One month later, I found Isobel walking to her car alone.
I waited by the boot, yanked a sack over her head, dragged her behind the bleachers, and beat the smug out of her.
Every week, like clockwork.
Every time she showed up to school with a bruise or a limp, I made damn sure I had an airtight alibi.
Couldn’t hack it without her little entourage flapping around her.
By week five of getting jumped out of nowhere, she quit showing up altogether.
Her parents yanked her out and shipped her off to a boarding school overseas.
With her gone, the bullies backed off.
Guess they figured I might put a bag over their heads next.
But I didn’t come out unscathed either.
I’d barely kissed a boy, let alone fought off some drunk creep in an abandoned building.
So yeah, maybe that night carved something jagged into me.
Maybe that’s why I took up boxing.
A hand waved in front of my face. ‘Hello? You heard what I said?’
I snapped my mind back to the present. ‘Yeah, I heard. You talk loud enough to be heard five blocks away.’
‘So, you do remember Isobel, right?’ Serenna’s smile sharpened. ‘You’re not still traumatised, are you?’
I stood up, forcing her to tilt her chin up to keep eye contact. ‘If she’s stupid enough to show her face, I’ll make sure to continue where we left off. And you?’ I stared down at her. ‘Might want to watch your step, sweetheart. I hit a lot harder than I used to.’
I’d just returned to Moss & Flame post-lunch when my phone lit up.
‘Mirabelle, please. You’ve got to come back.’ Savannah sounded like she was two seconds from crying or committing a crime. ‘Eliza Black’s ripped the sketches apart ten times now and still hates them. The film festival’s right around the corner. If Nyx Collective doesn’t deliver, we’ll have to pay breach penalties—serious ones.’
‘You do realise Violet won’t let me help her unless I agree to be her assistant, right?’ I said. ‘And there’s no version of reality where that’s happening.’
‘I’m the boss,’ Savannah huffed. ‘What she wants doesn’t matter. I’ll double your pay. Just come back and sort this shit out. For me, please.’
My eyes flicked to the last text from my bank.
Let’s just say I wasn’t scraping for Uber fare anymore.
Double pay used to sound like salvation.
‘Yeah, I’m gonna pass,’ I said.
Her voice morphed into a high-pitched whine. ‘You’ve been gone for days. Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking of quitting?’
‘No.’ Not yet, anyway. ‘I’ve still got some annual leave to burn. And don’t forget, I’m a freelancer. I come and go as I please.’
She groaned. ‘God, you’re such a pain. I should’ve seen this coming. But I had to try, didn’t I? Fine. Go enjoy your precious holiday. But we’re clear, right? Holiday. Not resignation. You resign, and I swear I’ll block it like my life depends on it. Don’t make me get on my knees, Mira. I’m too old for that shit.’
I laughed. ‘Fine. Holiday it is.’
We’d circle back to the quitting bit later.
‘Oh, by the way, Vanna, can I take on my own projects while I’m off?’
Then her tone sharpened with suspicion. ‘Side projects? What kind? With who?’
I kept it vague. ‘Nothing specific yet. Just... something I’m considering.’
‘Right, right, of course,’ she said, her voice tilting into panic range. ‘You can, obviously. I mean, you’re still Nyx Collective, yeah? So anything you do goes out under our name. That was in the contract, remember?’
‘Good, because we’ll promote the hell out of it. Your name front and centre—superstar designer, all that. Mira, come on, working with you has been a dream. You basically built Nyx. Honestly, I thought Eliza Black would go for your concept. No idea what kind of brain-dead manager she’s got whispering in her ear. But hey, client’s king, right? Just... cut me some slack, okay?’
I gave a shrug she couldn’t see and said, ‘Yeah. I’ll keep the Nyx name on it.’
Savannah let out a breath. A bit too loud. Then, tentatively: ‘Okay, but... what kind of projects are we talking about?’
She pushed on. ‘I mean, seriously—what could you land out there that tops designing custom pieces for a damn A-lister?’ Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on novel※fire.net
I stayed quiet. Let her spin.
‘If you come back,’ she said quickly, ‘and Eliza Black’s wearing Nyx at the Venice Film Festival—that’s massive. That’s the kind of exposure most designers never touch.’
Still nothing from me.
‘You and Violet Lin would both get credit,’ she added, a little too fast. ‘Come on, Mira, this is Venice. The Venice International Film Festival. That kind of spotlight doesn’t just fall into your lap.’
I rubbed my temple, but she kept going.
‘You’ve got taste. Talent. Hell, range. But you’re still young, babe. Your name needs more traction. Don’t waste the momentum.’
If she’d said that a few months ago, I might’ve cracked.
Back then, I’d have sold a kidney for that kind of press.
But now I had bigger things on my plate.
I leaned back in my chair, letting the silence stretch before I said, ‘Let it go, Vanna. I’ve got a lot going on right now. But once I’m done, we’ll talk.’
I could hear her teeth grinding through the phone, but she didn’t push.
I got home just before nine.
Wolfed down dinner, then hit the shower.
Scrubbed twice, flossed twice, brushed twice.
Sprayed breath spray for a full minute, then popped a mint for good measure.
I almost flopped down on the sofa—then stopped.
Sitting there in full makeup like I was waiting for him?
I wasn’t that desperate to continue our rehearsal.
Except... I kind of was.
So far, all we’d done was some light arm-draping and a couple of those over-the-clothes hugs.
But after that dinner with Octavia, things had shifted.
Were we adding a kiss to the repertoire now?
I grabbed my compact and flipped it open.
Gave the mirror a breath test.
Minty. No garlic ghost from dinner.
Lipstick: matte, smudge-proof.
Except Ashton never came home.