Amara Blake never thought the smell of fabric glue and cheap perfume would one day define her life. Her small studio sat squeezed between a hair salon and a barber's shop, its walls painted in faded cream and covered with sketches taped like fragile dreams. She was twenty-six, overworked, and underpaid, but determined to make something out of nothing.
It was another slow morning. The hum of traffic outside mixed with the faint sound of gospel music from the next shop. Amara sat behind her sewing table, eyes fixed on a dress she couldn't afford to ruin. Rent was due in four days, and her client had been clear, one mistake, and she wouldn't pay a dime.
Then her phone rang. Unknown number. She almost ignored it, probably another scam call.
"Hello?" she said, half distracted.
"Good morning. Am I speaking with Miss Amara Blake?"
The voice was deep, professional, and oddly calm.
"Yes, you are."
"This is Lydia from Hale Corporation. Mr. Dominic Hale's office would like to discuss a potential collaboration with you."
Amara froze, her scissors dropping onto the table with a sharp clink. Hale Corporation? The fashion and luxury empire that practically ruled the industry? There was no way.
"I.....I'm sorry," she stammered. "Could you repeat that?"
Lydia chuckled softly. "Mr. Hale's team came across one of your designs at the Lagos Fashion Expo. We were impressed. We'd like to meet tomorrow to discuss a design proposal for our new campaign."
Amara blinked, speechless. Her heart thudded hard enough to drown out every other sound in the room.
"Tomorrow?" she managed to say.
"Yes. Ten a.m., Hale Tower. You'll receive an email shortly. Congratulations, Miss Blake."
The line went dead.
For a long second, Amara just sat there. Then she screamed, loudly enough to startle the barber next door.
She jumped to her feet, pacing back and forth. Her mind raced. Hale Corporation? Dominic Hale? Everyone in the industry knew his name, a CEO with a reputation for being brilliant, ruthless, and impossible to please. Rumor said he fired people for being five minutes late. Others said he didn't smile, ever.
Still, this was it. The kind of break she'd prayed for, cried for, dreamed of.
By evening, she had gone through her wardrobe three times, trying to decide what to wear. None of her clothes looked "corporate enough." She finally settled for a white blouse and a navy-blue skirt she had designed herself, simple, but elegant.
That night, sleep didn't come easily. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of what tomorrow might bring, the gleaming glass walls of Hale Tower, the intimidating boardroom, and a man with cold eyes watching her every move.
---
The next morning, the city was alive with noise and sunlight. Amara clutched her portfolio tightly as she entered Hale Tower. The air smelled of money, fresh, expensive money. Polished marble floors reflected her nervous steps.
At the reception desk, a woman in a grey suit smiled politely. "Miss Amara Blake? Mr. Hale will see you now."
Her palms were sweating.
When she stepped into his office, she immediately felt the weight of his presence. Dominic Hale was seated behind a massive glass desk, dark suit perfectly tailored, expression unreadable.
He didn't rise. He didn't even extend a hand. His gaze swept over her once, calm, assessing, sharp.
"Miss Blake," he said, voice low and steady. "You're younger than I expected."
Amara swallowed, trying to keep her tone steady. "I get that a lot, sir."
Something flickered in his eyes — amusement, maybe, or curiosity. Then it vanished.
"I've seen your designs," he continued. "They're raw. Passionate. Different. I don't like 'different.' But my marketing team insists it's what the brand needs."
Her chin lifted slightly. "Then maybe your marketing team is right."
The room went silent. His brows lifted, just a little.
No one spoke to Dominic Hale that way — everyone knew that. But Amara wasn't here to be afraid. She was here to prove she belonged.
He leaned back in his chair, studying her like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. "You're confident," he murmured. "That can be dangerous in this place."
She smiled faintly. "So can underestimating me."
For the first time, the corner of his lips twitched — almost a smile. Almost.
He closed the file before him. "Fine. You'll design the preview collection for the new campaign. Two weeks. I'll expect brilliance, Miss Blake. Don't disappoint me."
Amara blinked. "Just like that?"
"Just like that."
And before she could thank him, he added, "My assistant will send you the guidelines. Dismissed."
Dismissed. Like she was another intern.
Still, as she walked out of that office, she couldn't stop smiling. Her pulse raced with a mix of excitement and defiance. She had just faced Dominic Hale and survived.
But deep down, she knew one thing: this was just the beginning.
Something about the way he looked at her sharp, assessing, almost intrigued — told her that her life was about to change in ways she couldn't imagine.
And Amara Blake had never been more ready.