163 The Designer’s Sanctuary
Hazel’s POV U1
The awkward silence stretched between us as we finished our lunch. Sebastian had barely spoken since I’d cut him off, and guilt gnawed at me. I knew what he had been about to say, and I’d deliberately stopped him. Not because I didn’t want to hear it, but because I wasn’t ready for what came after.
“I apologize if I was too forward,” Sebastian finally said, his voice formal as he placed his napkin beside his plate. “That wasn’t my intention.”
I looked up, meeting his eyes. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just… complicated right now.”
“Of course.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Your divorce should be your priority.”
The polite distance he’d put between us felt worse than his anger would have. This careful, corporate version of Sebastian made my chest ache.
We split the bill despite his protests and walked out of the restaurant together. The afternoon sun was bright but not warm enough to chase away the chill between us.
“My studio is just a few blocks from here,” I said impulsively. “We could head there for
ulsively. your fitting if you have time.”
Sebastian checked his watch. “I can reschedule my next meeting.”
We walked side by side, not quite touching. The streets were busy with afternoon shoppers and workers on late lunch breaks. I stole glances at Sebastian’s profile-his strong jaw, the slight furrow between his brows as he scrolled through messages on his phone.
A loud honk startled me as a delivery scooter swerved onto the sidewalk. Before I could react, Sebastian’s arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me firmly against his chest and away from the reckless driver.
“Watch where you’re going!” he barked at the retreating scooter.
was suddenly very aware of how close we stood. His cologne-subtle, expensive- filled my senses. My hand rested against his chest, and I could feel his heart beating fast beneath my palm.
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“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice softer now.
I nodded, pulling away reluctantly. “Thank you.”
Two women passing by whispered to each other, their eyes on Sebastian. I caught fragments of their conversation-“gorgeous” and “perfect.” Self-consciousness crept over me. They were right. Sebastian was flawless-wealthy, powerful, kind. And what was I? A woman with bruises hidden under makeup, fighting for scraps of her old life.
“We’re here,” I said, stopping in front of a discreet storefront with frosted windows. The elegant gold lettering read “Evening Gala – By Appointment Only.”
I unlocked the door, and as we stepped inside, something shifted within me. This was my sanctuary, my domain. Here, I wasn’t a victim or a woman scorned. I was a creator,
an artist.
“Welcome to my studio,” I said, flipping on the lights.
Sebastian’s eyes widened as he took in the space. One wall held sketches and fabric swatches pinned to a massive inspiration board. Mannequins dressed in half-finished designs stood like silent sentinels throughout the room. A large cutting table occupied the center space, surrounded by rolls of luxurious fabrics in every color imaginable.
“This is where the magic happens,” I continued, confidence returning to my voice. “I design everything here before it moves to production.”
Sebastian approached the inspiration board, studying my sketches with genuine interest. “These are remarkable, Hazel.”
His praise warmed me. “Evening Gala specializes in bespoke formal wear. Each piece is designed specifically for the client.”
I led him deeper into the studio, past a small kitchenette and toward the fitting rooms at the back. “We opened four years ago. It was actually my idea, but Alistair provided the initial investment.”
“Is that why he feels entitled to half the company?” Sebastian asked, his fingers trailing over a bolt of midnight blue silk.
“Partly.” I shrugged. “But I’ve paid back his investment twice over. The company belongs to me now-in spirit if not yet legally.”
Cherry, my assistant, emerged from the back room with a stack of fabric samples. She
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stopped short when she saw Sebastian.
“Oh! Mr. Sinclair, I didn’t realize you were coming in today.” Her eyes darted between us, a knowing smile forming on her lips.
“Last-minute arrangement,” I explained. “Could you pull the two suits we made for Mr. Sinclair? They should be in the VIP section.”
Cherry nodded, disappearing into the storage room. When she returned with the garment bags, she handed them to me with an exaggerated wink.
“I’ll take my lunch break now, if that’s okay?” she said, already reaching for her purse.
“Of course.” I tried to look stern, but failed. “Take your time.”
As soon as Cherry left, Sebastian chuckled. “Subtle, isn’t she?”
The tension between us had dissolved, replaced by an easy comfort. I hung the garment bags on a hook and moved to the kitchenette.
“Would you like some tea?” I offered. “I always keep a good selection here.”
“Please.”
I filled the electric kettle and selected an aromatic oolong blend. As I waited for the water to boil, Sebastian wandered around the studio, examining my work with genuine appreciation.
“Your talent is extraordinary,” he said, stopping at a sketch of a woman in an intricate evening gown. “You capture movement even in a still drawing.”
Pride bloomed in my chest. “Thank you. It’s what I’ve always loved doing, even as a child. Creating beauty from nothing.”
I poured the tea and handed him a cup. Our fingers brushed, and I didn’t pull away this time. The studio felt like a bubble separate from the outside world-a place where our complicated reality couldn’t intrude.
“The wedding dress you made,” Sebastian said carefully. “The one Ivy wore. Was that your design too?”
I took a deep breath. “Yes. I spent months on it, actually.”
“I’m sorry.”
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“Don’t be.” I sipped my tea. “I’m designing a new collection now. Something completely different-stronger, bolder.”
Sebastian smiled, a genuine one this time. “Like its creator.”
I placed my cup down and moved toward the garment bags. “Shall we see how these fit? I have two options for you.”
I unzipped the bags, revealing two custom suits-one classic black with subtle detailing, the other a deep navy that would bring out the intensity of his eyes.
“Which would you like to try first?” I asked, holding them up.
Sebastian looked at the suits, then back at me. The air between us shifted again, charged with something new-anticipation, possibility.
“Dealer’s choice,” he said softly.
