Chapter 3
•Helen's POV•
At eight o'clock on the dot, I grabbed my box of personal sketches, unlocked the workshop door, and slipped out through the back exit.
A black car with tinted windows was idling in the alley.
The driver immediately stepped out, opened the back door for me with a respectful nod, and drove me straight to the St. Regis hotel.
I was escorted up to a private lounge on the top floor, overlooking the city skyline.
Nathaniel was already there, sitting at a corner table.
The moment he saw me walk in, he stood up immediately, and pulled out the chair for me himself. “Good evening, Ms. Clarke,”
“Good evening, Mr. Pierce,” I replied, taking a seat.
As I placed my hands on the table, Nathaniel’s gaze dropped to them.
He frowned, his eyebrows pulling together.
“He had you working with needles without protective covers, didn't he?” He asked with an edgy tone.
“Your fingers are split and bruised.”
I pulled my hands back slightly. “It’s just part of the job. I’m used to it.”
“It shouldn't be your job to bleed for a man who steals your work,” Nathaniel said firmly.
He sat down across from me and pushed a folder over the table. “Read this.”
I opened the folder. Inside was a contract under Pierce Global.
My eyes skimmed over the numbers, and I had to read them three times just to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.
The salary was Ten times what Philip paid me.
It gave me my own independent design studio, a dedicated staff of thirty people, and legal protection.
“This is... enormous,” I said, looking up at him.
“Mr. Pierce, you’ve already mentioned keeping an eye on my work, but this contract is massive. Why risk this much capital on someone who doesn't even have a portfolio?”
Nathaniel leaned forward, his eyes fixed onto mine. “Because a particular dress at the Spring Paris Expo two years ago was yours,”
“I bought that dress for my mother’s art gallery. Everyone praised Philip Crawford, but when I inspected the hidden seams inside the lining, I saw a micro-stitch pattern. It was a signature mark of a genius.” He smiled, pointing at me.
“You are my idol in design, Ms. Clarke, It has pained me for years to watch you stay in the dark while a fool reaps your glory.”
A light feeling danced through my stomach.
Hearing a world-famous billionaire titan call me his idol felt so unreal, like a wonderful dream I didn't want to wake up from.
“You... you really think that highly of my work?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Your genius belongs on a throne, Helen,” Nathaniel said, handing me a pen. “Sign it, and let’s build your empire.”
My fingers didn't tremble as I signed my name.
Nathaniel took the signed contract, placed it back into his jacket, and then set a flash drive on the table between us.
“Now for the fun part,” A dangerous smile touched his lips. “Let’s talk about how we hit him where it hurts.”
I looked at the drive. “What is this for?”
“Three years ago, Philip made you sign a contract that listed you as a temporary helper instead of an official co-owner, right?” Nathaniel asked.
“He did it to make sure you never got a single share of his company’s money.”
“Yes,” I nodded. “He told me it was just regular paperwork.”
“It was the stupidest mistake he ever made,” Nathaniel laughed.
“Because he labeled you as an outside helper, his company doesn't legally own any of your drawings, patterns, or ideas. Everything you designed belongs entirely to you.”
I blinked, processing his words. “So Philip doesn't own any of the new designs for the upcoming season?”
“Not a single stitch,” Nathaniel replied, his eyes shining.
“My lawyers checked every paper. The moment you copy your original work onto this drive and delete your files from his computers, Philip Crawford will have zero designs and nothing left to sell.”
Just as he said those words, my phone on the table began vibrating.
The screen lit up with Philip’s name.
Then another call came in. And another.
Messages from him started flashing across the screen nonstop…
‘Helen where are you?’
‘The dress is still ruined on the floor!’
‘Answer your phone right now you ungrateful bitch!’
‘If you are not back in this studio in ten minutes I will destroy you!’
I watched the text notifications flood the screen without feeling a single spike of fear or anxiety.
It was like watching a child scream from behind a wall.
Suddenly, a new notification popped up at the top of my screen, an email alert from my private client portal.
‘ALERT: Madam Genevieve has officially terminated her multi-million dollar exclusive design contract with Crawford Fashion, citing severe brand quality decline.’
Madam Genevieve was Philip’s biggest donor and backer.
Without her account, Crawford Fashion’s stock would take a huge hit by morning.
I looked at the cancellation notice, then looked down at Philip’s raging text messages.
I picked up my phone, and turned it face-down onto the table, silencing the noise.
Nathaniel watched me, his lips curving into a grin.
He raised his glass toward me. “To your new beginning, Helen Clarke,”
A smile broke across my face. I raised my glass and clinked it against his.
“To my new beginning,” I replied.