Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
CALLUM/CASH
Now
Thin Thread & Quiet Thunder
She’s built a world without me in it. I just wanna be the reason it doesn’t collapse.
What the hell is wrong, Lily?
The elevator climbs silently, floor numbers lighting up one by one. Livianna’s tension is radiating off her in waves. She’s staring at the doors like they might open onto a battlefield instead of her office.
“Talk to me.” I reach for her hand, but she pulls away, wrapping her arms around herself instead.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I am not.” Her voice cracks on the lie.
“Lily, what’s really going on? Five minutes ago you were excited to show me where you work. Now you look like you’re about to throw up.”
She presses back against the elevator wall. “This place...it’s different for me. It’s not just business.”
“Different how?”
Her eyes scroll over my face, and she bites down on her lip.
“Lily, I’m not gonna judge you. Just tell me what’s going on.”
She pauses for a moment, as if she’s trying to find the right words. “It’s… It started in Paris, but the massive growth… My company is where I rebuilt myself after my life fell apart. It’s where I learned who I am without…”
I can fill in the blanks. Without me. Without us.
“And you’re afraid I’ll somehow mess that up?”
“I’m afraid you’ll see it and realize how much I’ve changed. How much I had to change.” The elevator dings as we pass another floor. “What if the person I’ve become isn’t someone you can love?”
The vulnerability in her voice cuts straight through me. “What if she’s exactly the person I’ve been waiting for?”
She intertwines our fingers for the first time since we got in this damn elevator. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I had a life while we were apart. What if you can’t handle that side of me now?”
It’s a loaded question. There’s so much about her I don’t know, but that doesn’t matter.
“I know what I’m in for.” My heart pumps harder as I step closer to her. “I know exactly what I’m saying.”
“Which is?”
“I’m saying that the scared girl who used to hide her dreams from her parents because she thought she couldn’t succeed without their approval is gone. And the woman standing in front of me now? She’s everything I’ve always wanted.”
“You can’t know that for sure.”
“I do because I’m not the same person either. I’m not the kid who was too fucked up to fight for what he had. So what, Livianna? You had a past without me. I hate it, but I accept everything about you.”
The elevator slows as we approach her floor, and panic flares in her eyes again.
“Promise me something.” She grips my hand tight. “Promise me you won’t pretend to be this understanding when you’re not. Promise me you’ll be honest.”
“I swear on my pops’ grave.”
The doors slide open with a soft chime, revealing the hallway that leads to her office. But neither of us moves.
“Ready?” I squeeze her hand.
She takes a shaky breath and peeks out. “Ready.”
We stroll down the hall and enter an exquisite designer's studio. Livianna checks the phone for messages, the receiver pressed to her ear while she scribbles notes on a pad.
I scan the front entryway. “So, this is Lehlani Rose Design headquarters.”
The space around me hums with her vitality, even with her staff away on business. It’s interesting to see her switch from Livianna, the girl I fell in love with at sixteen, into CEO and fashion mogul. She’s still the same, but something about her reminds me of her pops.
Floor-to-ceiling windows flood the reception area with natural light. Everything is clean lines and bright colors that somehow manage to feel warm instead of cold. It’s sophisticated without being intimidating, creative without being chaotic.
“Every square foot.” She hangs up and turns to face me, pride and nervousness warring in her expression. “What do you think?”
I’m still processing the sleek reception desk, the carefully curated art on the walls, and the way her brand is etched in brushed-steel letters behind the front desk.
Lehlani Rose Designs. It’s not just a company. It’s a statement.
“It’s incredible, Lily. I knew you were successful, but seeing it…” I gesture around us, searching for words that don’t sound inadequate. “This is empire-level shit.”
She laughs, some of the trepidation melting away. “Don’t get too impressed. Half of it's still held together with coffee and sheer stubbornness.”
“Show me everything.”
She leads me past the entrance into the main area, and I have to stop and stare. Bolts of fabric in every color imaginable line one wall, organized by texture and hue, looking like art.
Mood boards cover another wall, filled with sketches, swatches, and photographs that tell stories I can barely comprehend. Design tables are scattered throughout the space, each one supporting focused creativity.
