Years later, Freya is a rising fashion mogul—but still haunted by
heartbreak and loss.
Freya Lennox had become the kind of woman she used to dream
about.
Bold. Unshaken. Dressed in the kind of power that wasn't sold on
racks, but earned through fire.
Tonight, her latest collection— Étoile Lennox —had just closed the
runway to standing ovation. Deep red silks, ghost-white satins, and
obsidian-black leather moved like whispers through the spotlight,
each piece stitched with memories she'd never speak aloud. The
models wore her past, and the audience applauded like they
understood.
They didn't.
They didn't know what it cost her to get here.
As she stepped away from the curtain, applause still echoing behind
her, Amaris Wynn approached—sleek as always in a graphite
pantsuit, her clipboard tucked under one arm, tablet in the other.
"Freya," she said, her tone light but measured. "Five interview
requests already. Vogue wants a feature. And… there's something
else."
Amaris hesitated, then held out the phone.
"A message from Blackbourne Enterprises. They want to schedule a
meeting."
The name cut clean through her.
Lucian Blackbourne.
Freya didn't answer right away. She stared at the name glowing on
the screen, and for a moment—just one—time slipped.
Years earlier…
She had loved him more than she understood.
At thirteen, he was the quiet storm she never saw coming. By
sixteen, he was her whole universe. And at seventeen, he shattered
her.
The heartbreak wasn't the kind written about in songs—it was
worse. Messier. Lonelier.
And it nearly killed her.
Freya remembered the silence of that night. The cold floor of her
bathroom. The taste of betrayal and pills and salt and shame. She
remembered the crash of a door being kicked in, and Nikko Lennox
screaming her name.
It was Adelio who had lifted her from the floor, who sat with her in
the ambulance.
Asher, her youngest brother, had held her hand the entire night,
never once letting go.
They saved her.
Again and again, they saved her.
And after months of therapy, tears, and nights she thought would
never end, Freya stood tall again.
Her brothers stood beside her.
Nikko, protective and fierce. Adelio, silent but steady. Asher, gentle
but unshakable.
One night, while she was sketching designs by the fireplace, Nikko
placed a thick file in front of her—business plans, shares, documents.
"You're going to be the next CEO of Lennox Corp," he said. "It's time.
You earned this. Mom would be so proud."
But Freya shook her head.
"No, Nik. I want something of my own. Zahria can be CEO. You three
are already handling the company. I want to build something…
something that's mine. Independent. From the ashes."
Adelio leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Zahria's not
interested, Freya. She just wants her yacht parties and spa days.
That's her choice. But you? You're meant for more. If you're
serious… and if you'll let your closest people stand beside you—then
you've got my blessing."
"I want Kael Mercer as my PA," she said, voice soft but sure. "He's
been by my side since childhood. I trust him with everything. And I
want Amaris Wynn—she's not just my college friend. She's family.
And she is good handling company works this people are my most
trusted people and they are loyal to me you trust me and them Ade."
Adelio nodded once. "Then build your empire, sis. We'll be your
foundation."
And so she did.
She built Étoile Lennox Empire from the ground up—every thread,
every boardroom pitch, every sleepless night soaked in ambition and
grief.
In two years, Étoile Lennox climbed faster than anyone expected.
The fashion world turned its head. Magazines put her face on their
covers. Powerhouses whispered her name with awe and envy.
She became the storm.
And now… the past wanted a meeting.
Freya didn't take the phone from Amaris.
She didn't need to.
"Not yet," she said quietly. "No reply."
Amaris nodded, silently slipping the phone into her folder.
Freya turned toward the glass wall of her office. The city sprawled
below her—glittering, loud, alive. Somewhere in that chaos was a
man who once broke her. And now he wanted back in.
But Freya wasn't the girl he left behind.
She had scars in silk.
And this time, she was holding the match.