Safe With You

Settling in

~Alyssa~

The rest of my day disappeared in a blur of back-to-back virtual meetings, payroll approvals, and signing off design revisions that seemed to reproduce every time I turned my head.

By five o’clock, I was one spreadsheet away from losing the will to live. So, I did what I always do when the admin starts choking the art — I escaped to the studio.

The second I stepped inside, the world shifted. The faint hum of the office above faded, replaced by the comforting smell of fabric dye and cedar shelving. I flicked on my playlist, turned the lights low, and let the familiar rhythm of music and movement take over.

Bolts of silk, tulle, and soft satin lined the walls in perfect colour order. I pulled down armfuls for Lillian Riley’s prom dress — a delicate balance of structured elegance and quiet rebellion. Soft blush pink, almost champagne, with a train that moved like smoke.

Scissors in hand, I found my flow, the outside world shrinking until it was just me, the music, and the soft sound of fabric sliding under my fingers. I didn’t even hear the door open until a pair of small arms wrapped tight around my leg.

“Mummy!”

I looked down and grinned. “Quinn, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

She beamed up at me, curls bouncing, eyes bright. Behind her stood Elle, smiling knowingly, and Preston, ever composed in the doorway like a silent shadow.

Quinn’s eyes widened as she spotted the dress pinned to the mannequin. “Mummy, this is beautiful! But it’s a bit big for me, isn’t it?”

I laughed, setting down my shears before scooping her up. “Sadly, my darling girl, this one isn’t for you. But I promise to make you a dress this pretty for your birthday. Deal?”

She crossed her arms, attempting a dramatic pout. “Alright. But I want it blue. Like your eyes, Mummy.”

I kissed the top of her head. “Blue it is.”

That earned me a grin that could melt steel before she wriggled down, marching to the design table with her hands on her hips. “Hmm. This one looks a bit too hard for me. I’ll just read my book with Elle and eat some cookies instead.”

I gave her a look. “Only some, young lady. Dinner’s not far off.”

“Promise!” she chirped, already skipping over to Elle, curls bouncing like punctuation marks to her joy.

I smiled after her, that warm ache of love filling my chest, then glanced at the clock. Half six already. If I wanted dinner ready before Quinn’s mystery friend and their parent arrived, we needed to move.

The drive home was calm, thankfully. Quinn sat in the back seat with her iPad, sketching what looked suspiciously like a ball gown, giving a running commentary about her new friend — apparently “super nice, super funny, and has the best sparkly trainers ever.”

I let her talk, half listening, half content just to hear her voice.

“Mummy,” she said suddenly, “can she sleep over too?”

I stifled a laugh. “Let’s get through dinner first, cheeky. Sleepovers can wait for the weekend.”

She sighed dramatically, then grinned. “Okay. But I’ll ask her anyway.”

I shook my head, smiling. “You’re impossible.”

When we pulled into the drive, the sight that greeted me made me groan and smile all at once: a bright red Ferrari parked at an angle only my brother would dare, and the man himself standing at the front door with enough shopping bags to make Selfridges weep.

“He’s spoiling her rotten,” I muttered, cutting the engine.

Quinn hadn’t noticed yet, too absorbed in her drawing. But the second she looked up and saw him, that was it.

“UNCLE TRAY!”

She shot out of the car like a missile, straight into his arms.

Tray — Triston to everyone else — caught her easily, laughing as he swung her around. “There’s my girl! I brought you a few things.”

“A few?” I asked, raising a brow at the mountain of designer bags. “You’re single-handedly keeping Dior in business.”

“She’s my favourite niece.”

“She’s your only niece.”

“Still counts.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled despite myself. He’d been spoiling her since the day she was born. When Mark walked out and took everything with him, Tray had been the one to catch us. He moved us into his home, helped me rebuild from nothing, looked after Quinn when I worked eighteen-hour days. I owe him more than I’ll ever admit.

Inside, the kitchen was already alive with the smell of garlic and rosemary. Melissa, my housekeeper, had set the table for four and was plating up something divine.

“I need to give that woman a proper holiday,” I murmured.

I found her in the lounge arranging fresh roses in a vase. “Melissa,” I called softly.

She turned, smiling that warm, steady smile of hers.

“You’re an angel,” I said, hugging her. “Everything looks perfect. Go home — I’ve got it from here.”

“Thank you, Miss Rose. Have a lovely evening.”

“It’s Alyssa, please,” I called after her, though we’d had that argument a hundred times.

By the time she left, the house was peaceful again. Tray stayed just long enough to remind me he’d filled the fridge and freezer with “essentials” (translation: sweets, snacks, and the world’s most expensive ice cream) before heading off.

Upstairs, Quinn wriggled into black leggings and her favourite oversized jumper — the one with the tiny embroidered moon. I tied her long curls into a high ponytail, leaving them to bounce freely around her face.

“Perfect,” I said. “Now, go pick out some toys to show your new friend. Maybe not all of them this time.”

She giggled and dashed off, leaving her bedroom door wide open and her energy spilling into every corner of the house.

With her sorted, I finally turned to myself.

After a long day in jeans, I reached for my soft, loose-fitting flares and my favourite cropped Sleep Token tee. My hair — jet black streaked with deep, blood-red highlights — was still holding from this morning, so I tied it into a high ponytail to match Quinn’s. A few strands escaped, framing my face just enough to soften the edge.

In the mirror, I caught the faint shimmer of my piercings — small silver hoops along the curve of my ear, the glint of the stud in my nose, and the thin barbell at my lip that always drew the eye when I smiled. I swapped out my clear studs for the real thing, silver catching under the soft light.

I’m five foot five, all curves and sharp lines — the kind of body that used to make me self-conscious but now feels like armour. Every curve, every mark, every scar — earned and owned.

I stepped back and gave my reflection a small smirk.

“This child of mine,” I said to the mirror, “has a better social life than I do.”

Downstairs, the house glowed golden, the air rich with the smell of roast chicken and rosemary. I poured myself a glass of wine, took a slow sip, and leaned against the counter.

The silence stretched, warm and peaceful.

I looked around the kitchen — the soft lighting, the clean marble counters, the hum of Quinn’s laughter upstairs — and allowed myself a quiet smile.

“Alright, Alyssa,” I said softly. “You’ve got this. It’s just dinner. A playdate. Nothing more.”

I took another sip, exhaled, and let the calm settle around me.

“Completely fine,” I murmured into the rim of my glass. “Absolutely fine.”