80 Chapter 83
Chapter 83–A V–Neck Confession and a Sinister Summons
“Would you… like some tea?” I offered, though I was certain Damien would decline. Something had shifted between us, and I couldn’t understand what or why.
To my surprise, he nodded. “Tea would be nice.”
I busied myself with the electric kettle in the corner of my studio, trying to ignore the awkward tension that had settled between us. When I turned back with two steaming cups, I found Damien staring at me with an unreadable expression.
“Here you go,” I said, passing him a cup.
“Hazel,” he began, his voice sounding strained. “There’s something I need to point out, and I’m not quite sure how to say it delicately.”
My heart plummeted. Was he going to tell me he’d noticed my unprofessional attraction to him? That I’d made him uncomfortable? I braced myself, clutching my teacup like a shield.
“Your blouse,” he finally said, his eyes determinedly fixed on my face rather than looking downward. “The V–neck is quite… deep. And when you were kneeling earlier to pin the trousers, I could see… more than I think you intended to show.”
The cup nearly slipped from my hands. Heat flooded my face so intensely I thought I might combust on the spot. I glanced down and realized with mortification that he was right. The V–neck of my silk blouse had gaped open when I’d been working on my knees, giving him a clear view of my black lace bra and everything it contained.
“Oh my god,” I whispered, hastily setting down my cup and crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m so sorry. This is so unprofessional.”
“Please don’t apologize,” Damien said quickly. “I just thought you should know. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by staring or…” He trailed off, looking almost as flustered as I felt.
“Thank you
for telling me.” I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. This explained his sudden change in demeanor during the second fitting. He hadn’t been offended–he’d been trying to be a gentleman.
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“I’ll just-” I gestured vaguely toward my office, where I kept spare clothes for emergencies. “Excuse me a moment.”
I practically fled to the safety of my private office, shut the door, and leaned against it, covering my face with my hands. Of all the humiliating things that could have
happened! I quickly changed into a high–necked sweater I kept for air–conditioned client meetings, berating myself the entire time.
When I emerged, Damien was studying one of my design sketches with intense
concentration.
“I’m sorry about that,” I said, forcing myself to meet his
eyes.
“No need to apologize.” His voice had returned to its usual calm tone, but there was a hint of something else there–something warm and possibly amused. “It’s forgotten.”
But I couldn’t forget it. Even after Damien left with a promise to return for the finished suits, I kept replaying the mortifying moment in my mind.
That night, as I soaked in a hot bath trying to wash away the embarrassment of the day, a new thought occurred to me. Damien hadn’t looked disgusted or offended when he’d told me about my wardrobe malfunction. He’d looked… flustered. His eyes had darkened, and he’d seemed almost as uncomfortable as I was, but not in a negative
way.
Was it possible that he was affected by what he’d seen? That maybe he found me attractive too? I sank deeper into the bubbles, allowing myself to consider this possibility. The water cooled as I recalled every interaction, every lingering look, every time our hands had brushed and I’d felt that spark between us.
amien
By the time I climbed out of the tub, a small, hopeful part of me wondered if my embarrassing moment might have revealed something important about ho Sterling saw me–not just as a designer or someone he was helping, but as a woman.
The next afternoon, Chloe burst into my studio with her usual whirlwind energy, immediately twirling in the dress I’d made for her upcoming performance.
“It’s perfect, Hazel!” she exclaimed, examining herself in the full–length mirror. The
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midnight–blue gown shimmered under the lights, its subtle beading catching and reflecting like distant stars. “The audience will be watching me play, but they’ll be seeing this dress!”
I laughed, genuinely pleased by her enthusiasm. “Just promise me you’ll play so beautifully that they’ll forget about the dress entirely.”
“Challenge accepted,” she grinned, giving me a quick hug. “By the way, my brother seemed in an odd mood after seeing you yesterday. Anything happen I should know about?”
I felt my face heat up instantly. “Nothing worth mentioning,” I mumbled.
Chloe’s eyes narrowed with interest. “That blush
says otherwise.”
“Just a minor wardrobe malfunction,” I admitted. “Completely embarrassing, but he was very gentlemanly about it.”
“Ah,” she nodded sagely. “That explains the distracted brooding.” Her smile turned mischievous. “He likes you, you know. A lot.”
Before I could process this revelation, my phone rang. Julian’s name flashed on the screen, reminding me of the other pressing matter in my life.
“I need to take this,” I told Chloe. “The divorce paperwork is ready, and we’re meeting at the Civil Affairs Bureau today.”
Her expression sobered immediately. “Want me to come with you?”
I shook my head. “This is something I need to do alone.”
The Civil Affairs Bureau was a sterile, fluorescent–lit building that smelled of paper and industrial cleaner. Julian was already waiting when I arrived, his expression a carefully constructed mask of contrition.
“You look well,” he offered as we sat in the waiting area.
“Let’s just get this done,” I replied, not wanting to engage in small talk.
When our number was called, we submitted our divorce application. The clerk, a middle–aged woman with tired eyes, explained the process mechanically.
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“There’s a thirty–day cooling–off period before the divorce is finalized, she informed us. “During this time, either party can withdraw the application.”
Julian glanced at me hopefully. I kept my face impassive, signing where indicated. “So I’ll be officially free of you in thirty days,” I said as we exited the building. Julian grabbed my arm, stopping me on the steps. “Hazel, I still believe we can fix this.
I yanked my arm free. “There’s nothing to fix, Julian. You chose Ivy. You humiliated me. It’s over.”
“I made a terrible mistake,” he insisted. “But after the divorce is final, I’m going to prove to you that we belong together.”
I laughed bitterly. “There’s no ‘after‘ for us.”
“It’s because of Sterling, isn’t it?” His voice hardened. “You think he’s some kind of savior, but you don’t know him like I do. The business world has stories about him, Hazel. Dark ones.”
“Don’t you dare try to poison what I have with Damien,” I warned. “Unlike you, he’s been nothing but honest and supportive.”
“For now,” Julian countered. “But everyone has ulterior motives. You’ll see his true colors eventually.”
I turned away, unwilling to let him see how his words affected me. “Goodbye, Julian. I’ll see you in thirty days to sign the final papers.”
The next morning, I was arranging fabric swatches when my phone rang. The number was unfamiliar.
“Hello?”
“Hazel Ashworth?” A cool female voice came through the speaker.
“Yes, speaking.”
“This is Giselle Grayson, Julian’s sister.”
My stomach clenched. I’d met Giselle only a handful of times during my relationship
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with Julian, and each encounter had been icier than the last. She had never approved of me, finding me unsuitable for her precious brother.
“What do you want, Giselle?” I asked, not bothering with pleasantries.
“We need to meet,” she said sharply. “Today. The Imperial Garden, two o’clock.”
“I’m afraid I’m busy,” I replied. “And frankly, I don’t see what we have to discuss.
“Oh, I think you’ll make time for this,” Giselle’s voice took on a smugly threatening tone. “I have a video here that can prove you cheated during your marriage. If you don’t come, I’ll post that video online.”
My blood ran cold. I had never cheated on Julian, not once in our six years together. Whatever video she claimed to have was either fake or wildly misinterpreted.
“That’s impossible,” I said firmly.
“Two o’clock,” she repeated. “Don’t be late. And come alone. Unless you want your precious Damien Sterling to see exactly what kind of woman you really are.”
The line went dead before I could respond, leaving me staring at my phone in stunned disbelief.
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