His Award, My Brand Quit

On the night my fiancé won the Emerging Designer of the Year Award, he announced in front of every major fashion outlet that he was indefinitely shutting down the independent label we had spent 10 years building together. A reporter asked whether he had consulted his co-founder before making the decision. Lucas smiled gently. "She's just a customer service representative. For anything that requires real expertise, the boss can make the call." After the event, he shoved his phone into my hands with a furious investor still on the line. "I only handle design. You take care of everything else." I looked at him calmly. Ten years ago, in a basement that leaked whenever it rained, we had promised each other that once he won the Best Designer Award, he would create a one-of-a-kind wedding gown for me. That would also mark the beginning of a new era for our label. Tonight, he had finally won the honor. But in his eyes, I had been reduced to an ordinary employee who cleaned up after him. Some dead-end jobs really should be quit. ***** By the time the awards ceremony ended, Lucas was still backstage, surrounded by cameras, microphones, and reporters. I sat in the VIP lounge waiting for him, my fingers wrapped around the key to the studio safe. The paint on the little charm attached to it had almost completely worn away. Ten years earlier, when our label held its first makeshift basement runway show, we couldn't even afford the models' fees. After covering our costs, we made only 3,000 dollars. Lucas took that money and ran to an auction as if he'd lost his mind. He came back with a small length of rare handwoven indigo silk brocade. I called him reckless. He clutched the fabric to his chest, his eyes shining. "When I win the Best Designer Award someday, I'll use this to make your wedding gown." Over the years, the studio moved and expanded four times. That fabric stayed locked in our most secure safe, and no one was allowed to touch it. Before leaving home today, I had gone out of my way to check. It was still there. At 11:40 p.m., Lucas finally escaped the interviews. Chloe Whitaker was beside him as naturally as if she had always belonged there. When Chloe joined the company three years ago, she had been an intern who could barely tell one fabric from another. But she knew how to ingratiate herself. More than anything, she knew exactly how to give Lucas the admiration and validation he wanted. Lucas always said she had "a creative instinct untouched by commerce," so it was only natural that she became his personal assistant. Whenever I brought Lucas an over-budget expense sheet to sign, Chloe would sigh beside him. "Grace works so hard keeping track of the money, but a genius like Lucas can't let fleeting inspiration get chained down by dollars, can he?" Now Chloe had her arm looped through Lucas's. The moment she saw me, she jerked her hand back as if she'd been shocked. "Grace, you're still here? You haven't gone home to rest?" Lucas casually shrugged off his couture suit jacket and handed it to her, then looked at me. "Mr. Foster at the department store and several fabric suppliers are losing their minds. Draft the termination agreements for them." He turned his tablet toward me. The missed-call list was full of furious business partners. I didn't take it. "Why did you announce the shutdown of the main label without consulting me?" Lucas raised an eyebrow. "I didn't do it on a whim. The label has gotten too commercial. I've been thinking about this for a long time." My hand tightened around the key. "Then why was I, the brand director and your fiancee, the last person to know?" He frowned impatiently. "Chloe brought it up before, and I thought she had a point. What's the point of constantly catering to mass-market tastes and obsessing over sizing and return rates?" Chloe hurriedly waved her hands. "Grace, don't blame Lucas. We were watching a show together and I just mentioned it in passing. I just think Lucas should be using his hands to create couture, not wasting his talent on mass-produced ready-to-wear." Lucas gave her shoulder an approving pat. "The new couture studio will accept only 20 bespoke commissions a year. We won't sell through malls, and we won't look at any business reports." I stared at him. "What about our existing franchise partners, production-line workers, and fabric suppliers?" "That's why I'm giving all of that to you." He pointed at the tablet as if the answer were obvious. "Contract disputes are your specialty." I looked down at the cold key between my fingers. "Is there a place for me in the new couture studio?" "I'll set the overall design direction, and Chloe will handle inspiration and details. You'll stay on as Operations Director." After a pause, he added, "It's the most reasonable division of work. You don't understand design or aesthetics. Forcing yourself into that side of things would only put more pressure on you." Chloe gave me a sweet smile, as if she were worried I might feel embarrassed. "Grace, I'm just helping Lucas with sketches and odd jobs. I'd never dream of taking over your management role." Lucas checked his watch. "Enough. It's late. Everyone is waiting for us." I looked up. "Waiting for what?" Chloe blinked and pointed toward the inner lounge. "The celebration. Lucas took the indigo silk brocade out of the safe. He said we'd cut the ribbon tonight, and he draped some around me as a scarf to celebrate." Lucas looked as though he had only just remembered. "Oh, that old fabric? I think I said something years ago about using it when I won an award. Everyone's here tonight, so using it as the ribbon for the new studio feels like a fitting way to mark the occasion." My throat tightened. "Who opened the safe?" Lucas answered calmly. "Chloe wanted to see what the rare silk brocade felt like, so I let her open it." The corner of Chloe's mouth lifted. With barely concealed satisfaction, she touched the strip of silk brocade around her neck. "Grace, Lucas said there's still enough left to make you a little coin purse. I made sure to save some for you." Lucas's face darkened. "It's just an outdated piece of fabric. What's with the attitude?" I placed the safe key gently on the coffee table and turned away. "Where are you going?" Lucas called after me. "Home." "What about the calls from our partners about terminating their contracts?" "Take them yourself." The heavy soundproof door had barely closed behind me when I heard Chloe's soft, coaxing voice. "Lucas, is Grace upset?" His reply came through the narrowing gap, cold and dismissive. "Ignore her. By morning she'll cool off and deal with everything like she always does."