Wait!" Nicole whispered, but the only response was the rustle of leaves.
"Looking for someone, darling?"
Nicole spun around. Victoria was standing there, leaning against the polished hood of her red sports car. She looked like a predator.
She didn't have the hormone bottle in her hand anymore; instead, she was holding a flute of champagne, looking bored and dangerous.
"You're wasting your time with the help," Victoria sneered, stepping closer. "And don't think that little stunt in the tent saved you. Alex doesn't defend you because he loves you. He defends you because you're carrying his ego. Once those heirs are out, he won't even remember your name."
"You're jealous, Victoria," Nicole said, her voice steadier than she felt. "You've spent years trying to get into this family, and a common girl' did it in a month. That's what's actually eating you, isn't it?"
Victoria's face contorted, the mask of high-society grace slipping for a fraction of a second. "I was his first choice. I am his equal. You? You're a temporary fix for a permanent problem. Enjoy the mansion while you can, because I'm not finished until you're back in the gutter where they found you."
Victoria turned on her heel and marched back toward the gala, the gravel crunching under her designer heels. Nicole stood alone in the dark, her heart hammering. She felt the heavy weight of the Sterling name crushing her. She needed to escape, not from the mansion, but from the feeling of being nothing.
***
The return to the Sterling estate was silent. Alex didn't mention the photo. He simply walked Nicole to her door, gave a stiff nod to the guard on duty, and vanished into his own wing.
Nicole lay in bed, staring at the ornate ceiling. The twins kicked—a sharp, synchronized movement that reminded her she wasn't just a "temporary fix." She was their mother. And she needed to be more than a victim.
At 3:00 AM, the restlessness became unbearable. She stood up and began pacing the room. Her eyes fell on the mahogany wardrobe. Deep in the back, tucked under a pile of silk scarves Alex's personal shopper had bought her, was a battered, charcoal-stained leather book.
Her old sketchbook.
She pulled it out, her fingers trembling as she touched the worn cover. This was the only thing she had brought from her old life. Inside were the dreams she had before the debt, before the contract,
She sat at the small vanity table, the moonlight providing just enough glow. She picked up a pencil, and for the first time in months, she let her hand move without fear.
She didn't draw the Sterling diamonds.
She drew a necklace made of hammered gold, shaped like the wild vines she had seen in the garden, entwined with raw, uncut emeralds. It was chaotic. It was alive. It was the opposite of everything Alex Sterling stood for.
As she drew, the world around her vanished.
I am not just an incubator, she thought, her eyes bright with a sudden, fierce spark. I am a creator.
She began to design a collection based on "The Hidden Garden"—pieces that looked delicate but were made of the strongest metals. She drew a ring that featured a sapphire, but instead of being caged in platinum like the one on her finger, it was held by golden roots, as if the earth itself were protecting it.
Hours passed. The clock on the mantle ticked toward 5:00 AM. Nicole was hunched over the desk, her hair messy, her fingers stained black with charcoal. She looked at the page and felt a rush of adrenaline she hadn't felt since she was a student. This was her talent.
She has always dream to be a jewelry designer maker.
She didn't hear the door open.
"The doctor said you needed rest, not a late-night art project."
Nicole jumped, slamming the sketchbook shut. Alex was standing in the doorway, wearing a silk dressing gown, a glass of water in his hand. He looked tired, his hair slightly tousled, making him look almost human.
"I couldn't sleep," she said, her heart racing.
"You're supposed to be following a schedule, Nicole. Your health affects the—"
"I know, the heirs," she interrupted, her voice sharp. "But right now, I'm Nicole. And Nicole needs to draw."
Alex walked into the room, his eyes landing on the sketchbook. He reached for it, but she pulled it closer to her chest.
"Let me see," he commanded. It wasn't an insult; it was a genuine curiosity that caught her off guard.
Reluctantly, she opened the book to the last page. Alex leaned over her, his scent—cedar and cool night air—filling her space. He stared at the drawing of the vine necklace for a long time. The silence stretched, and Nicole braced herself for him to call it a waste of time.
"The setting is impractical," he said finally, his voice low. "The tension on the emeralds would be too high. They would crack within a month."
Nicole frowned. "Not if you used a secondary inner-cradle made of titanium. It would absorb the pressure."
Alex looked down at her, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. "You know about metal tension?"
"I spent three years studying at the craft institute before my mother got sick when I was twelve. she said, her chin lifting. "I have always dream to be a jeweler."
Alex looked back at the sketch. His hand reached out, his long fingers tracing the line of the gold vines. For a second, his touch was inches from hers.
"The design is... aggressive," he murmured. "It doesn't fit the Sterling brand. We stand for tradition. Symmetry. Order."
"Maybe the Sterling brand is boring," Nicole countered.
Alex's gaze snapped to hers. The air between them thickened. For the first time, he wasn't looking at her as a vessel or an investment. He was looking at her as a rival.
"Boring is safe, Nicole. Boring keeps the empire alive."
"And boring dies in the dark," she whispered.
Alex straightened up, his face returning to its usual mask of indifference. "Get some sleep. And hide that book. If the board of directors sees you acting like a starving artist, they'll start questioning your stability again."
He turned to leave, but stopped at the threshold. "The titanium cradle idea... it might work. But don't let it go to your head."
He closed the door, leaving Nicole in the fading moonlight. She looked at her drawing and then at the door. He hadn't mocked her. He had challenged her.
She picked up her pencil again. She wasn't just drawing jewelry anymore. She was drawing a map to her own freedom. If she could make herself indispensable to the Sterling brand—not as a mother, but as a designer—she might actually have a life when the contract was over.
The next morning, Nicole was summoned to Alex's wing for breakfast. He wasn't there, but on the table was a small, velvet box.
She opened it, expecting another piece of "boring" Sterling jewelry. Instead, she found a set of professional-grade drafting tools and a small bar of 24k gold.
Tucked under the gold was a note in Alex's sharp, precise handwriting:
Show me the titanium cradle. You have 48 hours before the DuPont merger meeting. If it's as good as you say, I might let you see the workshop.
Nicole felt a surge of triumph, but as she reached for the drafting pen, she noticed something else on the table. A tablet had been left open to Alex's private email. The top message was from an encrypted sender.
The subject line: The 2014 Incident - Settlement.
Nicole's breath hitched. She looked at the door. The guards were stationed outside. This was her chance. She reached for the tablet, her fingers hovering over the screen.