Chloe hadn't slept more than three hours the night before. After the review session that ended in no decision and plenty of verbal sparring, she had marched home with a fire in her chest and a stubborn gleam in her eyes. Damian Cross would not win. Not this time.
So, instead of sleeping, she had poured herself a glass of wine, pulled out her sketchpads, and attacked the paper with pencils and markers until the dawn broke. By morning, her table was a battlefield of crumpled papers, ink stains, and scattered swatches. But somewhere between the chaos, Chloe found gold.
And she knew it.
Now, standing in her office, she could barely suppress the proud curl of her lips as she laid her work on the table. The designs glowed with her signature flair—dramatic silhouettes, jewel-toned fabrics, a bold blend of modern structure and theatrical detailing. She'd outdone herself.
