Chapter 6 The Woman They All Admired
1058 Words
The elevator doors opened onto Aurora Jewelry’s design floor.
Damien expected another receptionist.
Another assistant.
Another polite apology.
Instead, Evelyn’s assistant smiled.
“I’m afraid Designer E.H. needs another twenty minutes.”
Damien nodded.
“I’ll wait.”
The assistant studied him for a second.
Then said quietly,
“Actually…”
“Designer E.H. asked me to make one request.”
“What request?”
The assistant handed him a visitor badge.
VISITING DESIGNER
Not guest.
Not CEO.
Designer.
“I think you’ve given me the wrong badge.”
“We didn’t.”
The assistant smiled.
“If you’re waiting for Designer E.H…”
“You should spend those twenty minutes where designers belong.”
The studio was brighter than he remembered.
Long wooden tables stretched beneath skylights.
Half-finished sketches covered the walls.
Pieces of silver and loose gemstones rested inside small trays.
Everything looked unfinished.
Everything looked alive.
Nobody stopped working because he entered.
Nobody whispered.
One young designer simply looked up and smiled.
“First time here?”
Damien nodded.
“Yes.”
“Then don’t stand there.”
She pushed an empty stool toward him.
“Come look.”
Before Damien could answer, three designers were already arguing over the same necklace.
“The sapphire is too cold.”
“No.”
“The gold frame is too heavy.”
“It needs more light.”
They spoke over one another.
Not angrily.
Passionately.
Finally one of them looked toward Damien.
“What do you think?”
He hesitated.
“I don’t know anything about jewelry.”
Nobody laughed.
The designer smiled.
“Neither did I three years ago.”
Another added,
“President Hart says the only stupid opinion…”
“…is the one you’re too afraid to say.”
The room laughed softly.
The conversation continued.
Without judgment.
Without hierarchy.
For the first time in years…
Damien found himself in a room where nobody cared about his title.
Only his answer.
Near the back of the studio stood a long workbench.
A single chair remained empty.
No tools lay on it.
No sketches.
Only a ceramic mug.
Someone had written across it with black marker.
Reserved.
Damien looked toward the assistant.
“Whose desk is that?”
“Evelyn’s.”
The answer came so naturally that Damien didn’t react immediately.
Only after a few seconds did he ask,
“President Hart still works here?”
The assistant looked surprised.
“Every day.”
“She spends at least two hours in the studio before going upstairs.”
“She says she can’t lead designers…”
“…if she stops designing.”
Damien looked again at the empty chair.
The ceramic mug.
The sharpened pencils.
The worn leather sketchbook lying beside them.
Nothing about the space looked luxurious.
It looked…
Used.
Loved.
Real.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Evelyn holding a pencil.
Had she stopped drawing at home…
Or had he simply never noticed?
A young intern hurried over carrying several gemstone samples.
She stumbled.
One tray slipped from her hands.
Tiny stones scattered across the wooden floor.
The room became quiet.
Damien instinctively looked around.
Waiting for someone to criticize her.
Instead…
Several designers immediately knelt beside her.
“It’s okay.”
“I’ve got the emeralds.”
“I’ll collect the diamonds.”
The intern looked close to tears.
“I’m sorry.”
“I ruined everything.”
An older designer smiled.
“No.”
“You dropped some stones.”
“That’s different.”
Within less than a minute…
Everyone was back to work.
Nobody mentioned the mistake again.
Damien watched in silence.
At Blackwood Group…
Mistakes stayed on performance reviews.
Here…
They stayed on the floor for thirty seconds.
Then disappeared.
Beside the coffee station hung a single handwritten note.
Nothing decorative.
Just white paper and blue ink.
Don’t forget to drink water.
Your creativity deserves a healthy body.
— Evelyn
Damien smiled faintly.
Almost unconsciously.
The wording reminded him of the notebook.
Gentle.
Practical.
Never demanding.
Always caring.
The assistant noticed.
“She changes that every Monday.”
“People stop seeing the same reminder.”
“So she writes another.”
Damien said quietly,
“She always did that.”
The assistant looked confused.
“What?”
“…Nothing.”
As they continued walking, they passed an older employee repairing a display cabinet.
The man looked up and smiled warmly.
“You must be Mr. Blackwood.”
Damien nodded.
“You know me?”
“I know of you.”
The man wiped his hands on a cloth.
“I’ve worked here since the first month.”
“Back then…”
“There were only six of us.”
He chuckled.
“We couldn’t afford office chairs.”
“So President Hart slept on the studio floor after every all-night deadline.”
Damien looked up.
“What?”
The man pointed toward the empty workbench.
“Right there.”
“Eight months.”
“She said if the team stayed…”
“So would she.”
He laughed softly.
“We all complained.”
“But somehow…”
“Nobody quit.”
The words settled heavily inside Damien.
He looked again at the empty chair.
For years…
He had assumed Evelyn spent quiet evenings reading at home.
Instead…
She had been building this place.
One exhausted night at a time.
The assistant’s phone vibrated.
He glanced at the screen.
Then looked at Damien.
“Designer E.H. is ready.”
Damien stood.
Before they walked away, the assistant spoke once more.
“There’s something she asked me to tell you.”
Damien waited.
The assistant met his eyes.
“When someone tells you who Evelyn was…”
”…don’t interrupt.”
“Just listen.”
Damien froze.
Those words…
They were identical to the sentence waiting inside the notebook that morning.
For the first time…
He realized something that sent a chill through him.
The notebook wasn’t leading him to answers.
It was changing the way he listened.
The assistant opened the door to a quiet meeting room.
“Mr. Blackwood…”
“Designer E.H. will see you now.”
Damien stepped forward.
On the other side of that door…
Someone had been waiting.
Not to tell him who Evelyn was.
But to show him the life he had never taken the time to see.
- Writer
