Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
ZOE
I sit up in bed, my body still sore from the intensity of our sex last night. My phone lies on the nightstand, a silent beacon pulling me from the fog of my thoughts. The constant beeping of notifications makes it impossible to ignore. I pick it up, the cool metal comforting in its familiarity. As I unlock the screen, notifications flood from endless social media alerts. The barrage of digital noise is both overwhelming and oddly grounding.
Technology still baffles me. Ever since Virgilio took me away from the Bratva, I've struggled to catch up with a world that moved on without me.
The notifications and alerts confuse me, and I often find myself fumbling through apps and settings. I don’t really know anyone, and the concept of being online and chatting, liking and receiving comments from strangers that act as friends is completely foreign to me.
One notification catches my eye, making my heart skip a beat. Sabine Johnson tagged me in a post. Sabine, the woman who has always envied my talent and recent rise in popularity, has thrown down the gauntlet.
I open the post and watch as a sleek video starts to play. The music is upbeat, vibrant, drawing me in despite myself. Sabine's latest designs flash across the screen—bold patterns, innovative cuts, colors that demand attention.
"Are you ready for this?" her voice echoes through my mind as she appears on screen, looking effortlessly chic in her studio. "Zoe Gray, I challenge you to a design-off." Her smile is sharp, confident—a predator sizing up its prey.
"Two weeks from now," she continues, "at the most high-profile indie fashion event of the season." The video cuts to shots of top designers nodding approvingly at her work, influencers snapping photos, media buzzing with excitement.
"Let’s see if you can create something better," she says directly to the camera before it fades to black with her signature logo flashing at the end.
The post has already gone viral—comments and shares flooding in from fashion bloggers and influencers alike.
"Can Zoe Gray rise to Sabine Johnson’s challenge?"
"This is going to be epic!"
"Team Sabine or Team Zoe?"
My heart races as I scroll through the comments.
I feel scared. What if I'm not good enough? What if Sabine’s challenge shows everyone that I'm not as talented as they think? But I'm also mad. How dare she put me on the spot like this, using our rivalry to boost her own profile? I want to prove her wrong.
Then there's something even deeper. This challenge is not just about Sabine or the industry; it's about me. About the little girl who spent hours sketching dresses in her bedroom to escape her shitty life, about the woman who fought tooth and nail to turn those dreams into a career. It's about every sacrifice I've made, every sleepless night, every moment of doubt I've overcome.
The fear of failure intertwines with the memories of my father's taunts, the times he belittled my ambitions. Proving myself now feels like defying his ghost, like finally silencing the voice that told me I wasn't enough.
But there’s another layer to this fear, the memory of being held hostage, the trauma from fifteen years of being trafficked as a sex slave.
The constant terror, the feeling of being trapped with no escape—the memories of dark, cramped rooms, and the touch of the men who abused me haunts me.
Virgilio saved me, but the scars remain. I was a pawn in a game of power. The weight of that time bears down on me, making every challenge feel like life or death.
Every time I look in the mirror, I see the shadow of that frightened girl, the one who learned to be strong because there was no other choice.
The Bratva took so much from me, but they couldn't take my dreams. Designing became my escape, my way to reclaim control over my life.
I close my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. This is my chance to show the world what I’m capable of, to turn doubt into triumph, and to prove that my success is no fluke. It’s a chance to write my own story, on my own terms.
Opening my eyes, I feel clarity and purpose. I know I can't let fear dictate my actions. I have two weeks to pour every ounce of creativity and passion into my designs, to craft something that is undeniably me. Sabine’s challenge might be a daunting obstacle, but it’s also an opportunity—one that I intend to seize with everything I have.
I glance at the screen one last time, the comments blurring together as my focus sharpens. This is my moment. And I will rise to the occasion.
The competitive fire within me is quickly doused by a wave of anxiety. My stomach tightens, my breath catches as I glance at the clock. This is my chance to prove myself, to show everyone that I'm a designer with vision and talent. But I can't do it alone. I need help. I need Valerie.
