“My aunt is Dr. Leighton at Mercy General, Victoria declared, her voice steady as she held Julian’s
gaze. “She over Ivy talking to Eleanor in the hospital last week. Guess what they were laughing about?”
Julian remained silent, but I could see uncertainty flickering across his face.
“They were laughing about how
sy it was to manipulate you,” Victoria continued mercilessly. “Ivy specifically said–and I quote–Ive always wanted whatever Hazel had. Her designs, her reputation, and especially her fiancé. And now I have it all.”
I felt a chill run through me. While I’d always known Ivy resented me, hearing the calculated nature of her betrayal confirmed my worst suspicions.
Julian scoffed, though his voice lacked conviction. “That’s ridiculous. Your aunt probably misheard-”
“My aunt has been treating patients for twenty years. She knows what she heard, Victoria cut in. “Ivy doesn’t love you, Julian. She never has. What she loves is taking what belongs to Hazel. She’s been doing it since they were children.
Julian’s face paled slightly. “You’re just trying to cause problems.”
“Tell me something, Victoria pressed, stepping closer to him. “Has Ivy been extra demanding lately? Throwing tantrums when she doesn’t get her way? Making you feel guilty for every minute you’re not by her bedside?”
The slight flinch in Julian’s expression told me Victoria had hit the mark.
“That’s what I thought,” she said with a satisfied nod. “The dying angel act works great in public, doesn’t it? But behind closed doors, it’s a different story”
Julian’s jaw tightened. “You don’t understand what it’s like. She’s suffering-”
“We all suffer,” I finally spoke, finding my volce. “The difference is some of us don’t use our pain as a weapon against others.”
Julian stared at me for a long moment, conflict evident in his eyes. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out, the door slamming behind him.
Victoria turned to me with a triumphant smile. “Well, that should give him something to think
about.
“Do you
you think he believed you?” I asked, collapsing into my chair.
“I planted the seed of doubt, Victoria said, perching on the edge of my desk. “The rest is up to
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him. But honestly, who cares what he thinks? You’re better off without him.”
I rubbed my temples, feeling the beginning of a headache. “What about all the online hate? My reputation is in tatters.”
Victoria waved her hand dismissively. “Leave that to me. I’ve got some contacts in media
management who can help shift the narrative. By the way, have you checked your business email today?”
I shook my head. “I’ve been avoiding it. I can’t stand to see more cancellations.”
“Well, maybe you should look, she suggested with a mysterious smile. “Not everyone believes what they read online.“”
1 gave her a skeptical look but opened my laptop anyway. To my surprise, amongst the hate mail were several new inquiries about custom designs. I scrolled through them in disbelief.
“How is this possible?” I mumbled, clicking through message after message.
Victoria grinned. “The thing about scandals is they get your name out there. And your work speaks for itself.”
I closed my laptop, not quite ready to believe this silver lining. “I should go home. It’s late.”
“I’ll drive you,” Victoria insisted, leaving no room for argument.
Two days later, I was back at my studio, hardly believing the change in circumstances. The reporters had mostly dispersed, pursuing some new scandal. The hate comments online had dwindled, replaced by more balanced discussions and even some supportive messages.
Most surprisingly, my business was thriving. The scandal had inadvertently raised awareness of my brand. New customers were coming in, curious about the designer at the center of the society wedding drama, and staying for the quality of my work.
“Ms. Ashworth, Cherry, my new assistant, called from the front desk. “We just received another three orders for custom evening gowns!”
I smiled, looking up from my sketch. “That’s wonderful. Please send them the standard consultation forms.”
Cherry nodded enthusiastically. She was young and eager, hired just yesterday after my previous assistant quit. “Also, there’s been a call for you. A Mr. Winslow from Sterling Heights Estate. He said it was regarding a custom commission for Mrs. Sterling’s 60th birthday – celebration.
I paused, pencil hovering over my design. “I’m sorry, what?”
