Chapter 4: The Price of Survival
The back office door swung open with a force that rattled the hinges.
Immediately Diana stood up.
Zari kept her bag down and went to immediately embrace Diana.
"Zari," Diana choked out, collapsing into her arms, her body shaking with sobs that had been building since she read the lease notice. "Lumière... I don't know what's happening. Everything is going wrong. It's all falling apart— the suppliers, the rent, everything!"
Zari wrapped her arms around Diana without hesitation, pulling her close and patting her back in slow, rhythmic circles. "Shh, Dee, It's ok" she murmured, her voice steady despite the knot of worry twisting in her own gut.
Zari had seen Diana through breakups, bad reviews, and the initial shock of being shelved by the label, but this was different—raw, desperate, like watching a dream bleed out on the floor. "Breathe. Just breathe. We're going to figure this out. You're not alone in this."
Diana clung to her, burying her face in Zari's shoulder, the scent of her friend's familiar citrus shampoo a small anchor in the storm.
The sobs came in waves, muffled against the fabric of Zari's blouse, and Zari didn't pull away.
She guided Diana to the worn leather couch in the corner, sitting her down gently and kneeling in front of her, hands clasping Diana's trembling ones.
For over thirty minutes, Zari spent consoling and calming Diana, cooing with gentle reassurances—"We've bounced back from worse," "This isn't the end"—while fetching tissues from the desk and a bottle of water from the mini-fridge.
She rubbed Diana's arms, wiped her tears, and even cracked a weak joke about how the boutique's marble floors were "too shiny to go to waste on some corporate chain."
Slowly, Diana's breathing evened out, the sobs tapering into hiccups, though the haunted look in her eyes lingered.
By the time the others arrived, Diana had fully regained herself.
She sat rigid in the leather chair behind the desk, arms wrapped around herself as if she could physically hold the pieces together, her eyes red-rimmed but dry now.
Ethan, her PR manager, Hannah, the accountant, followed. Ava, the young social media coordinator with vibrant pink streaks in her blonde hair and an armful of tattoos, was last, perching on the arm of the couch with a defiant energy that masked her own anxiety.
The glass coffee table between them was littered with tablets displaying grim charts, crumpled contracts from vendors, and half-empty coffee cups from the boutique's espresso machine—remnants of earlier, futile attempts to strategize.
Diana cleared her throat, breaking the initial silence. "Thanks for coming on such short notice. I... I thought maybe we could pivot to something quick. Like a social media comeback. Tease a new track, tie it into Lumière somehow—limited-edition merch, behind-the-scenes posts. Build hype, drive foot traffic here."
But Ethan, her PR manager, vehemently dismissed that notion with logical truth and facts, leaning forward with a shake of his head. "Diana, I get the impulse—social's your wheelhouse, and it's low-cost on the surface. But let's be real: your engagement's been artificially propped up for months. A sudden push now, without label backing, screams desperation. We've seen it with other artists—remember Lila Voss? She tried a DIY comeback last year, flooded TikTok with teasers, and it backfired spectacularly. Fans called it 'thirsty,' critics labeled her irrelevant, and her streams tanked further. Plus, with the blacklist rumors swirling, any unsolicited promo could trigger takedowns or shadowbans. It wouldn't just fizzle; it'd make everything else messy and probably ruin a real comeback if one finally materializes down the line."
Everyone sighed, the collective exhale hanging in the air like defeat. Ava fiddled with her phone, Hannah tapped her pen against her tablet.
Ethan spoke again, his voice measured and cold, cutting through the malaise like a scalpel. "If we're serious about turning this around, we need to secure external capital. Real investment. A proper sponsorship. Something legitimate—not smoke and mirrors on Instagram."
Hannah swiped through spreadsheets on her tablet, the glow of the screen carving harsh shadows across her angular face, highlighting the furrows of stress. "I've run every scenario twice over. Lumière is still labeled 'high-risk growth phase' by every bank we've approached—sales projections are down 60% year-over-year, and the inventory backlog is killing our cash flow. And your personal liquidity, Diana—" She paused, her eyes flicking up with a rare softening, as if remembering there was a human behind the numbers.
"I know," Diana snapped, sharper than she meant, her nails digging into her palms. She didn't need another autopsy of her corpse; she lived it every day. "But there has to be something. What about a pop-up event? Or partnering with influencers for a relaunch shoot?"
Ava chimed in, her voice bright but strained. "I could line up some mid-tier creators—ones who owe us favors. A quick photoshoot, viral challenge tied to the brand. Budget-wise, we could scrape it together with what we have in petty cash."
But Hannah shook her head, crunching numbers on her screen. "Even a stripped-down shoot—models, photographers, permits—would run at least fifteen grand. Add marketing push, and we're looking at twenty-five. At this stage, it's not practical; we'd be robbing Peter to pay Paul, and Peter's already bankrupt."
They all tried strategic approaches, bouncing ideas like a frantic game of ping-pong: Ethan suggested pitching to eco-brands for cross-promotions, but Hannah shot it down with data on saturated markets. Ava floated a crowdfunding campaign disguised as a fan-exclusive drop, but Ethan warned of the optics—begging online could alienate the high-end image Lumière was built on. Zari proposed liquidating personal assets, like Diana's jewelry collection from award shows, but Diana vetoed it, her voice tight: "Those are the last pieces of my old life. Selling them feels like admitting defeat."
All hope felt lost, the room growing stuffier with each failed suggestion, the alley window fogging from their collective breaths.
"There's another option," Zari said finally, her voice cutting through the impasse.