replacing the panic.
"He did this," I say quietly, my voice shaking with rage. "Bryce. He has connections. He knows people."
Lucy's eyes widen. "That absolute bastard."
I stare at the article, feeling the walls closing in. Sixteen years of work. Sixteen years of proving I was more than the chunky little girl, more than everyone's low expectations. And Bryce is trying to tear it all down because I rejected him.