1
“Sterling Heights Estate, Cherry repeated. “Mr. Winslow said he’s the head butler there. He wants to commission a formal gown for Mrs. Sterling’s birthday gala. Apparently, she specifically requested you.”
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10 Chapter 12
I stared at her blankly. “I’ve never heard of Sterling Heights Estate. Or Mrs. Sterling.”
Cherry’s eyes widened. “You haven’t heard of the Sterling family? They’re practically royalty in this city. Super wealthy, old money, very private. They rarely make public appearances, but when they do, it’s always major news.”
I shook my head, feeling oddly out of the loop. “I guess I’ve been too focused on work to keep up
with local socialites”
“They’re much more than socialites, Cherry explained excitedly. “The family has connections to
city from behind the
politics, military, and major industries. People say they practically run the
scenes.”
“And they want me to design a gown?” I asked skeptically. “Why not go to one of the big fashion houses?”
Cherry shrugged. “Mr. Winslow was very specific. Mrs. Sterling saw your work somewhere and was impressed. He left a number for you to call back.”
I took the note from Cherry, staring at the elegant handwriting. After everything that had happened–the wedding disaster, Julian’s betrayal, the public smear campaign–this sudden opportunity felt surreal.
“This could be huge for us, Cherry continued, practically bouncing with excitement. “The Sterlings never do anything small. If Mrs. Sterling wears one of your designs at her birthday. gala, everyone who matters will see it.”
I nodded slowly, trying to process this unexpected turn of events. Just when I thought my professional reputation might be irreparably damaged, this opportunity appeared from
nowhere.
“I’ll call him back right away,” I decided, picking up my phone.
As I dialed the number, I couldn’t help but wonder about the timing. How had Mrs. Sterling even heard of ine? And why would someone of her status choose a designer currently embroiled in
scandal?
The phone rang twice before a cultured male voice answered. “Sterling Heights Estate, Butler Winslow speaking
“Hello, this is Hazel Ashworth returning your call about a commission?”
“Ah, Ms. Ashworth, he replied smoothly. “We were hoping to hear from you. Mrs. Sterling would like to schedule a meeting to discuss the design for her birthday gala. Would tomorrow at 2 PM suit you? We can send a car to collect you.”
The efficiency caught me off guard. “Tomorrow? I–yes, that would be fine.”
“Excellent. Please prepare some preliminary sketches based on Mrs. Sterling’s preferences. She favors classic elegance with modern touches. The dress should be suitable for a formal evening
event.”
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I scrambled for a pen to take notes. “Of course. And the budget?”
There was a slight pause. “Mrs. Sterling did not specify a budget constraint, Ms. Ashworth. She is primarily concerned with quality and design.”
My heart raced at the implication. A commission with no budget ceiling was a designer’s dream.
“I’ll have some ideas ready for tomorrow, I promised.
“Very good. The car will arrive at your studio at 1:30 PM. Good day, Ms. Ashworth.”
The call ended, leaving me staring at my phone in disbelief.
Cherry peeked her head around the door. “Well? What did he say?”
“They’re sending a car tomorrow” I replied, still dazed. “I’m meeting with Mrs. Sterling herself to discuss the design.”
Cherry squealed with delight. “This is huge! Do you know what this means for Ashworth Bespoke?”
I nodded slowly, the reality sinking in. This could be the breakthrough I needed to fully establish my brand among the elite clientele I’d always aimed for.
“I need to prepare sketches,” I said, suddenly energized. “Cancel my other appointments for today.”
As Cherry rushed off, I turned to my drawing table, mind already filling with design possibilities. For the first time in weeks, I felt genuine excitement about my work again. Whatever had brought the Sterlings to my door, I was determined to seize this opportunity.
Yet as I began to sketch, a nagging question lingered in my mind.
“What Sterling Heights Estate?” I murmured to myself, pencil moving across the paper. “And who is having a 60th birthday?”
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