Chapter 28 Zara
I wake slowly, warm and comfortable, tangled in sheets that smell faintly like leather, soap, and Bush.
For a few seconds, I just lie there, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling.
The room is quiet. No voices from downstairs.
No rumble of motorcycles. Just the soft hum of the air conditioner and the steady rhythm of my own breathing.
Then it hits me. My eyes fly open, and I bolt upright in the bed, clutching the sheet to my chest. Today is the fashion show!
My heart immediately starts racing. Months of work—sketching designs, sewing samples, late nights fretting over fabrics and details—all of it comes down to today. If it goes well, my designs could finally be noticed by buyers. This is it—my future.
A nervous flutter dances in my stomach.
I rake my fingers through my hair and glance around the room again, Bush’s room. A slow smile tugs at my lips despite the nerves buzzing through me, speaking of my future. We committed to each other last night, so where is he?
The other side of the bed is cold now, the pillow empty. I run my hand over the sheets where Bush slept last night, remembering the way he held me, the warmth of his body curled protectively around mine.
For a brief second, doubt creeps in. Did he wake up this morning and realize he made a mistake by suggesting we build something together? Is that why he left? I’m considering my options when the door swings open and he strides in carrying a breakfast tray.
I blink at him.
The tray is loaded—scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, fruit, and two steaming mugs of coffee. The smell hits me instantly, and my stomach growls loud enough to betray me.
Bush’s mouth curves into a slow, amused grin.
“Morning, beautiful.”
I stare at him for a second longer, completely thrown.
“You brought me breakfast?”
He shuts the door with his foot and walks toward the bed like this is the most normal thing in the world.
“Figured you’d need fuel today,” he says, setting the tray down carefully. “It’s your big day.”
The nerves twisting inside me ease just a little.
I lean back against the headboard as I accept the plate of food and mug of coffee. “Thank you for this,” I say, giving him a brilliant smile. “How long have you been up?”
“About an hour. I needed to meet with Chrome.”
“Is everything okay?”
He brushes his hand over my head before picking up his plate. “Everything is fine. You don’t need to worry about anything except being brilliant today.”
“I’m nervous, but I’m also really excited. This fashion show is what I’ve dreamed about since starting school. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get here, but now that I’m here, I’m not sure how I feel.”
“That’s understandable, you’re probably overwhelmed with warring emotions,” Bush says, knowingly.
“I am,” I agree. “I want this day to be over with, and at the same time, I want to make it last. What if it doesn’t go well?”
“Say it doesn’t. What does that mean? Are you going to give up?” Bush asks before taking a bite of toast.
I immediately shake my head as I swallow a bite of scrambled eggs. “No, of course not. But it could be a setback. I’ll have to rethink my designs.”
“I thought you were already working on new designs,” he says, jerking his head toward my sketch pad.
I lean over and snatch the sketch book from the floor. Excitement hums through me as I flip through its pages. Dresses, jackets, sleek lines hiding strength beneath beauty. Pockets where no one would look. Seams reinforced to hold more than fabric. Fashion that protects.
The idea still sends a thrill through me. Women shouldn’t have to choose between looking beautiful and feeling safe. My pulse quickens as the realization settles deeper. This isn’t just another collection. It’s something bigger because it has a purpose. It meets a need.
“Those are really good. I think you’re going to be busy after the fashion show, but say the worst happens and not a single buyer takes a nibble.
You have these, and I can guarantee you that every Old Lady would be interested in wearing these designs.
Hell, I bet the Demon Dawgs would be willing to invest in a business that would help keep their women safe. ”
Emboldened by Bush’s words, I finish off my breakfast before hopping in the shower.
I dress in an outfit I designed myself. The black pants have wide legs and deep pockets.
The matching jacket has multiple pockets with bright silver zippers.
Underneath, I’m wearing a teal, backless silk shirt that will help me stay cool inside the venue.
I slip on black boots before grabbing the rollaway bag loaded with everything I’ll need for the day.
In the common room, I find everyone waiting. Tony nervously paces. He’s wringing his hands until he spots me.
“Finally! We need to get going, or we’ll be late. They wouldn’t let me go upstairs to get you,” Tony complains, jabbing a thumb at Chill and the others.
