"We are voiding the contract, Cher."

I pressed the phone harder against my ear. The metal edge dug into my skin. "You cannot do that, Marcus. We signed the exclusivity agreement for the organic silk yesterday."

"That was before the Vanguard scandal broke," Marcus replied. His voice held no sympathy. "Mia Gallagher’s team contacted us an hour ago. She bought out our entire inventory for the next year."

"She doesn't even use organic silk!"

"She offered triple your rate," he countered. "And she has the Orion Group backing her. My board doesn't want our mill associated with a known plagiarist. Do not call this number again."

The line clicked. Dial tone buzzed in the quiet kitchen.

I lowered the phone. My inbox showed ninety-four new emails. Every single one was a cancellation. The patternmakers, the venue coordinators, the independent boutiques.

Mia had not just stolen my designs. She was salting the earth so nothing I planted could ever grow again.

"Put the keys down."

I turned. Thorne stood in the hallway, fully dressed in a midnight-blue tuxedo. He adjusted his silver cufflinks, not bothering to meet my eyes.

"I told you I am not going to the dinner," I said.

"And I told you to get dressed." He finally looked up. His gaze swept over my jeans and oversized sweater. Disgust flashed across his features. "The board members are arriving in thirty minutes. You are making me look bad."

"Look at my phone, Thorne." I shoved the cracked screen toward him. "My entire career is collapsing. They are blacklisting me across the industry."

He swatted the phone away. The device clattered onto the marble island.

"It is a storm," Thorne said, his tone entirely flat. "It will pass. Stop being so dramatic."

"Dramatic?" I stepped closer. "Mia is destroying my name. People are sending death threats to my studio email. I need your help."

Thorne paused. He dropped his hands from his cuffs and stared at me. "My help."

"Your PR team," I clarified. "Have them draft a statement backing my timeline. Let me use your legal department to file an injunction against Orion."

A short, harsh laugh scraped out of his throat. It was the last reaction I expected.

"You want me to weaponize my corporate lawyers over a fashion dispute?" he asked.

"It is not a dispute. It is theft."

"It is a waste of my resources." He walked past me and poured a glass of water from the fridge dispenser. "I am not attaching my firm’s reputation to a losing battle. The internet has already decided you are guilty."

"Because Mia lied!" I shouted. "And you know she lied. You saw me drawing those blueprints at two in the morning for six months!"

"I saw you sketching," he corrected, taking a slow sip. "I did not see the final patents. Vanguard and Orion did."

The kitchen suddenly felt devoid of oxygen. I stared at the man I had lived with for two years.

"You don't believe me," I whispered.

"I believe you are letting your emotions cloud your judgment." Thorne set the glass down. "Mia played the game better than you did. She packaged an idea, found the right buyers, and secured her future. That is business."

"She stole my work."

"She capitalized on an opportunity." He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. A faint smirk touched his lips. "Honestly, Cher, you could learn a thing or two from her. Mia knows how to market herself. She doesn't throw tantrums when things get tough. She adapts."

My stomach turned. The heavy scent of vanilla and roses from the night before suddenly rushed back into my memory.

He didn't just tolerate Mia's betrayal. He admired it.

"You think she is smarter than me," I said.

"I think she is a realist." Thorne checked his gold wristwatch. "And right now, I need you to be one too. Drop this ridiculous feud. Apologize to her publicly, close your little studio, and focus on your actual responsibilities."

"My responsibilities."

"To me." He pointed a finger at the floor. "I provide this penthouse. I pay for your lifestyle. The least you can do is show up on my arm and smile for the investors."

Every word severed another invisible string holding us together.

I had spent two years shrinking myself to fit into his world. I kept my fabric swatches off the dining table. I attended his endless corporate galas. I swallowed my ambition so his could take up the entire room.

He never valued my talent. He only valued my compliance.

"I am not apologizing to a thief," I said. My voice lost its tremor. The panic burned away, leaving behind a cold, hard clarity. "And I am not going to your dinner."

Thorne's jaw tightened. A muscle twitched near his temple. "If you walk out that door tonight, Cher, do not bother coming back."

I picked up my phone from the marble island. I grabbed my keys.

"Keep the penthouse, Thorne. And tell your investors I hope they enjoy the vanilla perfume."

His eyes widened slightly, the first crack in his arrogant facade.

I didn't wait for him to speak. I turned my back and walked out.

The heavy oak door slammed shut behind me, sealing off the last two years of my life.

I stepped out into the freezing London night. The drizzle stung my cheeks. My phone vibrated in my palm. Another hate comment. Another lost contract.

Orion Group thought they could crush me because I was alone. Thorne thought I would crawl back because I had no money.

They were both wrong.

I flagged down a black cab at the corner. I pulled open the door and slid into the leather seat.

"Where to, miss?" the driver asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.

"The Pierce Syndicate headquarters."

The driver frowned. "The financial district? It's past midnight. The offices are closed."

"The CEO isn't."

Alexander Pierce owned half the real estate in Europe. He was ruthless, untouchable, and he hated the Orion Group more than anyone else in the city.

If Mia wanted to play corporate warfare, I was going to bring a monster to the battlefield.