16. Nina
Nina
I ’m not stupid. I know Evren wants me to work on his line, especially if he really is going to fire his entire design team. If nothing else, he wants me because I’m not working with that asshole Mert and actively trying to sabotage him.
And the thing is, I want to help him. I want to be a part of this world he’s offering, to see my designs come to life in a way I’ve only dreamed of.
But I’m scared. Scared because if I step into the opportunity, there’s always a risk that Mom will find out.
But… The team adds a layer of anonymity.
No one would know I’m the designer, and this might be the only way I can sell my designs.
It’s been so long since I’ve allowed myself to dream about this—to really, truly imagine what it would feel like to succeed—that the possibility feels like a trick. Like if I reach for it, it’ll vanish, and I’ll be left cleaning up the mess .
And then there’s Evren. We’re not just working together; we’re something. He’s older, wealthier, and powerful in a way I’ve never known. In a way I’ve never had. He can offer me everything, and that scares me more than anything else.
Because if I take this, if I step into his world, the imbalance between us widens.
He’ll be the one giving, and I’ll be the one.
.. What? Taking? Needing? I’ve spent so long fighting for independence, for control over the chaos Mom brings, that the idea of needing someone—especially him —terrifies me.
Needing perspective, I grab my phone and call Elodie.
“Hey, babe,” she answers on the second ring.
“Hi…”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” I sit on my bed. “I think Evren’s gong to offer me a job and I’m terrified.”
“What kind of job?”
I go on to explain about his apparel line, the current issues, and the sponsor. And then, without meaning to, I blurt out, “And we kissed. A few times.”
“Wait, was the kiss good?”
“ That’s what you want to know out of all of that?”
“Well, that might be the most important part.”
“Ugh, fine. It was mind-blowingly fantastic. And I think we’re kind of together?” I can hear her grin, and I sigh. “But that doesn’t matter right now. I don’t know what to do about his possible job offer.”
“Um, yeah, you do. You want to accept.”
“How do you know?” I ask, because I don’t even know the answer to that.
“Babe, I’m going to hold your hand when I say this, but you’re fucking energized while talking about the line.
You already have ideas; I can hear it in your voice.
This is the most excited I’ve heard you in a while, and I think that means you need to accept.
And let’s be real, if you don’t take this opportunity, you’ll just waste your life helping me at the bakery, but that’s not needed. I’m hiring more people.”
“But I’m scared,” I whisper.
“So? That’s normal. Do you think I wasn’t scared to pretend to be Stella?
To perform in front of thousands of people?
I wanted to shit my pants. Even thinking I could do it or be good at it was laughable.
But sometimes, well, to be honest, most of the time, you have to go out of your comfort zone to reach your dreams.”
“But what’s the point of reaching for dreams if I might fail?
” My voice wavers as doubt after doubt attacks me.
What if people hate the designs? What if I put everything I have into this and it’s not enough?
What if Mom finds out? What if she demands her share and never leaves me alone?
And what if Evren changes his mind about me?
What if I can’t handle mixing work with…
whatever this is between us? It’s already so uneven.
I’m walking a tightrope. One wrong move and everything could come crashing down.
“Because,” Elodie says gently, “it’s not about reaching it, but more in becoming a person who dares to dream.
Every step you take towards what you want, no matter how small, is a step away from the fear that holds you back.
And that’s the point. To show yourself, over and over again, that fear doesn’t get to decide your future, but you do. ”
I let the words sink in, feeling them unravel inside me like a spool of thread slowly coming undone.When I called her, I wasn’t expecting her to say something that resonated so deeply and for it to fundamentally shift my perspective.
I don’t want to live my life dictated by fear.
It’s not until this moment that I realize how much I’ve let my doubts box me in. I’ve spent so long trying to protect everyone from Mom that I’ve never truly allowed myself to hope, to dream that I could have more. But now? It’s like something stirs inside me—a spark, a defiance.
What if I could be more than my fear? What if I could learn to live alongside it, instead of letting it steer my every move? The thought is almost laughable, but it’s enough.
I take a breath and feel my lungs fill with something new.
Hope. Courage. A stubborn determination that maybe—just maybe—I can do this.
There’s a quiet power to admitting that, and to admitting that I want this too.
