Chapter 2
SASHA
I woke up to the sound of my alarm blaring, pulling me out of a restless sleep. With a groan, I reached out to silence the alarm. After tossing and turning until almost dawn, I had finally fallen asleep for a short while.
My head was still spinning from what happened at work last night. Denver Roberts had actually cornered me in the design studio and asked me to be his fake girlfriend. The absurdity of it all made me want to laugh, but the memory of his intense gaze made it all too real. Not to mention the way he'd leaned so close to me until I could feel the heat radiating off of his body. A shiver of excitement ran through my body at the memory.
With a groan, I dragged myself out of bed and padded to the kitchen. The fridge was empty of everything except a can of soda, a quarter stick of butter, a jar of raspberry jam, and a bag of lettuce that was starting to grow fur. I had been so busy with work that I completely forgot to get groceries this week. Thankfully, I still had a loaf of Wulfthorn multigrain bread on the counter, so I cut off two slices and popped it into the toaster oven. I poured a scoop of coffee into the coffee maker and started it before heading to the bathroom.
Freshly showered and with a cup of hot coffee in my hands, I started feeling human once again. Retrieving my warm toast, I slathered on a healthy pat of butter and jam.
As I ate breakfast, I examined my surroundings. The apartment was cluttered with sketches, fabric swatches, and half-finished designs. A mannequin at the end of my dining table wore a half-finished dress covered in black roses held in place with pins and a large purple hat with a piece of black lace veil over the left eye. All of it evidence of my sudden flashes of creativity. I loved my little space, but it was a constant reminder of how far I still had to go.
At XMGH, I was just an assistant designer working under other designers with years of experience and seniority over me. My ideas were often dismissed as "too experimental" by my conservative lead designer, Margot. It was frustrating, but I wasn't about to give up. Some day, I would be in Margot's place and in charge of my own line. I'd worked too hard to get here.
My gaze fell on the sketches scattered across the coffee table. They were rough, and unfinished, but they were mine. And for all her criticism, Margot hadn't been able to take that away from me. Maybe I wasn't where I wanted to be yet, but I wasn't giving up. Not now. Not ever.
I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my social media while sipping my coffee. While I wasn't getting recognition for my designs at work, I had a small but loyal following online. People who were aware of underground trends before they broke out and who were not afraid to take a risk with unconventional fashion. My latest creations that I posted yesterday already had over six thousand likes and a couple hundred comments.
And yet, it only took a little red flashing icon at the corner of my screen to make my heart sink. I had a new message in my direct messages. Like all the messages I had received lately, it was from a user with a question mark as their profile picture. The message was short, but chilling.
"I'm watching you. I like the color purple."
I quickly deleted it, my hands trembling slightly. It wasn't the first creepy message I'd received, but this one felt different. My eyes darted to the window in the living room. Shooting to my feet, I dashed over there and pulled the curtains shut.
My hands shook. It was just a good guess by a troll. There was nobody out there. Despite my attempts to calm myself, the uneasy feeling lingered as I got ready for work.
The apartment felt too small suddenly, the walls closing in on me. I needed air. I grabbed my coat and headed for the door, but as my hand touched the knob, I froze. What if he was out there, watching me? The thought sent a chill down my spine.
Stop it, I scolded myself. I couldn't let an online troll keep me from living my life.
The XMGH office was already buzzing with activity when I arrived, but the energy felt off. Margot was waiting for me at my desk. She had a pinched disapproving look on her face as she sifted through the sketches that I had left on my desk from the day before.
"Sasha, these are interesting," she said as I approached her. The condescension and sarcasm in her tone contrasted sharply with her words. "But I'm not sure this is what we're looking for. Our customers want elegance, not costume party or whatever this is supposed to be."
I bit back a retort and forced myself to smile. "I understand. I'll revise them."
She tossed the sketches onto the desk with a curt nod. "Try starting over from scratch. And it will do you well to remember to stay with the brand's aesthetic. Mr. Roberts will not tolerate anybody on this team wasting company resources."
I clenched my fists as she walked away. Frustration churned in my chest. Margot had it out for me the first time I stepped into her studio. I could come up with the perfect design that hit every target of the brand's aesthetic and she would still find something wrong with my design. Her constant criticism was wearing me down, but I refused to let her break me.
