---
Chapter Five: Red Carpet, No Regrets
The gallery buzzed with chatter, but inside Ava's chest was a calm she hadn't felt in ages.
Jordan was gone.
She hadn't imagined him. He was really there. Watching. Lurking.
But this time, he left before speaking. Before infecting the air with his usual blend of charm and manipulation.
And more importantly — she didn't run after him. She didn't even look for him in the crowd once he vanished.
That was growth.
That was strength.
Caleb approached with a bottled water in one hand and a half-grin on his face.
"I think you just started a buzz," he said, motioning toward the small group of students whispering and glancing at her design.
Ava gave a modest shrug, though her heart leapt with quiet pride. "It's just a suit."
"No," Caleb corrected. "It's a statement. You took pain and turned it into style. That's art."
She looked at him. Really looked.
There was something about the way he didn't try to claim her glow, didn't dim it either. He just stood beside her like a steady post, supportive without needing attention.
"I'm glad we met," she said softly.
Caleb nodded. "Me too."
Their moment was interrupted by a tap on Ava's shoulder. It was Professor Darnell, clipboard in hand and excitement practically radiating from her.
"Ava, could I steal you for a moment?"
Ava followed her through the gallery to a panel table in the back, where a woman in a navy blazer and thin black glasses looked up from a folder.
"This is Ms. Hollins from West & Row, a design label based in New York. She's one of the talent scouts this year."
Ms. Hollins extended her hand. "You're Ava Blake?"
Ava tried to keep her voice calm. "Yes, ma'am."
"I saw your piece. It's... emotionally intelligent. That's rare. Especially in student work."
"Thank you. It's based on my own experience."
Ms. Hollins nodded. "Even better. West & Row is building a new campaign around 'visible strength' — fashion that speaks to lived stories. I'd like to talk to you more after the event. Maybe about mentorship. Maybe more."
Ava blinked, almost too stunned to respond.
"Absolutely. Thank you. I'd love that."
They exchanged contact information. Darnell gave Ava a proud smile before disappearing into the crowd again.
Ava returned to her display area floating — and it wasn't just because of the offer. It was because, for once, the attention wasn't attached to who she had dated. It wasn't because she was the "muse" of someone famous. It was her work. Her voice. Her story.
And it was finally being heard.
---
That night, Ava and Sasha threw an unofficial celebration in their apartment. Caleb came by with a pizza the size of a car hood, and a few friends from the design program stopped in with wine and music.
The living room pulsed with laughter and playlist beats. Someone lit incense. Someone spilled Sprite on the rug. No one cared.
In the middle of it all, Ava sat on the armrest of the couch, legs tucked under her, watching it all unfold like she was finally seeing her life from outside the fog.
She didn't miss him.
Not even a little.
Not even when she checked her blocked numbers and saw a voicemail from Jordan waiting in the shadows of her phone.
She didn't listen to it.
She deleted it.
Without hesitation.
Because she finally understood: not all closure comes with conversation. Some closure comes from choosing not to reopen the door.
---
A few days later, Ava sat in a small café off Melrose Avenue, her fingers wrapped around a warm cup of chai as she waited for Ms. Hollins.
She arrived five minutes early — sharp and direct.
"I meant what I said," the woman said, laying out papers. "West & Row is interested in featuring emerging voices. And you've got that mix — creativity and clarity. A voice with purpose."
Ava leaned in. "What does that mean? Exactly?"
"It means we want to fund your next mini-collection. You'd work remotely, part-time, while finishing your degree. The collection would debut next spring."
Ava's heart pounded. "That's… wow."
"There's more," Hollins added. "You'd also get a mentor — someone in-house to coach you through the process."
Ava took a breath.
This was the dream. The beginning of it.
She signed the preliminary papers that afternoon.
She didn't text Jordan to tell him.
She didn't need him to know.
This victory was hers.
---
Two weeks later, she launched a new Instagram account.
No photos of her and Jordan.
No sad quotes.
Just bold fabrics. Behind-the-scenes sketches. Snippets of her life, full of color and movement and self-made momentum.
She named the account: @AvaReimagined.
Her first post was a photo of the Phoenix Suit with the caption:
> "Pain isn't where the story ends. Sometimes, it's just the fabric we learn to stitch into something new."
Caleb commented first:
"Proud doesn't even begin to cover it."
Sasha second:
"The ex could never."
Her post blew up among her peers — not because of clout, but because it was real.
No filters. No pretense.
Just Ava.
---
A few nights later, she and Caleb went on their first official date.
They dressed up — nothing too serious. He wore a gray button-down; she wore a sundress with deep red patterns that danced when she walked.
They ate ramen on a rooftop overlooking the city, jazz music floating up from the street below.
After dinner, they walked in silence for a bit, shoulders brushing.
Caleb turned to her. "I like this version of you."
"What version is that?"
"The one who doesn't shrink."
Ava smiled.
"I like her too."
---
That night, back in her apartment, Ava stood in front of the mirror and took a long look at herself.
The girl who had cried for a man who didn't deserve her?
She was gone.
The woman who stitched herself back together?
She had arrived.
And she wasn't going anywhere.