“We won’t be late,” Chill says. “Calm down.”
Tony scrunches his face, and I’m certain he’s about to deliver a retort, but Viper slings her arm over his shoulder before turning him to face the door. “You really don’t want to tick her off, trust me.”
Bianca and Rattler laugh as we all follow them outside, where two SUVs surrounded by six men on bikes wait for us.
“We’ll escort you to the venue,” Bush explains. “We’ll be inside and around the building. You’ll be safe, I promise.”
“I trust you,” I tell him as he leans over to kiss me.
Backstage hums with energy.
Music pounds through the walls, the bass vibrating through the floor beneath my feet as models rush past, stylists shout instructions, and cameras flash somewhere out beyond the curtain. The runway lights spill through the gaps in the drapes like bright white sunlight.
“Zara!”
I turn just in time to catch a garment bag Bianca tosses toward me. She’s already halfway out of one dress, laughing as Izzy helps her tug the zipper down.
“Hurry,” Bianca says, breathless. “I’m up again in two minutes.”
I grin, pulling the next piece free. “You’re doing amazing.”
Bianca winks. “Your designs are amazing.”
Viper steps up beside us, tall and confident, already dressed in one of Tony’s daring pieces. She rolls her shoulders like a fighter preparing for a match.
“Crowd’s loving it out there,” she says.
As if on cue, a ripple of applause echoes through the curtain. Then louder cheers.
Viper smirks. “Told you.”
My pulse jumps with excitement.
I peek through a narrow slit in the curtain just in time to see Bianca step onto the runway in one of my dresses—a sleek crimson backless design with strategically placed slits. It flows around her like liquid fire.
The reaction from the audience is instant.
Gasps.
Applause.
Someone whistles.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
The sound of appreciation rolls through the room like a wave, and my chest fills so fast I almost feel dizzy. They love my design. They actually love it.
Bianca reaches the end of the runway, spins with practiced elegance, and struts back with absolute confidence. The moment she disappears backstage, we descend on her again like a pit crew.
“Arms up,” I say.
She laughs as we yank the dress off and slide the next one over her shoulders.
Across the room, Tony is doing the same thing with another model while Chill stands nearby watching the chaos like an amused parent.
“Thirty seconds!” someone shouts.
Viper steps forward.
Her next outfit is one of mine—a black jacket with a tailored waist and sleek lines. It looks amazing on her fit body. Her blonde hair cascades down her back like a sleek waterfall.
“You ready?” I ask.
Viper flashes a dangerous smile.
“Always.”
The music swells again as she strides onto the runway. Another burst of applause rolls through the curtain.
I clutch the edge of the garment rack, barely able to contain the excitement bubbling inside me. The excitement is wild. I’ve barely had time to breathe since the show started. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t loving every minute of it.
Models change. Clothes fly. Laughter fills the room as the show builds toward its finale. Every time Viper or Bianca steps onto the runway in one of my designs, the audience reacts louder.
By the time the final walk begins, the entire venue feels electric.
Then the music fades.
Applause explodes through the room.
“Designers to the stage!” the coordinator calls.
Tony grabs my hand before I can lose my nerve.
“Come on.”
We step out onto the runway together.
The lights are blinding for a second, but then I see the crowd rising to their feet, clapping and cheering along with the other designers standing beside us. My heart feels like it might burst.
Then I see him. Bush stands near the front of the crowd. He has his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed on me. He’s grinning like he just won the lottery.
And the look of pride in his eyes makes my chest tighten in the best possible way.
I wave, laughing as the applause continues.
When we finally step off the stage, the coordinator rushes toward me.
“Zara!” she says excitedly. “A buyer wants to speak with you.”
My stomach flips.
“A buyer?”
She nods and points toward the far end of the room.
A man stands in the shadows near the far wall.
My pulse jumps again, excitement and nerves swirling as I hurry over. This could be the opportunity I’ve worked so hard to achieve.
“Hello?” I say as I approach.
The man turns. I don’t recognize his face, but I know those eyes.
My blood turns to ice.
Menace.
Before I can even gasp, his hand clamps around my arm. A cloth presses hard over my mouth and nose.
A sharp, chemical smell fills my lungs.
I try to scream, but it’s too late.
Darkness crashes over me before the sound can escape.