This dream of mine to design clothes people enjoy is quickly becoming a rebellious little flame that refuses to be snuffed out deep within my soul.
“Holy shit,” I say. “Way to change my whole perspective on everything.”
“Glad that helped,” Elodie says smugly.
“I know what to do now.”
“It better be to accept, or else I’m going to have to Spice Girls dare you to do it.”
“Ugh, there’s no need to invoke something so drastic. I was going to accept after your little therapy session.”
“Thank God, and I expect to see you soon, or else…”
“I’ll be sure to hold you to that super scary threat of yours,” I say, full of sarcasm, and Elodie laughs.
“Before you go,” she says, “Aria and I wanted to surprise Stella in Berlin in a couple of weeks. We’re planning to take Aria’s jet and stay at her family’s home there. Can you make it?”
“You’re taking time off from the bakery?”
She snorts. “Well, Hunter insists I go or else he’s kidnapping me and taking me on a forced vacation.”
“I need to get myself a Hunter and force me to take vacation.”
“Too bad he doesn’t have a brother,” she says. “But are you free?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll be there.”
Elodie squeals in delight, and I grin. It looks like the next couple of weeks are going to change my life in one way or another.
I glance at my reflection in the rearview mirror. I went for a business-chic look today—tailored blazer, silk magenta blouse, black pencil skirt that hugs my curves just right—hoping it’ll make me seem like I’ve got my life together. That I’m the right person for the job.
Coughy rattles down the street on the way to Evren’s office for our meeting. With every noise it makes, I grip the steering wheel tighter, as if I can keep the car together with my bare hands. Halfway to Evren’s office, Coughy lurches, and I feel the power drain from the engine.
“No, no, no,” I mutter, panic spiking in my chest. I’m going to be late, and that’s unacceptable. I pump the gas pedal, but it’s no use. The car coasts to a stop right in the middle of the road, the engine making a sound that can only be described as a death rattle.
“Shit!” I smack the steering wheel, my pulse hammering in my ears. This can’t be happening. Not today.
Pressing my emergency lights, I fumble with my purse, searching for my phone.
But no matter how many times my hand swipes through the bottom of the bag, I can’t find it.
Swallowing hard, I realize it’s not here.
I must’ve left it at home in my rush to get out the door after spending far too long picking out my outfit.
Without my phone, I can’t inform Evren that I’ll be late or call for help or even an Uber.
My hands shake as cars blast their horn at me, as if I decided to park in the middle of the road, as if they can’t see my lights.
What the fuck am I supposed to do now? It’s not like I have anyone’s number memorized if I find a random person who’s willing to let me borrow their phone.
And I don’t have some bodyguards following me.
Shit.
I glance down at my heels and sigh. I’m still a couple miles from the stadium, but walking is the only option I have.
The sun blazes overhead as I start my trek, the heat bouncing off the pavement, turning it into an oven. At least it’s not raining. I guess?
Every step sends a jolt of pain up my calves, my thin heels wobbling on the uneven sidewalk. I try to keep a good pace, but the tight skirt is like a vise around my thighs, making it impossible to take long strides.
Within minutes, my feet are screaming, the blisters already forming where the leather rubs against my skin. Sweat drips down the back of my neck, soaking into my blouse, and my hair sticks to my forehead.
By the time I see Evren’s office building in the distance, my feet are on fire, and I’m practically limping.
My legs tremble with each step, and every muscle in my body feels like it’s been stretched to its limit.
I bite my lip, trying to push through the pain, but it’s too much.
I hobble the last few steps, practically dragging myself up to the entrance.
I burst through the front doors, gasping for air. The cool blast of the air-conditioning is like a slap in the face, and I pause for a moment, letting it wash over me.
The receptionist looks up, eyebrows raised, and I say, “I’m here to see Evren.”
She gives me a once-over, and I can feel the judgment in her eyes, but she just nods and picks up the phone. “Mr. Kaya’s guest is here.”
I close my eyes for a second, willing myself to calm down.
To stop the tears that threaten to fall.
I can do this. I just need to pull myself together.
But as I catch my reflection in the glass of the office door—disheveled hair, flushed cheeks, blouse clinging to my damp skin—I can’t help but think I’m not fooling anyone.