The city was unusually quiet by the time Xavier pulled his car up in front of Amara's shop. Most of the shops nearby had gone dark, their doors bolted shut for the night, their owners long gone to warm homes or late dinners.
But Amara's studio still glowed faintly, a soft pool of light spilling through the wide front window.
He hadn't been sure she would still be there.
It was late—later than he'd intended to come by—but something about the way she worked, the way she'd thrown herself into the project earlier, made him believe she would stay as long as it took.
And he was right.
Through the glass, he could see her, head bent low over the fabric, hands moving with steady precision. Her hair was down again, cascading softly over her shoulders, though she seemed completely unaware of it.
She didn't see him.
Not yet.
For a brief moment, Xavier just watched her from outside, an unfamiliar warmth flickering in his chest. She was fully absorbed, almost like the world outside her small circle of light didn't exist.
His lips curved slightly at the sight—unexpected, effortless—but as soon as he caught himself smiling, it disappeared.
Focus, Xavier. He wasn't here to indulge in distractions. He was here for business.
Pulling the door open quietly, he stepped inside.
The soft chime of the bell above the door startled her.
She straightened immediately, brushing her hair back as if caught in something she wasn't meant to enjoy.
When she looked up and saw him, her face remained neutral, unreadable. If she was surprised to see him again, she didn't show it.
"Mr. Xavier," she said, her voice calm, cool as always.
"You're still working."
"I wanted to finish," she replied simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "There wasn't much time."
His gaze flicked to the dress she had nearly completed—sleek, elegant, carefully tailored to what he knew Mrs. Dravin would love. He had to admit, Amara's work was more than impressive. It was precise. Thoughtful. Beautiful without being loud.
"You've done well," he said quietly.
She gave a small nod, accepting the compliment but not inviting more.
Xavier took a few steps closer, noticing the scattered sketches and fabric samples still lying around. "You didn't even leave to rest?"
"I didn't want to." She adjusted a fold in the dress, her movements sharp and exact. "When I work, I like to see things through."
He studied her for a moment. There was something in her voice, something closed-off. Not pride. Not excitement. Just… focus.
And maybe that was the part that struck him most.
She was passionate about her work, but she didn't seem to let herself enjoy it fully. As though she wouldn't allow it to touch her in any real way.
"I'm here because I think you should present the dress in person at the meeting tomorrow."
Amara's brow lifted slightly. "Me?"
"Yes. It will feel more intentional. More personal. Mrs. Dravin will appreciate meeting the mind behind the design."
There was a pause, a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. "I don't usually do presentations."
"You can do this. It's not a formal pitch, it's just… showing your work. Showing her why it was made the way it was. It could open more doors for you."
Her arms crossed loosely over her chest, and for a moment, Xavier wondered if she would refuse.
It wouldn't surprise him.
There was something distant about her, like she had spent a long time building walls she didn't want anyone to climb.
When she finally spoke, her tone was careful. "You think it will help?"
"I know it will." His voice softened slightly. "It's not just about me winning the deal. It's a chance for you, too. To show what you can do."
Amara looked down at the dress, fingers grazing the embroidery she'd been stitching just moments before.
Truthfully, a part of her wanted to refuse.
She didn't like being the center of attention. She didn't like being noticed. The more you let people in, the more chances they had to disappoint you, to change.
She had learned that young.
Her father had once been a man her mother adored. Kind. Gentle. He had loved her, or at least, he had said he did. Amara used to believe in that love, in the kind of family she'd quietly hoped for.
Until the shouting started.
Until the bruises became harder to hide.
Until her mother began shrinking into herself, bit by bit, like a flame slowly smothered.
Amara had watched love break her mother apart. She had watched it turn a promise into a cage.
And in the end, it hadn't saved her.
Nothing had.
Her mother's slow slide into depression, the sickness that followed, the quiet hospital rooms where Amara had sat, pretending not to be afraid—those memories lived under her skin, sharp and cold.
Love, Amara had decided long ago, was a dangerous thing.
People could change. Even the ones who seemed good. Even the ones who smiled and promised they never would.
She built her life carefully after that.
Distance was safer. Coldness was protective.
But still, here she was, standing in her small shop, considering Xavier's offer.
She didn't trust people.
But she trusted her work.
And maybe—just maybe—she could trust herself to show that.
"Fine," she said at last, her voice steady but distant. "I'll go with you."
A brief flicker of something—approval, maybe—passed across Xavier's face. "Good. I'll pick you up early."
She nodded, returning her attention to the dress. It felt easier not to meet his gaze for too long.
"Thank you," he added quietly. "For working so late. I knew you'd be the best choice."
His words settled in the air between them, but Amara didn't respond. Not directly.
Instead, she simply said, It's my job no need for formalities "
A soft hum of agreement left him as he turned toward the door. "See you in the Evening."
When the door closed behind him, Amara exhaled slowly.
Her shop was silent again.
She looked at the almost finished dress, her hands tightening around the edge of the fabric.