Chapter 1
•Helen's POV•
My husband was treating me like a dirty secret, while he was treating another woman like his whole world.
For three years, I worked sixteen hours a day in a basement workshop, sewing every single dress that made his company famous.
My hands were covered in bloody needle marks, my back permanently ached, and I hadn't bought new clothes for myself in over two years.
My husband, Philip Crawford, didn't care.
To him, I was just a ghost who lived in his basement and made him rich.
“Don't get your dirty sweat on my dress, Helen!” Claudia hissed, slapping my hand away.
I was kneeling on the floor backstage at the anniversary gala, holding a needle.
I stumbled backward, landing hard on my knees.
Claudia Morgan was standing on the box above me, wearing a Glittering Mermaid Gown I had spent three months designing and hand-sewing.
It was my proudest creation.
“I’m just fixing the hem, Claudia,” I said.
My throat was dry, and my knees hurt from sitting on the floor for hours.
“Well, do it faster! And stop touching the glitters with those ugly, rough hands,” Claudia sneered. “If you snag a single thread, I’ll make sure Philip fires you.”
I swallowed the bitterness in my mouth, bowed my head, and went back to sewing.
I was used to it.
The door to the dressing room flung open.
Philip walked in, not even glancing at me on the floor, and just walked straight to Claudia.
“You look like an angel,” He said to her with tenderness.
A tone he hadn't used with me in years.
He took Claudia’s hands into his, lifting them to his lips to kiss them.
“Philip!” Claudia giggled, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Your seamstress is being so slow. She almost ruined the dress.”
Philip turned his head and glared down at me.
“What is wrong with you, Helen?” he barked. “Can’t you do anything right, and stop embarrassing me for once.”
I stood up, clutching my needle kit.
“I’m almost done, Philip. I just wanted to ask... can I get a seat out front tonight? Just one seat in the back row to watch the show?”
Philip laughed out loud.
“Are you out of your mind?” he scoffed, waving his hand in front of his nose as if I smelled bad.
“Look at yourself, Helen. Your hair is a mess, your clothes are covered in dust, and you look so unpresentable. The media and the investors are out there.”
He took a step toward me. “Do you want to destroy my company’s image? People will think I hire street beggars to make my clothes. Stay behind the curtain where you belong. You are a seamstress, not a guest.”
Every word felt like a slap across my face. “I’m your wife, Philip,”
Philip’s jaw tightened.
He grabbed my arm, yanking me into the corner near the clothing racks so the nearby models wouldn't hear us.
“Shut your mouth!” he spat through his teeth.
“Don't ever say that word out loud here! Nobody outside knows we are married, and it’s going to stay that way. If the public finds out I’m married to a plain, talentless girl like you, Crawford Fashion will lose millions.”
He let go of my arm, shoving me back against the wall.
“Claudia is the face of this brand. She has beauty, class, and fame. You? You are just the hands that sew. Know your place, or I’ll throw you out on the street with nothing.”
He turned around, putting his hand on Claudia’s back, and guided her toward the stage exit.
“Come on, my queen. “It’s time for your big moment.”
I stood alone in the corner.
My arm throbbed where he had grabbed me, leaving red marks on my skin.
Inside my chest, the last bit of love I had carried for him over the last few months finally vanished.
The stage speakers boomed out front.
“And now! The moment you have all been waiting for! The winner of the prestigious Designer of the Year award!”
The crowd cheered with applause.
I stepped up to the curtain, pulling it back just enough to see the stage.
Photographers were snapping pictures nonstop.
Philip stood at the central microphone, holding a golden trophy.
“This award belongs to the soul of Crawford Fashion,” he spoke loudly into the microphone.
“The genius who gave us these iconic designs. Please give it up for our master designer... Claudia Morgan!”
The crowd cheered loudly.
Claudia walked onto the stage, pretending to cry tears of joy.
She walked straight into Philip’s arms.
Philip wrapped both arms around her waist, lifting her off her feet, and kissed her deeply right on the lips in front of hundreds of live cameras.
The reporters went wild, flashing their cameras repeatedly.
I watched them until my mind became silent.
Philip had given away my blood, my sweat, and my life's work to another woman, right in front of the whole world.
The man standing on that stage wasn't my husband anymore.
He was just a thief and a cheater in a suit.
I let go of the curtain, and walked over to the work table.
I picked up my scissors, my pincushion, and dropped my backstage staff badge into the trash can.
Then I took off my apron, tossed it on the floor, and turned toward the back exit.
I was never coming back.
I walked down the corridor, heading for the back doors that led out to the street.
As I rounded the corner, I almost crashed into a tall man standing near the exit.
“Oh, I'm sorry—” I started to say, stepping back quickly.
The man turned around.
He was incredibly tall, wearing a black suit that made him look like he had walked straight out of a royal portrait.
He had a strong, sculpted face, cold hazel eyes, and an aura of power that filled the small hallway.
My heart skipped a beat.
It was Nathaniel Pierce.
Everyone in the fashion world knew who he was.
He was the Owner of Pierce Global, the massive luxury conglomerate that controlled three-quarters of the international fashion market.
He was a twenty-seven-year-old billionaire titan, a man who rarely showed up to public events, and when he did, empires moved.
Nathaniel stood there with his hands in his pockets, looking down at me. “It’s a disgusting sight, isn't it?”
I froze. “What?”
“A thief wearing a crown,” He said again, leaning back against the wall. “And the real master walking out the back door in silence.”
My blood ran cold. “You... you were watching?”
“I watched the whole fake show,” Nathaniel replied.
“I know design. Claudia Morgan couldn't sew a button onto a shirt if her life depended on it. Those dresses… they were made by you.”
I looked down at the floor, biting the inside of my cheek. “It doesn't matter. It’s over.”
“It’s not over,” Nathaniel stated, pulling out a card from his pocket.
He held it out toward me.“Philip Crawford is a blind idiot who thinks he owns the world,”
He moved closer to me. “He takes your work, hides your face, and treats you like you don't matter.”
He pressed the black business card into my hand.
“Real talent belongs on the global stage, Helen. Call me tomorrow. Let me give you the world you actually deserve.”