Laced With Havoc

Episode-7

Freyda's fingers were raw.

Thread bit into her skin as she stitched midnight-blue lace across satin, her needle flashing in and out with mechanical precision. The workroom was quiet save for the occasional scrape of scissors and the soft whir of the sewing machine. Three empty coffee mugs sat cold on the table. Half-finished sketches were scattered beneath fabric swatches, and a pale mannequin wore the bones of a dress that refused to finish itself.

The birthday was only days away.

Freyda knew this dress mattered. It wasn't just a garment-it was memory. And right now, it was all she had to focus on.

The soft chime of the building's elevator echoed like a ripple across a still pond. Freyda paused, hands mid-stitch, tension forming in her shoulders. Only two people had the code to reach this floor-herself, and the building's owner.

A confident rhythm of heels followed. Sharp. Assured.

Freyda sighed, lips curling into something between amusement and annoyance. "Your timing's always dramatic."

"I like to think of it as cinematic," came the reply, voice cool and amused. "Though judging by the amount of caffeine and existential dread in this room, I may be the only source of color here."

Seraphina Caldwell entered like a storm dressed in silk. She was elegance with an edge, her blazer perfectly tailored, her dark hair swept into a sleek bun, and her stilettos the shade of blood. A single glance from her could make judges second-guess verdicts. And right now, she was looking at Freyda like she had personally offended every fashion god.

"You haven't slept."

"I have," Freyda replied, returning to her stitching.

Sera arched a brow. "Dreaming with your eyes open doesn't count."

The lawyer walked over, picking up a loose sketch from the table. Her fingers lingered on the page. "This is brilliant. It's also killing you."

"It's a dress."

"It's a cry for help in silk."

Freyda exhaled, setting the needle down. "You didn't come here to critique my mental health through chiffon."

Sera leaned on the edge of the table, studying her friend. Her gaze landed on the deep midnight hue and familiar structure of the design. Her expression darkened.

"Freyda," she said slowly. "Tell me this isn't for them."

"For who?" Freyda asked without looking up.

"You know who. Frostbite."

Freyda blinked, then gave a sharp laugh. "No. God, no."

Sera folded her arms, skeptical. "Because it looks like something you'd design for them. And you're working yourself into the ground. That combination worries me."

"It's not for Frostbite."

"Then who?"

"Someone else. Just a man. A client."

Sera c****d her head. "What kind of man orders a midnight blue dress with Havoc-level elegance for a woman ?"

Freyda shrugged. "A presumptuous one. A nobody, honestly."

Sera narrowed her eyes. "Yet you're still doing it."

"Because he offered something I can't ignore. A clean slate. A stepping stone. I don't owe him loyalty, just work."

Sera looked thoughtful, the sharpness in her gaze softening. "He helped you?"

"Briefly. He's helping me out of Frostbite's shadow."

Sera gave a slow nod. "Then I like him. Whoever he is."

Freyda made a face. "Don't. He's arrogant. Smirks too much. Thinks he's smarter than everyone."

Sera grinned. "Sounds familiar."

Freyda glared.

Sera laughed, lifting her hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. So mystery man commissions the dress, you make it, he disappears. That's the plan?"

"Exactly."

"And you're fine with that?"

"I'm not required to be fine. Just functional."

"Same difference, knowing you."

Sera walked toward the window, peering out at the dusky skyline. "Well, I hope your nobody keeps his promises."

There was a brief silence, then Sera turned. "I'll be staying here. A month."

Freyda blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I have cases here. High-profile ones. I'd rather not waste time in hotels. And you clearly need supervision."

"This isn't a halfway house."

"You have a guest room. I have expensive wine."

Freyda hesitated. "You're impossible."

"And you're predictable. I'll go unpack."

Sera grabbed her suitcase and disappeared down the hallway like she owned the place.

Freyda exhaled deeply, staring at the half-finishe

d dress.

"A nobody," she muttered.

But even she wasn't sure who she was trying to convince.

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