143 A Fresh Start and a New Infatuation
Hazel’s POV O
The legal documents sat in a manila folder on the passenger seat beside me. I couldn’t stop glancing at them as I drove, a smile playing on my lips every time I did. After everything-all the pain and betrayal-those papers represented my freedom.
Alistair had actually signed the divorce papers.
I rolled down the window, letting the crisp morning air fill my lungs. For the first time in months, I felt truly light, like I could float away if not anchored by my seatbelt.
My phone rang through the car speakers. Sebastian’s name flashed on the dashboard screen, making my heart skip.
“Good morning,” I answered, trying to sound composed though my pulse quickened.
“Hazel.” His deep voice filled the car. “You sound cheerful today.”
“I have reason to be.” I couldn’t keep the excitement from my voice. “Alistair signed the papers. It’s really happening.”
A brief pause. “Congratulations.” The word carried genuine warmth. “How does it feel?”
“Like breathing fresh air after being underwater too long.” I slowed at a red light, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. “Though I still can’t quite believe it’s real.”
“It’s real,” Sebastian assured me. “And well-deserved.”
The light turned green, and I accelerated through the intersection. “Thank you. For everything. Your support has meant more than I can say.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Hazel.” His voice softened. “You’ve earned this freedom through your own strength.”
The conversation shifted to business matters, but my mind kept drifting to the man behind the voice. When had Sebastian Sinclair become such a fixture in my thoughts?
After we ended the call, I felt a strange sense of guilt settle over me. Was I really developing feelings for Sebastian so soon? The divorce wasn’t even final yet.
“Get it together, Hazel,” I muttered to myself. “You’re acting like a schoolgirl with a
crush.”
But wasn’t that exactly what this was? A crush-pure and simple. Everything about Sebastian intrigued me. His mysterious past. His quiet strength. The way he seemed to anticipate my needs before I voiced them.
My phone chimed with an email notification. I checked it at the next stoplight-an invitation to my university’s centennial celebration, just as Vera had mentioned. A formal gala next month.
The timing was suspicious. Yesterday I’d discussed with Sebastian how I hadn’t received an invitation. Today, here it was in my inbox.
I pulled into my office parking space and quickly sent Sebastian a text: “Guess what magically appeared in my inbox this morning? A gold-embossed invitation. Your doing?”
His reply came seconds later: “I merely inquired about an oversight. The timing is
coincidental.”
I snorted. Sebastian Sinclair didn’t do coincidences. He made things happen.
I stared at his profile picture-not a personal photo but an image of a naval warship cutting through dark waters. So like him to choose something powerful yet impersonal. In my mind, I could see him standing on the deck of that ship, commanding the elements themselves with quiet authority.
I caught myself mid-fantasy and shook my head. “This is ridiculous,” I muttered, shoving my phone into my purse.
Since when did I romanticize profile pictures? Since when did I imagine a man I barely knew as some sort of celestial being descended to earth?
Since Sebastian Sinclair entered my life, apparently.
At my desk, I found a stack of business magazines. The top one featured my father’s
company-or what remained of it. The headline read: “SHAW ENTERPRISES: FALL
FROM GRACE.”
I flipped through the article with detached interest. Harold was being forced to sell all his assets to pay the massive fines levied against him. His mansion, his vacation homes,
143 A Fresh Start and a New Infatuation
his art collection-everything was going on the auction block.
The man who had forced my mother out with nothing would now know what it felt like to lose everything.
“Karma,” I whispered, closing the magazine.
A strange sense of peace washed over me. It wasn’t happiness at my father’s downfall- not exactly. It was the feeling that balance was being restored to a world that had been unfair for too long.
My phone buzzed again. A text from Vera: “Lunch today? Need to hear ALL about that signed paperwork!”
I smiled and responded affirmatively before turning to my work. But concentration. proved difficult. My mind kept drifting between thoughts of impending freedom and Sebastian’s mysterious ways.
For the first time in years, I felt genuinely happy-happy without conditions or caveats. Not the temporary happiness of a good day or successful project, but a soul-deep contentment that came from knowing I was finally charting my own course.
I opened my sketchbook and began to draw. The pencil flew across the paper with an urgency I hadn’t felt in months. Images poured out of me-bold silhouettes, innovative cuts, daring combinations that reflected the newfound fire in my soul.
By lunchtime, I’d sketched more designs than I had in the past month. Each stroke felt like a declaration of independence. These weren’t just clothes-they were statements, armor for women who refused to be diminished.
“Wow,” Vera said when she saw the sketches spread across my desk. “Someone’s inspired today.”
“I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for years,” I admitted. “And now I can finally
exhale.”
She picked up one particularly striking design-a modern take on a power suit with unexpected cutouts and bold lines. “This is fire, Hazel. Pure fire.”
“It’s who I am now,” I said softly. “Who I’m becoming.”
Vera studied me with knowing eyes. “And does this renaissance have anything to do with a certain powerful businessman who can’t seem to stay away from you?”
- A Fresh Start Ang A New infatuation
Heat rose to my cheeks. “Sebastian has been supportive, that’s all.”
“Mmhmm.” Her skeptical look said everything.
“Fine,” I conceded. “I may have developed some…feelings. But it’s way too soon.”
“Says who?” Vera challenged. “You’ve spent six years loving the wrong man. Maybe the universe is making up for lost time.”
I laughed, but her words resonated more than I cared to admit. Was it possible that everything-all the pain and betrayal-had been leading me here? To this moment of clarity and possibility?
By the end of the day, I had completed an entire series of designs-enough for a full collection. I hadn’t felt this creatively energized in years.
As I gathered my things to leave, I cast one last look at the sketches pinned to my inspiration board. They represented more than just fashion-they were the first pages of my new story.
A story where I wasn’t defined by my relationship to Alistair, or my father, or anyone else. A story where I was simply Hazel Shaw, designer. Creator. Survivor.
And maybe-just maybe-a woman ready to love again.
