Hana's fingers trembled as she unrolled her final design sketch.
Madame Vivienne studied it silently. The silence stretched long enough for Hana's confidence to crack.
But then—"This is bold," Vivienne said, lips curled in approval. "It's raw. Authentic. You've found your voice."
Tears threatened, but Hana blinked them back. Finally. Finally.
The moment was hers… until she stepped outside and spotted someone across the street.
The man in the trench coat. Sunglasses. Watching her.
No, she thought. Her pulse spiked.
He turned the corner, disappearing like a ghost. But Hana knew that stance. That gait.
It was him. One of the men who had chased her father's fortune. One of the three.
Her breath caught. The past hadn't stayed behind. It had followed her—across countries, across oceans.
But this time, she wasn't the girl who ran. She was the woman who fought.