As I sat down at my desk and prepared to make a new sketch, I overheard my coworkers gossiping on the other side of the room.
"Did you see the photos of Denver in Monaco? What a disaster."
"I heard the board's furious. We might have a new CEO by the end of the year if he's not careful."
I tried to ignore them, focusing on my sketches, but their words nagged at me. Denver's scandal was all anyone could talk about, and the last thing I wanted was to get involved in his mess. But deep down, I couldn't deny that his proposal had intrigued me. The idea of using him to elevate my career was tempting, but it wasn't without risk. Could I give up my privacy and potentially ruin my reputation by aligning with him?
The day dragged on, and I was just starting to feel like I was getting back into my groove when a courier appeared at my desk, holding a small box. "Package for Sasha Bennett," he said. I signed the delivery confirmation form and he handed the package to me before walking away.
I wasn't expecting anything. Turning the lightweight box in my hands, I frowned. Curious, I opened the box and immediately regretted it. Inside was a single black rose, identical to the ones in my apartment. A folded note was tucked underneath. I opened it to find sharp jagged handwriting in black ink.
"You belong to me."
My heart pounded in my chest. With shaking hands, I shoved the note back into the box and quickly closed it before putting it under my desk. I felt sick to my stomach. There was no way he could have known about all these details unless he was watching me in my apartment. This wasn't just online harassment. I was being stalked.
Paralyzed with fear, I tried to remain calm even though I had no idea what to do. Should I go to security? It didn't take me more than a moment to cancel that idea. It would draw attention to myself and Margot would pounce at any sign of weakness. If word got out about this, the ensuing drama could end my career here at XMGH.
Despite the distraction of the stalker hanging over me like a dark cloud, I powered through the workday.
The words of the note echoed in my mind long after I'd shoved it back into the box. "You belong to me." It felt like a shackle, tightening around my throat every time I tried to breathe. I couldn't stop thinking about the stalker, how he seemed to know every detail of my life. The black rose, the purple hat, how had he seen it? Had he been in my apartment? The idea made my skin crawl.
I stayed late in the office, sketching furiously, trying to distract myself. But no matter how hard I focused, my hand trembled, and the lines on the page came out jagged and uneven. Margot's voice rang in my ears. Her constant criticism, and her dismissive tone looped in my head like an annoying song. "Too experimental," she'd said. "Not what we're looking for." The words had been a knife to my confidence, and now, they twisted deeper.
I thought of the half-finished dress on the mannequin in my apartment, the one covered in black roses. It had felt like a breakthrough when I'd started it, a bold statement that defied XMGH's usual sleek, minimalist aesthetic. But now, it just looked like a mess. Who was I kidding? I wasn't a real designer. I was just an assistant, scraping by on borrowed ideas and half-baked concepts. Maybe Margot was right. Maybe I didn't belong here.
I leaned against the back of my swivel chair and tilted the seat back until I was staring at the ceiling. My mind wandered back to the early days of my career when I'd been so sure of myself. Fresh out of design school, I'd landed an internship at a boutique firm in Paris. I'd been so eager to prove myself, so confident in my vision. But my designs had been rejected, one after another. "Too out there," my supervisor had said. "Not marketable." I'd been crushed, and I'd spent months questioning whether I had any real talent at all.
That same doubt crept in now, gnawing at the edges of my mind. What if I wasn't cut out for this? What if I was just pretending to be something I wasn't? The thought made me feel sick. I'd worked so hard to get here, but what if it was all for nothing?
And then there was Denver. His proposal was tempting. It was a chance to elevate my career, to prove Margot wrong. But it was also a huge risk. Everything about him was unpredictable, from his reputation to the way he seemed to see straight through me. Could I really trust him? Or was I just setting myself up for another failure?
I sighed, running a hand through my hair.
Empty of the usual bustle and chatter, the studio was deathly quiet. The only sounds were the hum of the overhead lights and the scratch of my pencil on paper. My peace was shattered when I heard quiet steps coming down the hallway.
"Sasha?"
I yanked on the handle of my chair and shot upright. It was Ethan Cross, the freelance photographer who often worked with XMGH, standing in the doorway. He was tall and lean, with messy brown hair, and a boyish face that dimpled when he smiled. As always, he had his camera hanging from his neck. His presence was always calming, and he had a way of making the models and everyone on set feel at ease during photoshoots.
