Until it was you

Chapter 5: The Color

Chapter 5: The Color

I don't own color.

I realized that at 11 PM, standing in front of my tiny closet, holding Adrian Knight's 800-dollar shirt that was still at the fancy boutique.

My closet was black, grey, white, and more black. After Liam, I stopped wearing color. Color attracted attention. Color made you noticeable. And noticeable girls got hurt.

Black was safe. Black was invisible.

But Adrian Knight said, "Wear color. I want to see you."

Why did I care what he wanted? I hated him. He was arrogant, cold, controlling. He was everything I swore I would never fall for again.

And yet, I was digging through the back of my closet, looking for something I hadn't worn in three years.

At the very back, behind my winter coats, I found it. A dress. A soft, dusty pink wrap dress. I bought it in college when I still believed in love. When I still believed I was pretty. It was feminine, it was bright, it made my waist look small and my skin glow. Mark used to say I looked beautiful in it. Alex never noticed it. Liam told me it made me look cheap.

I held it against me and looked in the mirror. My hair was messy. My eyes were tired from no sleep.

"Don't do it, Ella," I told myself. "Don't play his game."

But I put it on anyway.

The next morning, Tuesday, 8:55 AM, I was in the elevator to floor 50 again. I had picked up his shirt at 7 AM sharp from the boutique. It was perfectly white now, no pink mark, folded like it was brand new. It cost 120 dollars to clean — thankfully on his account — and it smelled like expensive perfume.

And I was wearing the pink dress.

My heart was beating so fast I thought I would be sick. What if he laughed? What if he said I still looked awful? What if this was a trick?

The elevator dinged. Floor 50.

The same perfect receptionist looked up, and her eyes widened.

"Wow, Ella. You look... different."

"Is it too much?" I asked, panicking.

"No. You look beautiful. Mr. Knight is in a meeting, but he said to let you in and wait."

I walked into his massive office, holding his shirt like a shield. I sat in the chair in front of his desk, trying not to wrinkle my dress. My legs were shaking.

I waited ten minutes. Twenty. The meeting was running long. I could hear his cold, serious voice through the glass wall, talking to a group of men in suits. He was in charge. He was ruthless. One word from him and people nodded quickly.

Then the meeting ended. Men filed out. And he walked in.

He stopped when he saw me.

For a full five seconds, he just stood by the door and stared.

His eyes went from my face, to my dress, to my legs, back to my face. Slowly. Very slowly. And his cold, perfect mask completely disappeared.

"Ella," he said, his voice low. Hoarse.

I stood up, nervously smoothing my dress. "You... you said to wear color. So I... I found this old dress. If it's not appropriate for the office, I can—"

"Don't," he interrupted. He walked closer, still holding a file. He put the file down on his desk and came to stand right in front of me. "Don't ever say that dress is not appropriate. You look..."

He swallowed. His grey eyes were dark, not cold at all now. Burning.

"You look stunning."

Stunning. No one had called me stunning in years. Not since before Liam broke me down and told me I was plain, that no one else would want me.

My eyes filled with tears before I could stop them. One tear slipped down my cheek.

His face changed instantly. "Hey. Hey, what is it? Why are you crying?"

"Nothing," I whispered, wiping it quickly. "It's just... no one has said that to me in a long time."

He was silent. Then, gently, so gently it surprised me, he reached out and wiped the other tear with his thumb. The same way he touched my hair yesterday.

"Who told you that you weren't stunning?" he asked, his voice suddenly hard, angry. Not at me. For me.

"It doesn't matter," I said.

"It matters to me."

We stood there, too close, in his big office with the city behind us. His hand was still on my cheek. Warm. I should have moved away. I should have remembered all my lessons. Four heartbreaks taught me not to fall for intensity, for possessive men.

But this felt different. His intensity wasn't about controlling me. It was about seeing me.

"I brought your shirt," I whispered, handing him the bag. "Perfectly white. No pink mark. We are even now, right?"

He took the bag, but didn't look at it. He tossed it onto his desk without caring.

"We are not even. And we will never be even, Ella Brown. Because now I owe you."

"Me? You owe me? For what?"

"For wearing color for me," he said softly. "For letting me see you. The real you."

My knees went weak.

He stepped back then, like he realized he was too close, too intense. He cleared his throat and his cold CEO mask slipped back on, but not completely. His eyes were still warm.

"Your designs," he said, walking behind his desk to be professional. "The new app interface. I want you to lead the presentation on Friday. To the board."

My mouth dropped. "What? Me? But I'm just a junior! Senior designers—"

"Senior designers make boring, safe, forgettable things. You don't. Not when you wear pink. I saw your old college portfolio. You were fearless. I want that Ella back. The one who uses color. The one who tells a CEO to move her."

He was giving me a chance. A huge chance. My dream chance.

"Why?" I asked. "Why me?"

He looked at me for a long moment, his grey eyes holding mine.

"Because until Friday night, I thought I knew everything about business. About people. I thought everyone wanted something from me. Money, promotion, favor. Then you spilled wine on my 800-dollar shirt and told me to move you, and you didn't want anything. You just wanted me out of your way."

He smiled — a real smile this time, small but real, that made him look younger, almost boyish.

"Until it was you, Ella, I never met a girl who wasn't impressed by me."

I laughed. I actually laughed for the first time in days. "I'm not impressed by you, Mr. Knight. You are still very annoying."

"Adrian," he corrected again, but he was smiling too.

"Adrian," I said, tasting his name. "Very annoying Adrian."

"Good. Stay unimpressed. It looks beautiful on you. In pink."

I walked out of his office that day with my heart beating like crazy, with a presentation to lead on Friday that could change my career, and with a feeling I thought I had killed three years ago.

Hope.

A dangerous, terrifying, wonderful hope.

Because maybe, just maybe, the fifth time was not a heartbreak.

Maybe the fifth time was him.

Until it was you — the man I never saw coming, in a pink dress I thought I'd never wear again.