CHAPTER 7
1059 Words
Chapter 7: Collision
Lena awoke the next morning to birdsong filtering through her bedroom window, a surprising contrast to the electric tension she felt in her chest. The boutique appointment with Tasha loomed—a chance to finally build a wardrobe worthy of her new career. She slid out of bed, heart pounding with a mix of nerves and resolve. No matter what Damian Wolfe had stirred in her during the interview, she couldn't let it derail her momentum.
Half an hour later, Lena and Tasha stood outside Élégance Moderne, a small boutique on the quieter end of a bustling shopping street. The sun glinted off the glass storefront, bright enough to make Lena squint. Inside, mannequins modeled sleek jackets, dresses, and trousers crafted for confident women.
“If I want this job,” Lena said, voice low as they stepped in, “I need to look the part. Clothes can’t carry me through interviews—but they can help.”
Tasha grinned, tugging ahead. “Exactly. We’re not here to hide who you are—we’re here to show them who you’ve become.”
The boutique smelled of jasmine and new fabric. Light filtered through sheer curtains, softening the atmosphere. The sales assistant greeted them, offering a polite smile and warm greetings as they browsed racks. Lena ran her fingers over materials—silk blouses, structured jackets, pencil skirts—and considered colors that conveyed both authority and personality.
She picked out pieces with care: a charcoal-gray blazer tailored to her body, a cream silk blouse with an elegant drape, navy trousers that whispered professionalism, and a burgundy sheath dress that was bold without shouting.
She tried them on slowly, each garment slipping on with a sense of permission. Standing before the mirror, Lena looked different—not just polished, but powerful. She felt at once like a stranger and like someone she’d always been waiting to become.
Tasha watched quietly. “That one?” she said, pointing to the blazer and blouse combination.
Lena smoothed the fabric. “Yeah,” she breathed. “That’s the look.”
“What day are you headed in?” asked the assistant, wrapping fabric swatches.
“Midweek,” Lena replied.
Tasha squeezed her hand. “Midweek she owns the room.”
They finalized the purchase, and as they stepped toward the door with soft paper bags in hand, Lena's phone vibrated in her purse. She ignored the text—a saving grace she told herself.
---
They walked out into the bright afternoon, arms swinging, sipping iced coffees from the café next door.
Lena felt light, almost free.
Then—
A glass door slid open ahead of them, and a figure emerged. Tall, impeccably dressed, that familiar dark hair…
Lena froze.
“Morning,” Damian said, voice even but low.
Her heart clenched. This afternoon had been hers—and all of it shattered in one moment.
She stepped aside instinctively, knocking into the door frame.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Excuse me.”
She turned sharply, pulling Tasha with her.
“Lena?” Tasha said softly. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Lena replied, but her voice trembled.
She moved away, quickening her pace.
“Lena—wait,” Damian said as he stepped out.
She didn’t want to—but she flinched. She paused. And Tasha braced herself, knowing what came next.
“Don’t you have anything to say to me?” Damian’s voice was calm but firm, carrying decades of shared history in those few words.
Lena’s chest constricted. Words spun behind her throat, but she couldn’t find them.
She shook her head and stepped around him, nearly colliding with Tasha, who slid a protective arm around her waist.
“Come on,” Tasha murmured, guiding Lena forward.
Behind her, she heard the soft click of shoes against pavement.
They crossed the street, Tasha’s arm around her, both pressed into each other as if to shield her.
Across the row of boutiques, Lena’s heart thundered. She thought she had prepared—for interviews, for judgment—but she hadn’t for this.
---
They reached the café courtyard down the block. Tasha said nothing more, leading Lena to a table in the shade where they collapsed into chairs.
Lena’s hands trembled as she lifted her iced coffee to her lips. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. After a moment, she met Tasha's eyes.
“I froze,” she whispered.
“Of course you did,” Tasha said softly.
They sat together, comforted by the golden-hour sun and the hum of people nearby. Tasha sipped her latte.
“What did he say?” she asked gently.
“He asked… if I had anything to say to him,” Lena replied. Her voice wavered. “Like we used to when we talked everything through. But this time I— didn’t.”
Tears pricked Lena’s eyes, but she blinked them away. “I couldn’t. I’d worked so hard this morning to free myself from all this.” She swept her hand in a gesture that encompassed both men. “From the past. And there he was.”
Tasha reached over and squeezed her hand. “You don't owe him anything.”
“But what if I do?” Lena asked quietly. “What if I still… care?”
Tasha studied her. “Are you afraid of what caring means?”
Lena closed her eyes. “Maybe.”
They lingered there, drinking slowly, letting the late afternoon settle.
---
Back in her apartment that evening, Lena’s phone buzzed.
W.B. Holdings – Congratulations
Her hands shook as she opened the message.
Dear Ms. Carter,
We are delighted to offer you the position of Lead Media Presenter at W.B. Holdings…
Her breath caught—excitement, fear, longing tangled inside her.
Tasha’s voice echoed in her mind: Own the room.
This was her moment. She swallowed hard.
---
That night, Lena lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if saying nothing to Damian had been a mistake—or a step forward. She traced the outline of the fitted blouse she’d brought home, thinking of how she'd need to own every space she entered. She didn't know what would happen next, or how Damian might respond. But for the first time in a long time, she felt ready.
- Writer
