Serena’s POV
The storm woke at dawn, slamming into the windows like nature had declared personal war on London. Rain lashed the glass in furious sheets while wind howled through the streets below, making our penthouse feel like a ship in a hurricane.
My bare feet hit the cold hardwood just as Rancy’s terrified wail pierced through the thunder.
"Mommy, I’m scared!"
I was across the hall in seconds, scooping my trembling daughter into my arms. Her small body shook against mine, hot tears soaking into my pajama shirt.
"Shhh, baby. It’s just noise. Mommy’s right here," I whispered, stroking her silky hair. "The storm can’t hurt us inside."
As her breathing gradually steadied, my mind was already spinning through today’s impossible to-do list. The Fashion Week sketches needed final approval, three prototypes required last-minute adjustnts, and working from ho would slow everything to a crawl. Plus, ho ant security risks—fashion spies, leaked designs, corporate espionage disguised as friendly interest.
I decided to camp out in Rancy’s room until she felt safe enough to sleep again. Just as I was settling beside her on the narrow bed, the door creaked open.
My heart launched itself into my throat until a familiar voice cut through the darkness.
"Serena, it’s ."
Cedric’s tall silhouette filled the doorway, backlit by the hallway’s soft glow. Relief flooded through so fast I felt dizzy.
"Jesus, you scared ," I breathed.
"Sorry. I heard Rancy crying through the walls." He approached the bed, genuine concern etched across his features as he studied my now-sleeping daughter. "Is she okay?"
"Just the storm. She’ll be fine once it passes." I kept my voice to a whisper, not wanting to wake her again.
"The weather service upgraded to hurricane warnings. Rancy won’t have school tomorrow, and you shouldn’t even think about leaving the house." His protective tone was both comforting and slightly suffocating. "Stay ho where it’s safe."
I sighed, already calculating how many hours of work I’d lose. "Let’s see what tomorrow brings."
"You should rest too. I’ll leave you both alone."
But he didn’t move. Instead, he settled onto the edge of the bed, those warm brown eyes studying my face with an intensity that made want to squirm.
"Cedric, you don’t need to—"
"Please." His voice was soft, almost vulnerable. "With weather like this, let watch over you both. I wouldn’t sleep anyway, knowing you’re dealing with this storm alone."
Alone. Except I’m not alone—I have him. Why does that feel both reassuring and complicated?
I pressed my lips together, too exhausted to argue. "Fine. But I can’t sleep either. I’ll grab my laptop and work on so sketches."
The truth was, I couldn’t possibly relax with him watching like that—like I was sothing precious he was afraid of losing. Work was my escape hatch, my emotional Switzerland.
When I returned with my laptop and a stack of design folders, Cedric had transford the space into sothing surprisingly cozy. He’d claid the armchair by the window, a steaming mug in his hands and another waiting on the side table.
"Made you coffee. Don’t thank ," he said with that lopsided smile that had beco so familiar over the past three years.
"You work fast." I accepted the mug gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma. "Were you gone long?"
"You took forever. I was starting to worry Rancy might wake up and find us both missing."
The coffee hit my system like liquid salvation, chasing away the last cobwebs of sleep and storm-induced anxiety. I curled up in the opposite chair, laptop balanced on my knees.
"About this Fashion Week investnt," I said, shifting to safer conversational territory. "Are you really so confident it’ll be a success?"
This was comfortable—talking business. Cedric and I had always connected best as colleagues, as partners in the professional sense. Sotis I wondered if he understood that our relationship worked best within those boundaries.
"Of course it will succeed," he replied without hesitation. "They chose you to headline, didn’t they? That ans sothing."
His unwavering faith in my abilities had never faltered, not once in all the ti I’d known him. "I believe in your talent, Serena. I always have."
"Thanks. I hope I don’t let you down this ti."
This ti. Why did I say ’this ti’? When have I ever let him down before?
I pulled up Vivi’s latest sketches, frowning as I scrolled through them. They were technically proficient—so were even genuinely beautiful—but sothing crucial was missing. That ineffable spark, that distinctive edge that would make people stop scrolling and actually see the designs. Too safe, too predictable, too... forgettable.
This won’t cut it. Not for Fashion Week. Not for what we need to prove.
Hours slipped by as the storm continued its assault on the city. The weather service had upgraded to an orange alert, officially advising everyone to stay indoors until further notice. I finished reviewing the entire portfolio and stretched, my neck cramping from hunching over the laptop.
"Looks like I’ll be pulling an all-nighter," I murmured, rolling my shoulders.
"Then I’ll stay up with you."
The warm orange lamp cast everything in a golden glow—both of us with our coffee mugs, the rain providing constant white noise, Rancy sleeping peacefully between us. It should have been comforting. It was comforting. But there was an undercurrent of sothing else, sothing I wasn’t ready to examine too closely.
"I need to move to my study," I said eventually. "Have to start a video conference with the Milan team. Could you watch Rancy for ?"
He nodded, and I escaped to my office with relief and sothing that might have been guilt.
Why do I keep running away from him? He’s only trying to help.
I’d barely settled at my desk and opened my laptop when my phone erupted with Sally’s ringtone. Her voice was tight with panic when I answered.
"Serena, you need to see this right now. ARt just released a new jewelry collection that looks exactly—and I an exactly—like what we’ve been preparing for Fashion Week!"
The blood drained from my face so fast I felt lightheaded. "ARt? But didn’t they already release their seasonal collection two weeks ago?"
"That’s exactly my point! This is completely off-schedule, which ans Sophie did this deliberately. Soone leaked our designs, Serena. Soone gave them everything."
My fingers were already flying across the keyboard, pulling up ARt’s website while Sally continued talking. When the images loaded, my coffee mug slipped from numb fingers and shattered against the hardwood floor.
Oh God. Oh no, no, no.
Sally was right. These weren’t just similar concepts or parallel inspiration. They were our designs. My vision, my months of work, my carefully guarded creative secrets—all of it stolen and released under ARt’s branding.
How is this possible? Who had access? Who would do this to us?
The storm outside seed to intensify, as if nature was responding to the chaos erupting in my professional life. Lightning illuminated my office in stark, accusatory flashes while I stared at the evidence of betrayal on my screen.
Fashion Week is in three days. Three days, and our entire collection has been compromised.
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