Chapter 113
113
~Elara’s POV
I walked back to my office with Janae at my side, and every step felt heavy like the ground was fighting me. My mind kept replaying Linda’s words, that stupid video, Ronan’s face, Lira’s threat, all of it tangled together like a mess of broken threads that once belonged to something beautiful. I pushed the door open, and the scent of fabric, paper, and unfinished ideas wrapped around me like a reminder that nothing stopped just because a heart was hurting.
“We have to start again,” I said quietly, almost to myself, and then I turned fully to Janae. “All the designs. Every piece. We cannot use the last collection. It’s ruined p>
Janae blinked, stunned. “All of it? Elara, that is weeks of work. The show is in two weeks. Are you sure p>
“Yes,” I said, because even if I was terrified, I didn’t have the luxury to show it. “Set up a meeting with everyone. No delays. I want all heads of departments in the conference room in ten minutes. We are starting again from zero p>
She nodded and hurried away, already dialing numbers on her phone. I stood there for a second, staring at the sketches pinned on the wall, designs I once loved that suddenly felt tainted, like fingerprints of betrayal were pressed into the ink. I sighed and started taking them down, one by one, until my hands stung from pulling pins.
Soon, the conference room filled with voices, footsteps, chairs scraping, and the nervous energy of people who knew something was wrong but didn’t know how bad it was. I didn’t sit. I stood at the head of the table because leaders sit when they are comfortable and stand when the ground is shaking.
“Thank you all for coming,” I began, and I could feel the attention lock onto me like the whole room was holding its breath. “Something has happened. I will not go into every detail, but our work has been compromised. The designs were not protected the way they should have been, and they have been leaked. Because of that, we cannot continue with what we have p>
Murmurs broke out immediately, confusion, panic, disbelief, and I raised my hand to steady the room again.
“We are starting again. From scratch. And we are going to do it in two weeks because Fashion Week will not wait for our pain or our mistakes. I know it sounds impossible, but we have done difficult things before, and we will do this one too p>
A tailor, Amara, leaned forward, her voice shaking. “Do we know who did it? Who leaked it? Because… this kind of betrayal, it feels close. It feels like someone inside p>
“It was someone close,” I said quietly, and the weight of the truth sat heavy on my tongue. “But what matters now is not who destroyed the old collection. What matters is who will help build the new one p>
Janae stepped forward like she wanted to show support. “We can split into teams. We can work around the clock. I will stay here through the nights if I have to, and we can bring food to the studio. We can do it, Elara. We can still win this p>
Her voice steadied me more than she realized.
“Good,” I replied, breathing out slowly. “Because that is exactly what we are going to do. I want ideas from every department. I want new fabrics, new silhouettes, new themes, something raw and honest. Something that feels like we bled for it, because we have p>
A young designer raised his hand. “What about the supply orders? The materials? Will we have enough p>
“Call David,” Janae answered before I could. “Tell him we need the full list of fabrics available at Darlon’s company. Everything he has is ready to ship. We will build from what we can get instead of waiting for what we want. We do not have time to wait p>
I watched the determination grow in their eyes, slow at first, like dawn breaking, and then brighter as people realized the only way out was forward. Sketchbooks opened, pencils scratched against paper, tailors whispered ideas, and the room that felt like it was drowning a moment ago suddenly felt alive with desperate, hungry hope.
One stylist, Rosa, came to me quietly. “What should it feel like, Luna Elara? The new collection. What do you want it to say p>
I looked at her, and for a moment, my voice almost broke because the answer came from somewhere inside me that still hurt.
“It should feel like survival,” I said softly. “Like a heart that was shattered and still chose to beat. Like something that was stolen and then rebuilt. It should feel like fire p>
Rosa nodded, eyes bright with something emotional. “Then fire is what we make p>
Work began like a storm. Patterns were drafted, measurements checked, fabrics listed, and schedules built. People moved quickly, some stumbling, some unsure, but moving all the same because stopping was no longer an option. Every machine that hummed to life sounded like a promise. Every pencil line felt like resistance against what tried to destroy us.
Janae returned to my side with her tablet. “David is checking the warehouse now,” she said. “He wants to know the theme we are leaning toward so he can pull the right selections p>
“Tell him the theme is rebirth,” I said. “Tell him we want fabrics that feel like a beginning p>
Janae typed rapidly. “Done. He said he will call back in five minutes with options p>
I nodded, but then I hesitated, my thoughts circling like birds searching for a place to land. “Janae,” I said quietly, “we cannot afford another mistake. Not one more. I need you to watch everyone. I need phones locked in the storage drawers, I need restricted access on digital files, and I need silence about the designs outside this building. If anyone asks, even if it is family, the answer is no comment p>
The atmosphere in the room kept shifting as everyone worked, like tension and hope were wrestling in the air. I walked around slowly, watching sketches grow into something that looked like possibilities instead of failures. My fingers trailed along a table where fabrics were laid out, silks and cottons and rougher blends, each one waiting to be part of a new beginning. My chest felt tight, not with fear this time but with something like determination, something like quiet anger that refused to bend.
Janae returned with a folder in her hands. “Elara,” she said gently, “we need to talk about scheduling. If we are doing fittings, stitching, adjustments, and finishing, we might need to divide the teams. Everyone cannot be working on the same stage at once. It will clash p>
“I know,” I answered, rubbing my forehead like I could press clarity into my skull. “Put tailors and stitchers on the first half, design and sketches on the second half, and I will oversee both. We cannot afford confusion. We need order, even if the situation feels chaotic p>
She nodded and began writing notes. “I can get the sewing machines that Alpha Darlon supplied us moved closer to the fitting rooms. It will reduce time wasted between adjustments p>
“Good,” I said quietly. “Anything that saves a second will save us p>