Serena’s POV
I’d barely sat down and exchanged pleasantries when she slid the sketches across the table. They were evening gown designs, each one more exquisite than the last. Kruse was famous for their formal wear, with each season’s limited pieces becoming instant must-haves among society won.
The sketches showed remarkable attention to detail—intricate beadwork patterns, clever structural elents, and flattering silhouettes.
"Are these for Fashion Week?" I asked, examining the detailed pencil work.
Zara smiled enigmatically. "Good eye. These are indeed Kruse’s preparations for tomorrow’s showcase."
I froze, my coffee cup halfway to my lips. Even for tomorrow’s show, these designs should be highly confidential. Why was she showing them to ? The gesture made no sense.
As if reading my thoughts, Zara leaned forward. "Mrs. Quinn, please don’t misunderstand. I’m showing you these because I feel sothing’s missing. I was hoping you might offer so insight."
Her eyes t mine, and I couldn’t decide if this was a genuine request for collaboration or sothing else entirely.
"You want my opinion?" I asked, unable to hide my surprise. "On designs you’re presenting tomorrow?"
Zara tucked a strand of vibrant red hair behind her ear, leaning forward with an intensity that felt both flattering and slightly unnerving. "Precisely. I’ve hit a creative wall with these pieces, and honestly, Lazuli’s perspective might be exactly what I need."
I studied the sketches more carefully now. The gowns were undeniably beautiful—elegant lines, dramatic silhouettes, the kind of pieces that would make entrance statents at galas and red carpets. But I imdiately saw what she ant about sothing missing.
"They’re exquisite, but..." I hesitated, not wanting to overstep.
"Please, be candid," Zara urged. "That’s exactly why I wanted to speak with you."
I took a deep breath. "They’re technically perfect, but they feel... safe. Like sothing Kruse has done before." I pointed to one particular design. "This neckline, for instance—it’s beautiful, but it’s beco a Kruse signature. Fashion Week audiences expect surprise, sothing that makes them gasp."
Zara’s eyes widened slightly, then she broke into a slow smile. "That’s exactly what’s been bothering . Too familiar."
For the next hour, we bounced ideas back and forth, sketching modifications on napkins and talking about everything from fabric choices to styling. I found myself genuinely enjoying Zara’s company—she was smart, quick-witted, and refreshingly direct.
"You know," she said as she stirred her second cappuccino, "when I suggested this eting, I had an ulterior motive beyond just getting your opinion."
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, suddenly wary.
"Kruse is looking to expand our accessories line. Your jewelry designs would complent our evening wear perfectly." She leaned forward. "I’m thinking a limited collaboration—Dreamland Studio creates exclusive pieces for the Kruse winter collection. The timing with Fashion Week couldn’t be better for an announcent."
My mind raced with possibilities. A collaboration with Kruse would accelerate Dreamland’s entrance into the London market exponentially. It was the kind of opportunity designers dread about.
"That’s... quite an offer," I said carefully, trying to contain my excitent. "I’d need to discuss it with my team, of course."
"Of course," Zara nodded. "But I’d love your initial thoughts."
"Honestly? I think it could be brilliant," I admitted. "Our aesthetics are different enough to create sothing fresh, but complentary enough to make sense."
As we continued talking, I couldn’t help thinking about Ryan’s reaction. He’d be thrilled—this was exactly the kind of strategic partnership that could establish Dreamland’s London branch firmly in the market. I made a ntal note to call him tonight, already imagining his proud smile.
When we finally parted ways, exchanging numbers and promises to et again after Fashion Week, I practically floated back to our preparation area. Maya caught sight of my expression imdiately.
"What’s got you looking like you just landed a Vogue cover?" she asked, eyeing suspiciously.
"Potentially sothing even better," I whispered, pulling her aside to explain the Kruse opportunity. "This could be huge for us, Maya!"
She squeezed my arm excitedly. "Serena, that’s amazing! But..." her enthusiasm dimd slightly, "are you sure about Zara Percy? I’ve heard so industry rumors..."
"What kind of rumors?" I frowned.
Maya shrugged. "Just whispers about her being difficult to work with. Supposedly she’s burned so bridges."
I considered this information. "Well, she seed perfectly lovely to . Besides, we’d be working with Kruse, not just with Zara personally."
"True," Maya conceded. "And this opportunity is too good to pass up over gossip."
We spent the rest of the day in a blur of activity—finalizing displays, checking lighting, rehearsing the models one last ti. By evening, my feet were killing , but satisfaction humd through my veins. Everything was coming together beautifully.
Back at my hotel room, I kicked off my shoes and imdiately called Ryan. Despite the late hour in New York, he answered on the second ring.
"Miss already?" His deep voice wrapped around like a warm blanket, making the distance between London and New York feel montarily smaller.
"Always," I smiled into the phone. "But I also have news that couldn’t wait. How would you feel about Dreamland collaborating with Kruse?"
There was a mont of silence. "Kruse? The luxury evening wear brand?"
"The very sa. Their chief designer approached today about creating jewelry pieces for their winter collection."
"That’s..." Ryan paused, and I could practically see him processing the business implications. "That’s actually brilliant timing. A perfect entry strategy for the London market."
I grinned. "Exactly what I thought! We’re still in early discussions, but it feels promising."
"You’re incredible, you know that?" The pride in his voice made my chest warm. "Not even officially launched in London yet, and you’re already securing major collaborations."
"Don’t get too excited—it’s not a done deal," I cautioned, though I couldn’t keep the excitent from my own voice. "How’s Vivian?"
"Missing her mother. She keeps staring at your photo on my phone." There was a rustle, and I imagined him peering into the nursery. "She’s sleeping now, but she’s been extra fussy today."
A pang of longing shot through . "I miss her so much. Give her extra kisses from ."
"Every morning and night," he promised. "Have you been taking your dicine?"
"Yes, Dr. Blackwood," I teased. "And eating properly, and not overworking."
"Liar," he said, but I could hear the smile in his voice. "I know exactly how you get before a big show."
We talked for another half hour before I reluctantly admitted I needed sleep. Fashion Week officially began tomorrow, and I needed to be at my sharpest.
"I love you," Ryan said softly. "Call after the show."
"I will. Love you too."
As I drifted off to sleep that night, my mind swirled with jewelry designs that would complent Kruse gowns, business expansion plans, and the sweet mory of Ryan’s face when he’d surprised in London. Everything was falling into place perfectly.
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