Lucy’s POV

Two days.

That was all it took for my sleep to vanish and my sketch pad to overflow with new ideas. My fingers ached from hours of sketching, erasing, and stitching dreams into fabric. My next fashion showcase was only a few days away, and I wanted every thread, every fold, every silhouette to speak about something unique.

The backstage area was alive with energy– fabrics rustling, zippers snapping, the scent of hairspray and perfume mixing with adrenaline. Susan was beside me, as always, pinning a loose strap on one of the models while barking directions at the makeup team.

“Jenna, be careful with that gown!” she warned, pointing sharply. “If that sequined thread breaks, I’ll personally make you sew it back in the dark!”

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, adjusting the hem of a flowing ivory dress. “Easy, Sussy. You’ll scare them before they hit the runway.”

“They should be scared,” she said, tossing me a grin. “We’re representing Lucy Couture. We don’t do average here.”

I peeked through the curtain, watching as my models strutted down the runway in my latest collection. The crowd’s applause echoed like music to my ears. Each design was a story — resilience stitched into silk, pain transformed into confidence.

Everything was going perfectly.

When the show ended, the air backstage was filled with celebration. Hugs, laughter, relief. I straightened my dress and stepped out to greet a few guests and investors.

“Miss Castle!” one of them called. A tall man in an elegant navy suit approached with two women, their faces glowing with admiration. “Your collection was breathtaking. That final gown, the one with the silver petals–absolutely divine.”

“Thank you,” I said, smiling warmly. “That piece represents freedom. I designed it during a time when I finally felt like I was breathing again.”

The woman beside him nodded enthusiastically. “You can feel that emotion in the fabric. It’s so rare these days. We’d love to feature your designs in our Dubai boutique.”

“That would be wonderful,” I replied. “Let’s talk more after the event. My assistant will schedule something for us.”

We exchanged contacts and warm goodbyes, and I found myself smiling as they walked away. I felt so proud, grounded, and fulfilled.

Then, I heard a voice that instantly pulled the air from my lungs.

“You have amazing designs right there.”

I turned slowly, and my smile faded before I could stop it.

“Thank you,” I said softly, my tone polite yet edged with distance.

Richard stood there, hands in his pockets, wearing that charming smile that usually swipes me off my feet. But not anymore.

He looked annoyingly good in his dark suit. But I wasn’t here for nostalgia.

“Since you’re the best in this game,” he began, “I’d love to have you take a look at my company’s upcoming line. We’re trying to make adjustments and, well, who's better than Lucy Castle to point out what we’re missing? And don’t worry, I'm going to pay.”

I folded my arms, studying him. “Hmm. I see what you’re doing.”

He blinked, pretending not to understand. “How?”

“This is your way of getting close to me,” I said, arching a brow.

“Not at all,” he replied quickly, though a ghost of a smirk betrayed him. “It’s just business. I’d really value your opinion on some sketches. That’s all.”

I tilted my head. “Well, I’m very occupied. So you’ll have to find someone else to rescue your designs.”

I turned to leave, but he took a step forward. “Okay, wait. What about dinner, then? A business dinner — my treat.”

I stopped, letting out a small laugh. “I knew it. You just want to get close to me. Look, Richard, I can buy my own dinner and every other thing I want if I want to.” I spoke with pride. To break his ego. “I don’t need your deal, or your attention.”

He chuckled, his voice low. “Hey, slow down. I don’t bite. You’ve really changed, Lucy. So sharp now.”

“I obviously have taste and class.”

Our eyes locked — tension simmering between us. I could tell the regrets in his eyes. He remembers that same sentence he said to me –humiliated me in front of everyone.

Now, it came from a woman who no longer bled from old wounds.

“Richard!”

A cheerful voice cut through the air. We both turned.

A woman in a glittering navy gown approached, her curls bouncing as she smiled and leaned in to kiss Richard lightly on the lips. My stomach tightened for reasons I couldn’t name.

“Hey, babe, there you are,” she said sweetly, her arm sliding possessively around his. Then she turned to me, her expression bright and rehearsed. “Oh! The mighty Lucy Couture herself. It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.”

I smiled faintly and extended a hand. “Nice to meet you too…”

“Clara,” she said, shaking my hand with a grip that felt just a bit too firm. “Richard’s fiancée.”

“Oh, nice,” I replied, letting my gaze flick briefly to Richard before meeting her eyes again.

Her smile wavered for just a second.

“I guess you guys are catching up on old times.”

Old times? Really? I wonder what lies he fed her about me.

“Not really,” Richard cut in quickly, clearing his throat. “Just inviting Lucy to consult on our upcoming collection. Strictly professional. Right, Lucy?”

I met his eyes. “Right,” I said with a small, fake smile.

Before the silence grew awkward, Susan’s voice echoed from behind me. “Hey, Lucy! Your attention’s urgently needed over here!”

“Excuse me,” I said politely, “I have more important things to attend to.”

“Of course,” Clara replied, her smile tightening again. “See you around, Lucy.”

“Sure,” I said, returning a polite nod before walking away, my heels clicking sharply against the floor.

Once I was out of their sight, Susan nudged me. “So what was that about?”

“Just an old ghost trying to resurrect himself,” I muttered.

She snorted. “Then let’s make sure he stays buried.”

I laughed softly, but as I turned back to glance at the crowd, my smile faltered.