Chapter 8 #3
I changed back into my regular clothes and returned to find her still engrossed in the photos. Without thinking, I began hanging up all the outfits I’d worn, arranging them on the racks the way I’d seen her do.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said without looking up.
“It’s fine. You’ve got enough to organize without me adding to the chaos.”
She glanced over then, something surprised and warm in her expression. “Thank you. For all of this. I know it wasn’t in your job description.”
“What will you do with them?” I asked, nodding toward the images on the screen. “The photos.”
Stella leaned back in her chair, stretching muscles that had probably been tense for hours.
“First, I’ll put together a guidebook for my blog and online store, which is a comprehensive lookbook where you can see all the outfits, with guides on how to pick similar pieces for yourself, how to figure out your coloring, your body type, what cuts work best. Fashion can be really intimidating for everyone, but men especially aren’t taught about it the way women are.
Women face all this pressure to look a certain way and have stylists and other means, and men are just..
. left to figure it out on their own, or not bother at all. ”
She turned back to the laptop, pulling up what looked like a website template.
“I’ll also make a series of social media posts with the photos and videos—shorter content pieces that are more accessible.
Bite-sized advice that sticks in people’s heads for the next time they want to try something new.
I’ll link back to the guidebook for anyone who wants to go deeper, but the quick hits are what really reach people. ”
“Why this look specifically?” I asked, genuinely curious now. “The bold shirts with basic suits?”
“Because it’s accessible,” she said, and there was a passion in her voice that made me want to keep asking questions just to hear more.
“A lot of guys already own simple suits for work, and most of them also own at least one bright, printed shirt—something they bought on vacation or received as a gift and don’t know what to do with.
I’m showing them they don’t need a complete wardrobe overhaul.
They can work with what they already have, or add one or two low-cost pieces that transform everything. ”
She pulled up a spreadsheet filled with numbers and dates and color-coded categories.
“I track what content performs best, what questions people ask most often, what barriers keep them from trying something new. Then I create content that addresses those specific points. It’s not just about making pretty pictures.
It’s about understanding your audience and giving them tools they can actually use. ”
I stared at her, genuinely impressed. “You do all of this yourself?”
“Most of it.” She shrugged like it was nothing, but I could see the pride beneath the modesty. “I have a virtual assistant who helps with scheduling and some of the administrative stuff, but the creative work, the strategy, the photography, the writing—that’s all me.”
Jesus Christ. I’d had no idea the insane amount of work that went into all of this.
The strategic thinking, the technical skills, the sheer volume of content she produced.
She wasn’t just designing clothes. She was running a media company, a consultancy, and a retail business all at once.
The woman sitting in front of me was building something real, something with reach and impact, and she was doing it entirely on her own terms.
Meanwhile, her parents treated it like something to keep her busy until she came to her senses and did whatever they actually wanted her to do.
The injustice of it hit me like a punch to the gut.
“I should check the perimeter,” I blurted out, suddenly needing to be anywhere but here, where I was starting to see and feel too much.
Stella looked up at me, frowning. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine. Just routine.” I was already moving toward the door, my chest tight with something I couldn’t name.
“Tate—”
“I’ll be back in a bit,” I said, and left before she could ask anything else.
The grounds of the Hayward estate were immaculate, because of course they were.
Manicured hedges, pristine flower beds, a lawn so perfect it looked artificial.
I walked the perimeter slowly, checking sight lines and camera angles and entry points I’d already memorized, but my mind was somewhere else entirely.
It had been a long time since someone had left me feeling this... unsettled. Especially a woman. Awkward and wrong-footed in a way I hadn’t experienced since I was a raw recruit trying to prove myself in the Marines. And Stella hadn’t even done anything to achieve it—she’d just been herself.
That was what got to me. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone. She was just... passionate about what she loved doing. Dedicated. Brilliant in a way that was completely different from the world I inhabited, but no less demanding.
I thought about her parents and the way neither of them seemed to see what was right in front of them.
A woman who was building something remarkable, something that actually took real talent and discipline and vision.
They had no appreciation for the person she’d become despite their expectations, not because of them.
I knew what it was like to have a parent who looked at you and saw something else—a disappointment, a burden, a punching bag.
My father had never understood anything I’d accomplished because he’d never bothered to look.
He’d been too busy with his fists and his rage and his bottomless well of grievances.
Stella’s situation was different, of course, but the core of it was the same: being invisible to the people who were supposed to love you most.
She was remarkable. She was talented and hardworking and passionate, and none of the obstacles in her path, not her dismissive parents, not the threat against her family, not even me and the complicated history between us, had diminished any of it.
I thought about her face when I’d agreed to model for her. The surprise, the hope, the vulnerability beneath it. She wasn’t used to people supporting her work. She wasn’t used to being taken seriously.
That would change. I didn’t know how, and it sure as hell wasn’t my place, but someone needed to see her. Really see her.
And against every professional instinct I had, I was starting to realize that someone might be me.