Sophie’s POV
The hum of the sewing machines filled the studio — soft, rhythmic, alive.
It wasn’t noise. It was heartbeat.
Every whir of a needle felt like proof that Hart Couture was breathing again.
Sunlight streamed through the high glass panes, falling across half-finished gowns, mood boards, bolts of silk and chiffon. The air smelled faintly of starch, fabric dye, and ambition. I’d missed this — the pulse of creation, the sense of purpose that couldn’t be controlled or contained.
For once, the space around me wasn’t about survival. It was about becoming.
My team moved with quiet efficiency. Some faces were new, others from the old days — people who’d once worked under my father and believed in what he built before it was swallowed by Blackwood Holdings.
I was reviewing a sketch
