The calm after the storm was short-lived.
By the next morning, the house had shifted into war-prep mode. Not literal war, but Talia had that fire in her eyes again. The one Ethan had seen on the day she gave birth, on the day she told him she wasn't his possession, and on the day she wore her first self-designed dress to the gala and stole every headline.
She was storming her own way through the world.
And this time, Vanessa had stepped on the wrong runway.
***
Talia paced the studio Ethan had helped her build in his home, bolts of fabric spread across the long table, her sketchbook open to new, sharp lines and bold silhouettes. Designs had turned fierce, with jagged edges and unapologetic cuts. Her frustration had woven itself into her art.
"You're going dark and powerful," Mia commented, nibbling a croissant from the couch. "I like it. Gives 'I may smile, but I'll step on you' energy."
