CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
HALE ATELIER
Rina
The bell chimed as I pushed open the glass doors of Hale Atelier, my world bathed in gold. Morning sunlight streamed through the wide windows, falling across polished floors and display shelves lined with delicate bottles. The familiar fragrance I had once blended late into the night citrus kissed with white musk and cedar drifted through the boutique, greeting me like an embrace.
This was my sanctuary. My proof that I hadn't been defeated.
"Elena, good morning," I said, catching the steady gaze of my boutique manager.
"Good morning, Ms. Hale," she answered with her signature poise. Always elegant in sharp neutrals, hair pinned without a strand out of place, Elena was the backbone of Hale Atelier's order. "The new samples from Milan arrived late last night. I had them stored in the cabinet. Also, a client has requested a private consultation at noon. She's quite… insistent."
I smiled faintly. "They usually are."
From the corner, Marise waved at me, nearly tripping over a stack of delivery boxes. "Miss Rina! I organized the new candles, but I think I may have mixed up the amber with the vanilla."
"Again?" Elena muttered under her breath, though her lips twitched with restrained amusement.
"Bring me the testers," I said gently, ignoring Marise's flushed embarrassment. "We'll sort them together."
Behind the counter, Jonah was already at work, packing up a bulk order for a hotel in the city. He glanced up only briefly, nodded respectfully, then went back to wrapping boxes with his usual efficiency. Jonah never wasted words, but the boutique wouldn't run half as smoothly without his silent presence.
I walked further inside, heels clicking against the floor, and felt the rhythm of the place settle around me. Shelves gleamed, bottles sparkled, the air was warm with scents I had created. This wasn't just a store. It was my soul on display everything I had fought for when I had nothing else.
By mid-morning, the boutique was humming. Women in tailored suits tested perfumes, couples browsed gift sets, a mother and daughter lingered by the candles, laughing softly as they sniffed each one. I moved among them with practiced ease, answering questions, offering recommendations, letting them see the artist behind the name.
"Try this," I told a woman in a navy coat, pressing a scent card into her hand. "It's lighter than the rose you usually wear, but the dry-down will surprise you. It lingers not loud, not demanding. Just… unforgettable."
Her eyes lit up as she inhaled. "This. This is the one."
"Of course it is," I said, warmth curling through me. "Some scents choose you."
She left with three bottles.
Every time a customer's face softened into that expression recognition, delight, belonging I felt the same surge of quiet pride. I wasn't just selling perfumes. I was giving people pieces of themselves they didn't know they were missing.
Around noon, the private consultation began. Elena ushered in a woman draped in luxury from head to toe, her diamonds almost blinding in the sunlight. She sat with the air of someone who believed the world owed her perfection.
"I need something no one else has," she declared, waving a manicured hand. "Something… unique."
I inclined my head politely. "Uniqueness takes time. It's not bottled overnight."
She blinked at me, surprised by my refusal to flatter. I brought out trays of oils, set them in front of her, and began blending with careful hands, letting her watch as I worked. Each drop, each swirl, was deliberate an art form.
Within minutes, the woman leaned forward, captivated. "It's like watching a performance."
"It's creation," I corrected softly.
When she left, clutching a vial no one else would ever own, I caught Elena's faint smile from across the room. "You never disappoint," she murmured.
But as the boutique quieted after the rush, as I retreated to my small workbench in the back, my thoughts slipped as they always did to the estate. To the girls.
I pictured them in their little uniforms, probably running circles around their teachers with endless questions. My heart pinched. They had everything they needed now clothes, toys, tutors, a staff who adored them but I still felt the ache of leaving them even for a few hours. I wasn't used to this balance: being both a mother and the owner of something that demanded so much of me.
And then, unbidden, my thoughts shifted to him.
Lucian.
His name alone sent ripples through my chest. I hadn't meant to linger in his world. I hadn't meant to stay at his estate or let the girls call his halls their home. Yet here I was, weaving myself deeper into his orbit every day.
I pressed a hand to my stomach, steadying myself. No. This was about my daughters. About stability. Not about him.
Still, I couldn't ignore the way silence in the estate felt different when he wasn't there.
By late afternoon, the boutique slowed, and I finally stepped back, watching my staff. Elena handled inventory reports with her usual crisp efficiency, Marise carefully refilled display bottles under Jonah's quiet supervision. For the first time, I let myself breathe.
"Hale Atelier is in good hands," I said aloud, and Elena looked up, eyes warm with pride.
"Because of you," she replied simply.
The words stayed with me long after I left.
Night had fallen by the time I returned to Lucian's estate. The car pulled up to the sweeping driveway, the grand house lit softly against the darkness. I slipped inside, heels clicking against marble, greeted by staff with respectful nods.
"The girls are asleep," one whispered.
I thanked her, climbing the stairs quietly. In their room, I paused at the door. My daughters lay curled in their beds, breathing evenly, their hair spilled across pillows like halos. My throat tightened. I tucked the blankets closer, kissed each forehead, and stood there longer than I should have.
The estate was too big, too polished, too silent. I set my bag down, sat in the living room where shadows pooled, and let my body sink into the couch. His scent lingered faintly in the air leather, cedar, something undeniably him.
For a moment, I hated it. For another, I couldn't breathe without it.
I told myself I was only here for the girls, that this house was just a stop between the boutique and tomorrow. But the truth pressed heavier with each passing hour.
I was waiting.
Waiting for the sound of his footsteps. Waiting for his voice in the silence. Waiting for a man I hadn't planned to let into my life.
The clock ticked softly. My hands curled in my lap. And for the first time, I whispered the words to myself.
I'm waiting for you, Lucian.