Sabine's designs are already causing a buzz, and everyone's watching to see how I will respond. The comments online range from supportive to skeptical, and the pressure is crushing me.
My hands tremble as I scroll through my ridiculously short list of contacts and find Valerie's number. Valerie has always been there for me throughout my short journey in the fashion industry. I take a deep breath and press the call button, listening to the ringing on the other end.
"Hello Zoe" Valerie's familiar voice answers, and a wave of relief washes over me.
"Valerie, I need your help again," I say. "Sabine has challenged me to a design-off, and I can't do this without you."
There's a pause, and then Valerie responds with a confidence that I desperately need right now. "I saw it. Of course I'll help you. Come to the studio as soon as you are free.”
“Thank you, Valerie, I don't know what I’d do without you.”
She laughs, “You're very talented Zoe, you do not need me, I am very sure of that. But I’m happy to help.”
“Thank you for believing in me.”
“I'll be expecting you later.”
Hearing her words, a spark of hope flickers within me. With Valerie by my side, I feel a little more prepared to face the challenge ahead.
I throw the covers off and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The cold floor shocks my feet, grounding me for a moment. I take a deep breath and push myself to stand, heading towards the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror looks back at me—tired eyes, disheveled hair—but beneath that, there's a glimmer of determination.
I splash cold water on my face, the icy shock helping to clear my mind. My fingers work through my tangled hair, smoothing it into something presentable. A swipe of mascara, a touch of lip balm—small rituals that make me feel more like myself.
I head towards Dante's office, each step filled with purpose but also trepidation. What will he say? Will he even let me leave? The uncertainty churns in my stomach, determination and fear battling within me.
I stop in front of his door, hesitating for just a second before knocking firmly. My heart races, each beat echoing in my ears like a drum.
"Come in," Dante's voice commands from the other side.
I push the door open and step into his office. The room is almost empty, adorned with the bare necessities of a leader trained in violence. Dante sits behind a massive glass desk, his eyes immediately locking onto mine as I approach.
"Hey," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
He nods, looking surprised. "Zoe. You’re up early…"
I take a deep breath and hold up my phone. "I need you to watch this video first. It's important."
Dante raises an eyebrow but takes the phone from my hand, pressing play. The video starts, and I watch his face closely as Sabine's challenge unfolds on the screen. His eyes narrow slightly, and he leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the desk in a rhythmic pattern.
When the video ends, he hands the phone back to me, his expression now one of curiosity mixed with something else—calculation, perhaps.
"So," he says slowly, "what is it you want to ask?"
"I need to take on Sabine's challenge," I say, my words coming out in a rush. "And to do that, I need to go to Valerie’s store to work on my designs."
Dante leans back further in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. His eyes study me intently, as if weighing every possible outcome of my request.
"You understand what you're asking for isn't just a simple favor," he says finally.
"I do," I reply, meeting his gaze without flinching. "But this is important to me—more than you can imagine."
His fingers drum on the armrest as he considers my words. The silence stretches between us, and every second feels like an eternity.
"And what makes you think Valerie is the best choice?"
"Because she knows me," I say softly. "She believes in my talent and has always supported me. This challenge... It's not just about winning or losing. It's about proving something to myself."
Dante's eyes soften for a moment before hardening again.
"You know I can't just let you leave, Zoe. We have a deal, and my week with you is not over yet. But I’m sure I can help you here," Dante says, his voice calm but firm.
I shake my head, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Anxiety and urgency intertwine, making it hard to breathe. "Dante, I need Valerie’s guidance and her fabrics. I can't do this without her."
He sighs, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and understanding. "Alright, I'll take you to Valerie's store myself. But you know this favor comes with a price."
I swallow hard, my mind racing with possibilities. The idea of owing Dante anything more makes my skin prickle with unease. "What do you want?"
