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35

ASHER

I wake up before Billie and watch her soft breaths as she sleeps quietly beside me. I inhale her sweet skin and pepper light kisses on her bare shoulder. “I’ll see you at the show.”

She stirs. “Are you leaving?”

“Yes, princess. I need to get dressed and take care of some business beforehand,” I say, capturing her lips. “I can’t wait to see what you’re revealing.”

She smiles behind sleepy eyes. “You inspired me.”

“Love you,” I whisper. “Go back to sleep. You have a few more hours before you need to be up.”

“I love you. Can we leave after the show?” she asks.

“Will it make you happy?”

She nods.

“Then the answer is always yes,” I tell her, stealing another kiss.

“I already miss you,” she admits in a sleepy tone as I find my clothes from yesterday.

Once I’m dressed, I leave the penthouse, and when I walk into the foyer, Brody is leaning against the wall.

“Hey,” I say to him, and he gives me a chin nod, then returns to his phone. “Do you ever sleep? ”

“No,” he says, looking me up and down. “Do you?”

“Barely.” I move closer to him, unsure how to bring up this conversation. And maybe it’s not the proper time to mention it. However, I also understand it will never feel right; discussions like this are inherently awkward.

“I know about you and my sister,” I say, keeping my voice low. “I’m really, really fucking sorry. I can’t imagine what losing her did to you.”

His face slightly softens, but then returns to the same hard expression he always wears. “Not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Okay,” I tell him, moving to the elevator.

It’s clear he doesn’t want to discuss it, but I don’t think I would either. I press the button and wait.

As I step inside, Brody speaks up. “Who told you?”

I give him a smile, remembering I found out through the letter. “My sister.”

He swallows hard as the doors slide closed.

Guilt floods me. I wasn’t there for him or anyone who was missing Eden. I closed myself off to the world and doubled down on making the firm the best that it could be. I wasn’t living; I was surviving. That stopped the moment I kissed Billie in Weston’s penthouse.

I wish I could change the past and that my sister were still here. I think I always will.

I step off the elevator and make my way to my room, where my luggage is. Everything is exactly where I left it when I arrived. I won’t sleep in this room once.

After I quickly shower, I get dressed. Just as I’m adjusting my tie, a knock taps on my door. It’s almost seven in the morning. I look through the peephole, only to see Josh Lustre standing outside. I return to the bed, pulling the blankets down and roughing them up so it looks like I was here. I’m too invested in this game to fuck it up at the end.

I return to the door and open it. “Good morning. ”

“Morning,” he says, and I can smell alcohol on his breath.

“Are you drunk?” I ask, staring him down.

“I’m ruined,” he yells. “Fucking ruined!”

“Josh, lower your voice. You need to go to your suite, take a shower, and get a few hours of sleep. Then get up and get dressed for your fashion show this afternoon. Okay? Stay the course.”

He leans against the doorway. “Do you know what room Billie is in?” he asks.

“No,” I state. “Why? Are you planning on sending her flowers?”

“Fuck no. Why would I do that? I want to see her,” he says.

Immediately, I think about the roses she was sent last night. If they didn’t come from Josh, then who?

I don’t fucking like how uneasy it makes me feel, knowing it was someone other than him. If he’d sent them, he’d have bragged. His ego is too large.

“Please go to your room and get some sleep. You’re drunk and emotional.”

“No,” he says, looking over his shoulder, acting paranoid.

I step out of my room and glance down the hallway. Nothing is there.

“I’m going to find her, and you won’t stop me.”

Josh pushes me, and I stumble back, then catch my footing, then grab his shirt with my fist.

“You ever fucking touch me like that again, and I won’t be so kind.” I shove him away and slam my door shut.

It’s too damn early for a brawl, and while I’d like to knock him the fuck out, it’s best if I don’t. I know his day is going to get a lot worse without me breaking his nose.

I know I won’t be able to see Billie until Bellamore’s runway show. Directly afterward is Josh’s. I wonder who was responsible for that scheduling.

