PART TWO
Veil of Intentions
The ring on Eleanor's finger shimmered faintly under the morning sun, catching the light as she poured over swatches of ivory lace and champagne satin. Her engagement to Daniel was less than three weeks old, yet wedding plans had taken on a life of their own. In the studio, tulle and silk flowed like dreams across the floor, whispering of vows and forever.
"Too traditional," she muttered, setting aside a piece of embroidered lace. "I want something bold—something that breathes fire, like us."
Daniel entered just as she tossed a sample across the table. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, his hands sliding under her shirt to find the warmth of her waist.
"You," he whispered, "are sexier when you're angry at fabric."
She laughed softly, leaning into his embrace. "Promise me we'll make this wedding about us, not the press, not the galleries."
"Just us," he nodded. "But Eleanor… we'll need help."
That's when Chloe knocked.
---
Chloe Matthews, twenty-four, radiant in a minimalist black pantsuit, entered the studio with a portfolio under her arm and a hunger in her eyes. She was bold, confident, and just shy of arrogant—a former fashion school prodigy with a flair for draping and an obsession with Eleanor's early work.
"I want to learn from the best," she said, offering Eleanor a strong handshake. "I'll work day and night. I don't just want to assist you—I want to absorb everything."
Eleanor exchanged a glance with Daniel. She liked Chloe's edge. Her sketches were modern, elegant. There was something familiar in her hunger—Eleanor had once looked at the world the same way.
"You're in," she said simply.
---
That night, Eleanor and Daniel dined at a quiet rooftop restaurant overlooking the Thames. It was meant to be a celebration—new collection, new engagement, new hire.
But something was off.
Daniel kept checking his phone. He didn't text, didn't type. Just stared at the screen, thumb hovering.
"You okay?" Eleanor asked.
He nodded. "Yeah. Just... weird message from Sasha earlier."
Eleanor stiffened. "Sasha?"
"Yeah," he said carefully. "She said she's back in London for a shoot. Wanted to reconnect. Closure, she says."
"Closure?"
Daniel reached across the table, touching her hand. "I told her I'm engaged. That I'm happy. That I've moved on."
Eleanor smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Good."
She wasn't jealous.
Not exactly.
But Sasha had once been more than just Daniel's ex. She was his muse—wild, unpredictable, raw. Eleanor had seen the photographs. Sasha's body immortalized in Daniel's lens, her laughter captured in stilled light.
And now she was back.
---
Back at the studio the next morning, Chloe arrived early. Too early.
Eleanor walked in to find Chloe and Daniel laughing over coffee.
"Oh!" Chloe said, surprised. "I didn't know you were coming in so early, Eleanor."
Daniel shot Eleanor a knowing look, silently asking for trust. She gave him a tight nod and walked to her table, pretending not to notice the way Chloe brushed a hand across Daniel's arm as she walked away.
---
By midweek, Burning Silk was buzzing with new energy. Chloe's enthusiasm pushed the pace. She stayed late, brought wild concepts to the table, and seemed to flirt with everyone—especially Daniel.
One evening, Eleanor returned to the studio unexpectedly, having forgotten her sketchpad. She heard music playing. Voices.
And laughter.
She paused at the top of the stairs.
"...you must've broken a few hearts with that camera," Chloe said, voice low, teasing.
Daniel's voice followed—calmer, firmer. "That was before. I'm with Eleanor now. She's all I see."
Eleanor exhaled, hand on her chest.
The trust was still intact.
But something inside her whispered: Not everyone plays fair.
---
Later that night, in bed, Eleanor traced circles on Daniel's bare chest, her voice soft.
"You've always been honest with me."
"I have."
"And Sasha? You really don't feel anything?"
"Nothing but memories. She's not my future."
Eleanor kissed him then—deep, slow, claiming him.
They made love without rush, hands mapping truths across each other's skin. But somewhere in the back of Eleanor's mind, a small thread had begun to unravel.
It wasn't Daniel she doubted.
It was the world around him.