“This is where the magic happens.” She moves to a workstation, picking up a half-finished sketch. “We develop everything here first, from concept to pattern.”
“I’ve been in plenty of offices. They’re usually cold. This one feels alive, like it knows who runs it.”
“You’re ridiculous.” Her blush betrays her.
“Not ridiculous. Proud. I always knew you had it in you to build something like this.”
Her gaze snags on mine. “You weren’t exactly around to see it happen.”
The truth stings, but I take it. “I know. Doesn’t mean I don’t see it now. Doesn’t mean I don’t respect the hell out of you for it.”
Her silence says more than words. She runs her hand along the cutting table, eyes soft with ownership. I swear I’ve never wanted to protect something more.
I pick up a piece of material, feeling the weight between my fingers. “This feels expensive.”
“Italian silk. For the new line.” She takes it from me, handling it like it’s precious. “Every piece has to be perfect. No room for error.”
The way she talks about her work, the reverence in her voice, makes something shift in my chest. This isn’t just a job for her. It’s her calling, her identity, and proof that she can build something beautiful from her imagination.
My insides swell. “Show me more.”
We move through the space, and she relaxes into tour guide mode, explaining the process from initial concept to final product. She shows me the marketing director’s office, the operations officer’s space, and a conference room with windows that overlook the city.
“This is where we have client meetings.” She rests her hands on the polished table. “It’s where I convinced my biggest client to take a chance on someone who was relatively unknown.”
“Unknown my ass.” I lean against the doorframe, admiring her as she moves through the area like she owns it. Because she does. “You didn’t just grow up, Lily. You became who you were always meant to be.”
Something flickers across her face. “I had to. After everything fell apart, I had to find meaning in life again.”
Her admission cuts through me. After everything fell apart. After I let Leon manipulate me into destroying us. After I was too fucked up and scared to fight for what mattered most.
“Lily…”
“Don’t.” She tries to slip past me. “We agreed to move forward, remember?”
I catch her hand as she passes, stopping her. “I know we did. But I need you to know that seeing this, seeing what you’ve built... I’m not just proud of you, I’m in awe of you.”
She gazes down at our joined hands, and when she speaks, her voice is gentle. “It was hard, and sometimes I was so scared building this all on my own. When my parents… Sometimes it was difficult to press on.”
“You don’t have to be scared anymore.”
She meets my eyes, and there’s a question there. The same one that’s been hanging between us since Coachella.
Can we really do this? Can we find our way back to each other after so much damage?
“Come on.” She tugs me toward the door. “Let me show you my private office.”
Her personal space is smaller than I expected, but it’s unmistakably hers. A canvas covers an entire wall, filled with images ranging from nature photography to vintage fashion drawings.
Her desk is an organized mess, with samples and design tools arranged in a way that probably makes perfect sense to her and no one else.
But what stops me cold is the window. The view looks out over the city, and for a moment I can imagine her here late at night, working by lamplight while the world sleeps below.
I face her. “You work too much.”
“Probably.” She settles into her chair, looking gentle in this area that’s so clearly hers. “But I love it.”
“I can tell.” I glance around the room. “Do you ever think about what comes next?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’ve created all this. You’re launching new collections. What’s the next mountain you wanna climb?”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “I want to make quality fashion accessible to women who feel invisible. Not just expensive clothes for people who can already afford anything they want.”
“That’s honorable, Lily.”
“It’s ambitious. Maybe too ambitious.”
“No such thing.” I stride to her desk, needing her to understand. “I always knew you had it in you to build something like this. Even when we were teenagers, you saw things differently. You were always a go-getter and got what you wanted.”
She stands and comes around the desk to stand in front of me. “What about you? What comes next for Callum Mayze?”
The question catches me off guard. For so long, my future has felt like something that happens to me rather than something I choose. But standing here with everything she’s created, taking in the woman she’s become, I know exactly what I want.
“I wanna continue writing songs that matter. Not just songs that sell.” I reach out, taking her hand in mine. “And I wanna do it with someone who reminds me why art matters in the first place.”
“Callum…”
“I’m not asking for promises. I’m just telling you what I want.”
She closes the distance between us. “What if what you want changes?”
“It won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”