The bankruptcy notice arrived a month later in an email from my lawyer.
Thorne Enterprises would be liquidated to cover its debt and the damages awarded to me.
The last report I watched showed Julian and Serena on the courthouse steps. They shouted over each other, each claiming the other had planned the fraud.
I closed the tablet. The air conditioner hummed above my new studio.
The studio occupied a converted warehouse with arched windows and wide-plank floors. Afternoon sun reached every drafting table.
It smelled of charcoal and fresh paper.
I had spent the week sorting the designs I made during my four years with Julian.
Dozens of original sketches covered the oak table: gowns he had called company property, collections he had shelved, and intricate patterns he never bothered to
