The first day back at The One was a surreal experience. The studio, located in a converted warehouse in the Arts District, had always been her sanctuary. The smell of fresh fabric, the whir of sewing machines, the large tables littered with sketches and patterns—it was a world she had built with her own hands. Walking in, she half-expected to feel like an imposter, but the familiar environment wrapped around her like a well-worn coat.
Her small team—Wendy, her operations manager, and a handful of dedicated designers—greeted her with a mixture of relief and awkwardness. They knew about the divorce, of course; it was the worst-kept secret in Los Angeles. The story in the tabloids was a predictable tale of the humble girl from the wrong side of the tracks being cast aside by the billionaire prince. They treated her with a gentle pity that made her skin crawl.
"Ms. Bennett, it's so good to have you back," Wendy said, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Wendy was a fiercely loyal woman in her fifties who had been with Chloe since the beginning.
"It's good to be back, Wendy," Chloe said, forcing a smile. "And please, it's just Chloe."
She spent the morning reacquainting herself with the ongoing projects. The studio was working on a small, high-end collection for a boutique in New York. The designs were good, but safe. They lacked the bold, innovative spirit that had defined The One's early success. It was clear the studio had been languishing in her absence.
In the afternoon, Jake Henderson made an appearance. He strolled through the studio as if he owned it—which, Chloe reminded herself, he now did.
"Looks good," he said, picking up a swatch of silk. "A little... quiet, though. Don't you think?"
"It's a start," Chloe replied, her tone neutral.
"I have an idea," he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. "A collaboration. Henderson Enterprises is launching a new line of eco-friendly activewear. We could do a limited-edition capsule collection. The One's design aesthetic, Henderson's marketing muscle. It would put you back on the map."
It was a brilliant business move, and Chloe knew it. Henderson's brand reach was global. But the idea of her creative vision being tied to Jake's commercial empire made her uneasy.
"I'll need to think about it," she said. "The One has always been about haute couture, not activewear."
"Adapt or die, Chloe," Jake said, his smile not reaching his eyes. "That's the first rule of business. But don't worry, I'm not here to micromanage. The creative decisions are yours. I just want to see this place thrive." He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "For both our sakes."
After he left, Chloe felt the familiar pressure closing in. Jake's "gift" of the studio was already feeling like another chain. He wanted a return on his investment, and he wanted it quickly.
A few days later, the pressure intensified from another source. She was working late, sketching by the light of a single lamp, when her phone buzzed. Lucas's name flashed on the screen. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She hadn't spoken to him since the day she left.
She let it go to voicemail. A moment later, a text came through: We need to talk. About the divorce. And other matters.
Other matters.Did he know about the baby? Panic seized her. She typed a reply, her fingers trembling: I'm busy. Now is not a good time.
His response was immediate: It wasn't a request. My driver will pick you up tomorrow at 7 PM. We'll have dinner.
The command was so typically Lucas—arrogant, presumptuous, leaving no room for refusal. A part of her wanted to defy him, to tell him to go to hell. But a larger, more pragmatic part knew she couldn't avoid him forever. The divorce needed to be finalized. And if he had discovered her pregnancy, she needed to know.
The following evening, a black Rolls-Royce pulled up outside her apartment building. The driver, a stoic man she recognized, held the door open for her. The ride to the restaurant was silent, the partition up, isolating her in the plush interior. She felt like a prisoner being transported to her execution.
The restaurant was one of Lucas's favorites—an exclusive, Michelin-starred place perched on a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. He was already seated at a private table, a bottle of wine open before him. He stood as she approached, his expression unreadable. He looked devastatingly handsome in a dark suit, his jaw clean-shaven, his blue eyes piercing in the candlelight.
"Chloe," he said, his voice a low rumble. He held out her chair.
"Lucas," she replied, sitting down. The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.
A waiter appeared and poured her a glass of water. She ordered a sparkling water with lemon; he ordered another glass of wine.
Once they were alone, Lucas got straight to the point. "The papers are with my lawyer. They'll be filed next week."
Chloe nodded, her throat tight. "Okay."
"There's the matter of the shares," he continued, his gaze fixed on her. "The ten percent. According to our prenuptial agreement, they revert to the Blackwood Group upon divorce."
Chloe's blood ran cold. She had forgotten that clause. In her haste to save her mother, she had signed them over to Jake, effectively stealing from the Blackwood Group. If Lucas found out... She forced herself to meet his gaze. "I understand."
"Do you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Because my accountants are telling me there's been some unusual activity. A transfer request was initiated from your end, but it was blocked by a higher-level encryption. Henderson encryption."
He knew. Or at least, he suspected. Chloe's mind raced. She couldn't tell him the truth. He would never understand. He would see it as the ultimate betrayal—which, in a way, it was.
"I... I'm not sure what you're talking about," she stammered, looking down at her menu. "There must be some mistake."
"Look at me, Chloe." His voice was quiet but deadly. She looked up. The anger in his eyes was a cold, controlled fire. "What did you do?"
Before she could answer, a familiar, syrupy voice cut through the tension. "Lucas, darling! I thought that was you."
Sophia Miller glided up to the table, a vision in a tight, crimson dress. She slipped her arm through Lucas's, ignoring Chloe completely. "You said you had a business meeting. You didn't tell me it was with... her." The word was dripping with contempt.
Lucas's expression tightened. "Sophia, this is a private conversation."
"Oh, I'm sure it is," Sophia purred, her eyes flicking to Chloe with undisguised malice. "Well, don't let me interrupt. I just came to remind you about the benefit tomorrow night. You promised you'd be my date." She leaned in and kissed his cheek, a possessive gesture. "Don't work too late, darling." She shot Chloe a triumphant smirk before sauntering away.
The moment she was gone, the air at the table turned to ice. Lucas's face was a mask of stone. Any hope of a civil conversation had evaporated.
"The shares, Chloe," he repeated, his voice like steel. "I want an answer. Now."
Chloe stood up, her napkin falling to the floor. "I have to go."
"Sit down," he commanded.
"No," she said, her voice shaking but firm. "I'm not your wife anymore, Lucas. You don't get to order me around." She turned and walked out of the restaurant, leaving him sitting there, the fury rolling off him in waves.
She hailed a cab, tears of frustration and fear streaming down her face. The dinner had been a disaster. Lucas was closing in on the truth, and when he discovered it, the fallout would be catastrophic. She was trapped between two powerful men, and the walls were getting closer every day.