Ana's POV
After Morris's dramatic little show last night, the weight on my chest had finally lifted.
I returned to my design, double-checked every detail, and once everything looked perfect, I fired it off to the competition email.
Then I crashed.
The next morning, I showed up at the studio bright and early, arms full of the fabric I'd handpicked weeks ago. I headed straight for the cutting room and dove in.
My wrist couldn't handle marathon work sessions, so I'd been chipping away at this project for weeks—perfecting every single detail, piece by piece.
When lunch rolled around, Madeline tracked me down.
I figured she wanted to grab a bite together, so I set my work aside.
"Ready to go?" I asked.
"Actually, someone's here for you," she said instead.
Who the hell would show up looking for me at noon? The confusion must've shown on my face.
Madeline stepped to the side, and I spotted a tiny figure lurking behind her.
Hughes.
My appetite vanished instantly.
