Become My Son's Mommy

CH 6: The Studio

Amayra

Amayra walked toward her classroom as if she were stepping onto a battlefield that had already chosen its victor.

Mayra had once walked this path with ambition, with dreams stitched into every step she took. She wanted to become a fashion designer, someone who could turn fabric into identity, into power, into art.

Now Mayra was gone.

And Amayra had to carry that dream. Not because she wanted to. But because she had to.

The problem was...

Amayra had never held a needle to stitch fabric. She only knew how to tear flesh.

She knew how to break bones, not how to measure silhouettes.

She knew how to end lives, not how to create designs.

When she first found out about Mayra’s studies, a rare feeling of concern surfaced inside her.

Not fear of people. But fear of exposure. If she failed here she would not just look weak. But she would look fake.

Robin and Apollo had spent hours showing her fashion design videos. Basic stitching. Fabric types. Pattern cutting. Body measurements. Design principles.

She memorized everything.

Not out of passion.

Out of necessity.

So when she entered the classroom no one would see through her.

Robin followed closely behind her, slightly to the side, as if he understood that walking beside her directly would only attract more attention.

Earlier that morning, he had gathered everything about Mayra’s academic life.

Like details about her department, classes, schedule, professors, students, and even enemies.

This was not an ordinary university.

This was one of the most elite fashion design institutes in the country. Mayra applies for it and she gets a scholarship. This is another reason Amyara is doing this.

She didn't want to waste her sister's hard work.

Here in this university reputation mattered more than grades.

Influence mattered more than effort. And talent decided who ruled.

Aamayra is not tenanted like Mayra, but she is a quick learner. She decides she will rule this university as she rules the underworld.

Amayra stepped into the main corridor.

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

This was not a simple hallway. Mannequins dressed in half-finished couture stood like silent witnesses.

Fabric swatches layered across boards created textures of ambition.

Sketches filled the walls—bold, dramatic, competitive. Every design screamed for attention.

The air carried the scent of dye, perfume, and heat from steam irons.

Every step she took echoed.

Students stopped talking.

Heads turned, eyes followed only her.

Some widened in shock.

Some were narrowed with judgment.

Some stared like they were watching something dignified return.

“That is Mayra.” A low voice.

“She came back?” another girl whispered.

“I heard she disappeared.”

“She feels… different.”

Many comments have been passed. Amayra did not slow down. She did not hurry.

Her posture remained straight. Her chin slightly lifted.

Her expression was calm.

“Boss, your classroom is at the end,” Robin said quietly. “Advanced Fashion Construction Studio.”

She gave a small nod.

Her eyes continued scanning everything. Dress forms near glass walls. Industrial machines are humming softly.

Students adjusting hems, arguing over design choices. This was not a classroom.

This was a battlefield of creativity.

And she had entered it without a weapon.

Amayra stepped inside. The studio was wide and bright.

Long tables, cutting mats, and mannequins lined in rows. Garments half-born.

Sunlight flooded the space.

The moment she entered. Everything stopped. Conversations died mid-sentence.

Energy shifted.

A group of girls exchanged glances. One of them was Maya. She already told her friends about Mayra.

Rony discreetly picked up his phone. Kaya leaned back, watching her with a faint smirk.

Amayra walked to an empty seat near the window. Sunlight fell across her face. Her black eyes reflected calm. She placed her bag down. Opened it and took out her sketchbook and tools.

The door opened. Heels struck the floor sharply. A young instructor entered. Overdressed, Heavy makeup still arrogance visible on face.

Her eyes landed on Amayra.

A smile formed mocking.

“Oh, look who decided to return. Miss Mayra finally remembered that this place exists.” Mrs. Smith moved.

Soft laughter spread. Amayra said nothing. She adjusted her notebook.

The instructor’s smile stiffened.

“Miss Mayra, would you like to explain what you were doing last year?” She asked.

No answer. Only stillness.

The ticking clock grew louder.

“Mayra! Stand up,” she snapped. “Is this how your parents raised you?”

