She Was Fired From Her Father’s Fashion Empire—So She Returned and Became the Designer He Couldn’t Afford to Lose
CHAPTER 2
The sound of hammering echoed through the wall.
Mara looked up from a box of antique brass buttons.
It was nearly midnight.
She had been working for eight hours.
Again.
She followed the noise to a small workshop.
A man was sitting at a workbench surrounded by leather samples and shoe molds.
He looked up.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Neither are you.”
He smiled.
“Fair.”
“I’m Mara.”
“Ethan.”
She looked at the shoe in his hand.
“That’s beautiful.”
He glanced down.
“Thank you.”
“Why isn’t it in production?”
“Because someone upstairs thinks comfortable shoes don’t sell.”
Mara picked it up.
“Someone upstairs is wrong.”
Ethan laughed.
“You’ve been here three days and already know that?”
“I’ve been here three days and I’ve already learned that everyone upstairs is wrong about something.”
That made him laugh harder.
For the first time since arriving at Bennett House, Mara felt normal.
They began talking.
About fashion.
Design.
Business.
Her mother.
His childhood in Detroit.
By the time they finished, it was nearly two in the morning.
Ethan looked at her.
“You’re wasting your talent downstairs.”
“I know.”
“Then stop.”
She smiled.
“It’s not that easy.”
“It is.”
He pointed toward the warehouse.
“Make something.”
“What?”
“Anything.”
So she did.
For the next several nights, Mara designed after everyone left.
She used forgotten materials.
Old buttons.
Deadstock fabric.
Leather scraps.
She wasn’t trying to impress anyone.
She was trying to remind herself why she had fallen in love with fashion.
One night, Ethan walked in and found her surrounded by sketches.
He picked one up.
His expression changed.
“This is incredible.”
Mara shook her head.
“It’s unfinished.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“They’re going to regret putting you in this room.”
Mara smiled.
“I hope so.”
Three days later, she finished the collection.
It was elegant.
Modern.
But rooted in the classic American tailoring her mother had once been famous for.
Mara placed the sketches inside a folder.
She intended to show them to Jonathan.
She never got the chance.
The next morning, Sloane walked into the warehouse holding the exact same sketches.
“We’re presenting these to Dad.”
Mara froze.
“Those are mine.”
Sloane smiled.
“Are they?”
Behind her, Celia laughed.
Mara felt something inside her break.
But she didn’t know yet how much worse it was going to become.
