Chapter One
Esmeray Collins had always imagined her first real job as something simple—maybe a small studio with warm lighting, soft chatter, and the comforting scent of fabric and fresh thread. Something humble. Something normal.
Winthrop Couture was neither.
The moment she stepped into the grand lobby, the realization hit her, sharp and breathtaking.
The floor was polished white marble that reflected every uncertain step she took. Tall glass walls revealed mannequins dressed in gowns worth more than her entire college tuition. The air smelled faintly of elegant perfumes and professionalism—nothing out of place, nothing accidental.
Esmeray tightened her grip on her bag.
Relax, she told herself. This is where you're supposed to be. You wanted this. You worked for this.
Still, her heart rattled against her ribs like it wanted to escape. Just three months ago, she was a fresh fashion graduate praying for a chance, after trying everything possible. Now she'd landed a job at one of the most prestigious fashion houses in the country.
A job she needed.
A job she couldn't afford to lose.
"Miss Collins?"
A voice snapped her straight out of her swirling thoughts. A tall woman dressed in a sleek black suit approached her with the expression of someone who hadn't smiled since 1998.
"Yes," Esmeray said quickly. "That's me."
"Follow me. You're late."
Esmeray blinked. "Late? I…I actually arrived twenty minutes ear…."
"At Winthrop Couture," the woman cut sharply, "early is late."
Oh.
Well, that was comforting.
Esmeray managed a nod and followed her. They stepped through a set of glass double doors into the main workspace…a bustling storm of designers, tailors, stylists, and assistants rushing in every direction. The air buzzed with energy. With purpose. With dreams being stitched into reality.
Here, fabric was magic. Designs were language. And Esmeray could breathe again.
"This will be your station," the woman said, gesturing toward a sleek desk near a wall of fabric samples. "Your supervisor will join you shortly. Don't wander."
She didn't wait for a response before disappearing into the chaos.
Esmeray exhaled, shoulders slumping for the first time that morning. She placed her bag down, brushing her fingers over the desk. Smooth. Clean. Hers…at least for now.
She allowed herself a small, excited smile.
Her new life was starting.
And then….
The air shifted.
It was subtle at first, like the pressure in the room dropped. The murmur of conversations faded. Footsteps slowed. Heads turned toward the glass doors of the lobby behind her.
Every designer, stylist, intern—even the ones who hadn't lifted their eyes in hours…froze.
Esmeray frowned slightly and turned.
That was when the world itself seemed to pause.
A man walked in, flanked by three security guards who moved with silent, intimidating precision. He wore a black hoodie pushed halfway over his head, but it didn't hide the sharp jawline shadowed with stubble or the fierce, stormy eyes scanning the room.
Kayden Winthrop.
Of course she recognized him. Everyone did.
The golden voice of the country.
The superstar who sold out concerts in minutes.
The man whose songs made the world feel something.
And the mortal enemy of her older brother, Vincent Collins.
Esmeray froze.
She'd seen him countless times on screens, on billboards, on magazine covers…looking perfect, confident, larger than life. But in person he looked… different.
Real.
Dangerous.
Unbelievably magnetic.
And angry.
His jaw was clenched, his shoulders tense, and the glare he shot at the polished floor could have cracked it.
One of the guards stepped forward. "Clear the area. No one approaches Mr. Winthrop unless invited."
Mr. Winthrop.
Esmeray swallowed.
He shouldn't be here. He was never here. Rumor said he hated this place…the press, the cameras, the expectations, the Winthrop image his mother forced him to maintain.
So why today?
Designers subtly moved aside, giving him space. No one dared to greet him. Not even a smile. It was as if walking close to him might burn.
Esmeray kept her head down. She just needed to stay invisible, do her job, and survive her first day.
But fate had always been unkind to people who wanted to hide.
Kayden's gaze slid across the room….slow, assessing, almost predatory.
Then it landed on her.
Stopped.
Held.
Esmeray's breath lodged somewhere in her throat. She looked away quickly, pretending to arrange fabrics she wasn't actually touching.
But something in the air tightened.
She felt it before she dared to look up again.
He was walking toward her.
Not toward the senior designers. Not toward the offices. Not toward the private elevators.
Toward her.
Each step looked deliberate. Heavy. As if he didn't care who watched or what it meant.
Her pulse thrummed painfully.
She told herself to stay calm.
She failed.
When he reached her desk, he pushed his hood back. His hair was dark, slightly messy, like he'd run a hand through it too many times. His eyes… God. They were intense. Too intense.
"You're new," he said.
His voice was deep. Smooth. A voice built to break hearts and start wars.
"Yes," she managed, though it came out softer than she wanted.
He studied her face…not casually, but with a focus that made her skin warm.
Like he was memorizing her.
"What's your name?" he asked.
She hesitated. "Esmeray."
His lips curved slightly, not into a smile, but something close. "Esmeray," he repeated. "Beautiful."
Her heart stumbled over itself.
Before she could respond, a senior designer rushed to them.
"Kayden," she said, breathless. "Your mother didn't inform us you'd be stopping by today. If you'd like your private space…"
"I'm not here for a private space." His voice was taut. Then, without looking at the designer, he said, "I'm not here for my mother."
His gaze stayed locked on Esmeray.
The designer cleared her throat awkwardly. "Then perhaps…"
"You can go," Kayden cut in.
The woman left. Quickly.
Esmeray felt heat creep up her neck. She didn't know what was happening or why he was looking at her like that. She didn't know if she should speak or stay silent or run.
But Kayden wasn't finished.
"What's your full name?" he asked quietly.
A chill traveled down her spine. "Esmeray Collins."
The change in his expression was almost invisible—but she saw it.
A small tightening of his jaw.
A shadow flickering through his eyes.
A silent recognition.
"Collins," he murmured. "As in Vincent Collins?"
The resemblance between them is clear.
Esmeray swallowed hard. "…Yes."
A breath left him, short and humorless. "Of all the people my mother could hire…"
He dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated—but his eyes never left her.
She braced herself for anger. Contempt. Disgust.
But what she saw instead was something strange.
Curiosity.
Awareness.
Something deeper.
"You shouldn't be here," he said softly.
It wasn't a threat.
It wasn't even an insult.
It sounded like a warning.
Esmeray forced her voice to be steady. "I need this job."
"That's not what I meant." His eyes darkened. "Your brother won't like this."
She gave a weak laugh. "Vincent doesn't have to know."
Kayden's expression shifted subtly, something unreadable glinting in his eyes.
"I hope that's true," he murmured.
A beat passed.
Another.
The air between them was scorching and confusing and impossibly intimate.
Finally, he straightened, stepping back—but only slightly.
Giving her a single nod, with eyes still piercing on her.
Her heart skipped.
Before she could form a reply, he turned and walked away, his guards instantly surrounding him as the entire floor trembled with whispers.
Esmeray gripped the edge of her desk, breath shaky, pulse unsteady.
Her first day at work was supposed to be normal.
Instead….
Kayden Winthrop looked at her like she was the one thing in the room he couldn't ignore.
And she knew, without understanding how or why…
Nothing in her life would ever be the same again.