Ava’s POV
The morning light filled my studio like it wanted to chase the night away. Golden streaks slipped through the tall windows, bouncing off the glass shelves lined with swatches and color samples. My desk was already a mess, fabric scraps spread out, notes scribbled in my sharp handwriting, open catalogs showing tables and lights I’d circled.
Normally, this was my safe place.
My little kingdom.
When I was here, Ava Williams wasn’t someone’s daughter, or fiancée, or bargaining chip. I was just a designer, a business person. My work calmed me because it always made sense, colors either clashed or blended, furniture either fit or didn’t.
But today, I couldn’t focus.
I placed a piece of sage velvet against a brass finish, waiting for that usual spark of joy I got when a combinatio