"Another date," he says, leaning forward slightly. "One more chance to convince you that I'm the right choice."
My heart beats faster as I consider his offer. Dante is persistent, and I know agreeing to another date could complicate things further with Virgilio.
But this challenge from Sabine is a chance to prove myself in the fashion world, to show everyone—including myself—that I belong here. I know this opportunity is too important to pass up.
I nod slowly, my mind weighing the consequences. Each thought feels like a heavy stone, adding to the burden I'm already carrying. "Deal."
Dante's lips curve into a satisfied smile. "Good. We'll leave for Valerie's store tomorrow."
As I leave his office, I feel relieved but also apprehensive. I've secured the chance to face Sabine's challenge, but the cost is yet another entanglement with Dante. My thoughts swirl with the possibilities and the consequences of this new agreement, and I can only hope I've made the right choice.
The next day, I step into Valerie Moore’s boutique.
I feel relief and urgency as I cross the threshold.
Valerie appears from behind a curtain, her warm smile radiating welcome. She looks stylish and composed as always.
"Zoe," she says warmly, pulling me into a gentle hug. "Are you ready?"
I nod, feeling determined to prove myself. "I'm ready. Let’s get to work.”
I sit at the large work table, sketching furiously, my ideas flowing onto the paper like a river breaking free of its dam. Each stroke of my pencil brings the designs to life, filling me with a sense of purpose and excitement. Valerie hovers beside me, her presence both reassuring and inspiring.
"That neckline," she says, pointing to one of my sketches. "Maybe try a V-shape instead of a square. It will elongate the figure."
I nod, erasing the previous line and redrawing it as she suggested. The change is subtle but makes a significant difference. Valerie's eye for detail is impeccable.
We move on to discussing fabric choices, spreading out swatches across the table. I run my fingers over the textures—smooth silks, rougher linens, soft velvets. Each piece holds potential, waiting to be transformed.
"How about this for the evening gown?" I ask, holding up a deep burgundy silk.
Valerie examines it closely before nodding. "Yes, that will drape beautifully."
We talk about color schemes next. I lean towards bold, dramatic hues—emerald greens, midnight blues, rich plums.
"Don't forget to play with textures," Valerie advises as we discuss innovative techniques. "Layering different fabrics to add depth and interest."
I take note of her words, imagining how the layers will come together in the final pieces. The vision in my mind is becoming clearer, each element falling into place.
"Valerie, I want to use the emerald green silk for the main body of the dress," I say, pointing to the fabric swatch on the table. "And pair it with the midnight blue velvet for the sleeves."
Valerie nods approvingly. "Bold choice, the contrast will definitely stand out. How about adding some plum accents for a touch of drama?"
"Perfect," I reply, my excitement growing. "We can use the plum for the lining and some subtle embroidery."
Dante sits at the far end of the room, engrossed in something on his phone. I lean closer to Valerie and whisper, "I need you to get a message to Ettore. Tell him to come meet me later tonight."
Valerie's eyes widen with concern. She brushes some notes aside and looks at me intently. "Are you sure that's wise?"
I nod firmly. "Yes, there are things we need to discuss."
Valerie hesitates for a moment before sighing softly. "Alright. I'll make sure he gets the message."
"Thank you," I say, grateful for her support."
"Absolutely," Valerie says, her tone supportive.
We dive back into our work with renewed focus. The hours pass in a blur of creativity as I finalize the designs and select the perfect fabrics for each piece. Valerie's mentorship is invaluable, as she guides and makes suggestions with her seasoned insights.
"Zoe, don't forget to consider the flow of the fabric," she reminds me at one point. "The way it moves can add a lot to the overall impact."
"Good point," I say, adjusting my design. "I'll make sure the cuts enhance the movement."
By the time Dante and I leave Valerie's shop, I feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and determination. I have finished the sketches and I chose the fabrics. All that is left is to join the materials together to bring my vision to life.