The Shadow Designer

The glossy brochure rattled against my thumbnail. I had spent three sleepless nights and a hundred hours finishing the Starlight Gown, testing each bias cut until the silk held the shape I wanted. Beneath the photograph, in elegant black script, was the name Serena Croft. My name appeared nowhere. I crossed the executive floor and opened Julian's oak doors without knocking. Serena sat on his lap with one finger hooked through his tie. She slid off when she saw me, but she took her time doing it. “Julian.” My throat felt scraped raw. I held up the brochure. “What is this?” He glanced at the cover and looked back at his monitor. “You came in here for that?” Serena smoothed her skirt. “Oh, Chloe, don't make this embarrassing. It's a title on a launch brochure.” “It's my title. My design.” “I need credibility in the socialite circles,” she said. “The PR Director has to be visible. You hate cameras anyway.” Julian leaned back in his chair. “Serena is handling the launch. This is best for the brand.” The big picture. Those three words again. My work went in; my name disappeared. The blame stayed with me. I tapped Serena's name with my finger. “Take it off.” His jaw tightened. “Don't start.” Serena pushed out her lower lip and looked at Julian. She was leaving the argument to him. Julian pulled the checkbook from the top drawer of his mahogany desk and filled it out without asking another question. “I know you've worked hard,” he said. “This should settle it.” He slid the check across the polished wood. Twenty thousand dollars. I stared at his signature. He had priced four years of sketches, fittings, ruined fabric, missed holidays, and late nights at twenty thousand dollars. “Your talent belongs to the company, Chloe.” He capped his pen. “The company belongs to me. You can work out the rest.” I looked at the check once more, then pushed it back. His secrecy had spread from the penthouse to my work. Now he had put a price on it: twenty thousand dollars. Neither of them stopped me when I left the office. My own office had no window and barely enough room for the drafting table. I shut the door, opened my laptop, and typed my resignation. The words came easily. By the time I finished, my hands had stopped shaking. Before I could print it, my phone lit up with an i********: notification from Serena. She was posing in a corner office full of sunlight, one hand on a box that still had my department's label on it. I had asked Julian for that office last month. Her caption read: *Finally a room with a view! Time to make some magic happen. #CEOperks #ThorneEmpire* I saved a screenshot, attached it to my personal archive, and clicked Print. The printer pulled in the first sheet.