"Hey, Ethan," I said, forcing a smile. "What are you still doing here?"
He stepped into the room, his camera beeping softly as he fiddled with the buttons and adjusted the settings. "I was reviewing some shots from today's shoot. Thought I'd stop by and see if you were still here. You're always the last one to leave."
I shrugged, trying to seem casual. "Just trying to get ahead on some designs."
He came over to my desk. His gaze lingered on the sketches scattered across my desk. "These are incredible, Sasha. You have such a unique vision. I don't know why Margot doesn't see it."
His words were kind, but they only made me feel more exposed. I shuffled the papers until my drawings were covered. "Thanks, Ethan. That means a lot."
He leaned against the edge of my desk. "You seem off today. Everything okay?"
I hesitated, unsure how much to share. Ethan had always been friendly, but we weren't exactly close. Still, there was something about his quiet demeanor that made me feel like I could trust him. "Just a rough day," I admitted.
He nodded, his expression sympathetic. "If you ever need to talk, I'm here. You're not alone, Sasha."
"Thanks, Ethan. I appreciate it."
He smiled. "Anytime. Well, I'll let you get back to it. Don't stay too late, okay?"
I nodded, watching as he left the room. My peace was short-lived. Moments later, Denver stepped into the room.
He looked as commanding as ever. Not a single line of his perfectly tailored dark suit was out of position. His short dark hair was neatly styled and even under the harsh overhead lights, his sapphire blue eyes seemed to pierce through me. "Still here?" he asked, his voice low.
I stiffened, my guard immediately going up. "What do you want, Denver?"
He stepped closer and sat on the edge of my desk. My grip tightened around my pencil until it was about to snap. His presence was overwhelming, but I wasn't going to let him know that. "You seem upset. What's going on?"
I shook my head and pinched the bridge of my nose. "It's nothing. Just a rough day."
He tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that made me squirm. "You're a terrible liar, Sasha. What happened? I'm not leaving until you tell me the truth."
I hesitated, torn between my pride and my growing fear. But something in the softness in his voice made it seem like he cared. Finally, I gave in. I pulled the box out from under my desk. "I got a package today. From my stalker. A rose and a note. The rose is identical to the ones in my apartment. At first, I thought I was being trolled online, but it's been getting worse. I don't know what to do."
Denver picked up the rose and then read the note. He placed the items on my desk. His expression darkened, and for a moment, I saw a flash of something primal in his eyes. It was rage, but it wasn't directed at me. Was he protective of me? "Let me help you," he said, his voice firm. "All the conditions we discussed yesterday still stand. Agree to be my girlfriend. I can keep you safe."
I looked at him, searching for any sign that he might be manipulating me. But all I saw was sincerity. "Why do you care?" I asked quietly.
His eyes locked onto mine. "Because I don't like seeing you scared. This is serious, Sasha. If he knows where you live, you need more resources to protect yourself. Resources that I can give you."
I stared at the black rose and sighed, letting out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding in. "Alright, we'll do it your way, but I have conditions."
He raised an eyebrow. "Name them."
"We are dating only for the public. There will be no hanky-panky or catching feelings," I said, keeping my voice steady. "And you keep your promise to deal with the stalker."
His lips twitched at my words. "We still need to make this look real. That means public appearances, dates, making it look like we're living together, the whole thing."
I frowned. He was right, of course. I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. "Fine, but we need to have boundaries."
"Such as?"
I held up my fingers and counted out each of my conditions. "There will be no more touching than is necessary. Kisses will be on the cheek only, no mouth to mouth. And we don't spend more time together than needed to make it look convincing."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're not making this easy, but alright. I agree with your boundaries. We still need to sell it to the board. If they don't believe us, then this whole thing will be for nothing. The easiest way is for you to move in with me until your stalker problem is resolved. I have plenty of space at my place. We will be like roommates."
I wanted to protest, but the argument died on my lips before I could say anything. He had a point.
He nodded and extended his hand. "Do we have a deal?"
"Deal." I shook his hand, the warmth of his touch sending a strange jolt through me. As I looked into his eyes, I felt a mix of relief and apprehension. While Denver was going to protect me from the stalker, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Only one thing was certain, I had just made a deal with the devil and my life was about to get a lot more complicated.