Amayra's eyes sharpened. She stood slowly. She brushed her sleeve lightly. Then lifted her eyes.

“What were you doing last year?” Amayra asked the teacher.

The instructor froze.

“What nonsense is that? I asked you. You do not question me.” Mrs. Smith snapped.

“Just like you do not question me, is my life a public display? Or do you believe you have authority over it?” Amayra replied calmly.

A student shifted. Kaya’s smirk faded. Mrs. Smith clenched her jaw.

“I will complain about you.” She pointed her sharp nail at Amayra.

“For what?” Amayra tilted her head. “For not answering? Or for asking back?” Amayra tilted her head as she asked.

Her calmness made everything worse.

“You can be expelled,” Mrs Smith said coldly.

The word hung heavy.

Robin leaned in with worry for Amayra.

“Boss, please answer. She will not stop.” Robin whispers to her.

Amayra glanced at him. One glance was enough.

“I am sorry,” he whispered.

She looked forward again.

And met Xander. He was watching her silently.

His pen tightened in his grip. His blue eyes studied her.

Something about him was wrong Anaya felt it. But what she didn't point out.

“Mayra, detention after class,” the instructor announced.

“For what reason?” Amayra asked for fusion.

“For disrespecting your teacher.” Mrs. Smith snapped.

Many whispers rose.

“She is too much.”

“Why not answer?”

“She acts superior.”

A girl stood slightly.

“Just answer the question. Why is it so stretched out?” She snapped Amayra.

Amayra exhaled.

“Fine. You want to know?” Amayra stepped forward and started talking.

“I was out of the city. I had an accident. My brain got hurt, as expected I lost my memory. My doctors told me not to force myself to remember anything. They suggest I start a new way. So I'm starting my life anew.” Amayara told them the same accident story.

Stillness filled once again.

“I can give proof.” Amayra looks at Mrs. Smith.

Mrs. Smith's eyes shifted.

“And… One more thing...I have a one-year-old son.” Amayra calmly.

Whole class explosion.

“What?”

“A child?”

"She is so young..."

“Who is the father?”

Noise grew.

“Who is the father?” Xander's voice cut through.

Straight, focused, and demanding.

Before she answered the bell rang.

The class ended.

Students rushed out, whispering.

The instructor repeated detention for Amayra and left.

Robin came quickly.

“Boss, are you okay?” He asked.

“What kind of expression is that? Fix it.” She looked at him and snapped at him.

“I am sorry.” Robin said.

“Go to class.” Amayra said.

“But—” Robin treid to say.

“What?” She asked.

He froze

“I am going.” Robin took his bag and ran toward the door.

“Canteen later.” Amayra said.

“Yes, boss.”Robin shouted and left.

Silence returned to the classroom.

Amayra picked up her bag. Walked to the door.

But she stopped in the middle. Xander stood there. Blocking her path.

“Who is the father?” he asked again.

“That is none of your concern,” she replied.

She tried to pass. But his arm moved. Blocking the door lightly.

“What if he is mine?” Xander asked.

The air tightened.

Her eyes sharpened.

“What are you saying?” Amayra asked.

“If he is mine, I will take responsibility.” He stepped closer.

Close enough to feel his aura.

“I do not know what you remember,” he said quietly. “But there was a night I remember clearly. We were both together... Hotel room....” His voice lowered.

“That child could be mine.” He claimed.

Amayra did not step back.

Her mind moved fast. Now she can see a resemblance between Oliver and Xander. Same eyes, face, and hair.

A possibility grew, but she rejected it instantly. She needs a professor for that.

“I do not remember any night with you or anyone. My son is only mine. bring me proof if he is yours.” she said coldly.

Her tone sharpened.

“You are not the only man in the world.” He yone sharpened.

Silently she stepped back from him.

“This conversation ends here. Don't bother me again.” She walked past him.

He did not stop her. But his gaze followed. Amayra walked down the corridor. Did not look back.

But for the first time, her mind was not calm.

Something had shifted.

Something dangerous.

And she knew this was only the beginning.