The dark red stain of mulled wine seeped into my mother’s irreplaceable antique lace. Chloe feigned a gasp, but Liam did not even glance at my ruined heritage. Instead, my fiancé of six years shoved a legal document into my hands, demanding I surrender my lead designer credit to his new muse to protect her so-called investment. Refusing to sign meant walking away from the brand we built and permanently losing six years of my life's work. Without a word, I dropped the contract, turned on the shredder, and watched my core design sketches turn into worthless confetti. Stepping out of the studio with absolutely nothing, I pulled out my phone and dialed Maxime Durand, the one industry nemesis Liam feared above all else.