I place a call and order breakfast to be sent to Billie’s room for her and Brody. I text Brody to let him know, considering she adamantly refused anything be delivered to her after the flowers were sent.

Brody sends me a thumbs-up emoji.

Right after, I text Weston and give him an update on everything.

Weston

Thanks. We’ll land in an hour and a half. I’ll find you then.

The backstage area is chaotic. Models rush around half naked, makeup artists give final touches, designers frantically check seams, and voices compete over one another. Through the hecticness, my gaze narrows on Billie. I stay in the shadows, not wanting to distract her or bring attention to myself. This is her time to shine, and I love to watch her sparkle.

Regardless of the immense amount of pressure she’s under, Billie calmly gives final approvals and subtle instructions as the models line up. As if she were a drill sergeant, she goes down the line, making sure every single person meets her high standards. She’s glowing, determined, and I fall harder, watching her be in charge.

Right now, her hair and makeup are done, and she’s wearing a smock, not the dress she’ll be walking in today. It will be a surprise for everyone, a secret I can’t wait for her to share.

Weston spots and approaches me.

“Is everything in place?” I ask quietly.

“Yes. Lux dropped the story thirty minutes ago. Lustre’s imploding,” he says.

I unlock my phone, refreshing his website. The countdown has a little over an hour left, and the anticipation of what will happen when it says 0:00 has me in a choke hold. I quickly scan the headlines of Lustre Fashion’s downfall that are already trending, all quoting LadyLux’s article, which is full of receipts from a whistleblower .

“Damn,” I whisper. “The Times already picked up the story.”

“The world has.” Weston smirks. “He should’ve never messed with my sister.”

“He should’ve been a better person. People like him don’t deserve power.”

Weston turns and glances at Billie as Easton and Brody stand next to Harper. “She’s handling this like a pro,” Weston says.

I nod, pride swelling in my chest. “She always does. It’s a Calloway trait.”

He beams at her.

“Everyone got it?” Billie asks after giving her final instructions and outstretching her hand.

Her entire team squishes into the huddle.

“I just want you to know how proud I am of every single one of you. Bellamore wouldn’t be where it is today without you. We’re a team. You’re all beautiful. Let’s show the world what we’re made of and how women rule this industry.”

They chant together, “Bellamore, fierce and bold! Own this runway, steal the show!”

They break into applause, then scatter like leaves. Billie walks out of view, and Weston turns to me.

“I’m so fucking happy it’s you,” he tells me, pulling me into a brotherly hug.

“Me too.” I squeeze him tight, knowing he and Easton will one day be my brothers.

Carlee walks over, grinning wide.

“Hi! You look great,” I tell her.

“Thanks. It’s Bellamore,” she says, and she pulls me into a hug too.

“Thank you for everything,” I whisper .

“I will do anything for my family. And I kinda want an exclusive from you,” she says with a wink.

“Consider it done,” I tell her.

“Now, shall we grab our seats?” Weston asks as Easton and Lexi approach.

Easton gives me a firm handshake. “Nice suit.”

“Your sister picked it out,” I tell him, adjusting the button to the suit she sent me weeks ago. The one with the light-blue lining, which matches her eyes, that she thought I trashed. Can’t wait for her to see it.

I follow them to the FROW—the premium front-row seating in the venue, reserved for celebrities, influencers, fashion editors, and VIP guests. To be given one of these seats is equivalent to finding the Golden Ticket in a Willy Wonka bar.

The anticipation in the air is thrilling. The lights lower, and it feels like magic.

I catch a glimpse of Harper backstage with a clipboard and headset and give her a thumbs-up. She returns the gesture with a proud smile.

My heart races with excitement as the room dims, then pops into complete darkness for dramatic effect. Then the bass of the music drops, and the Bellamore models step out to rule the runway.

It’s an experience, just like Billie.

From my vantage point, I see every detail—the subtle shimmer woven into the gowns, delicate lace patterns of floral sketches Billie and Harper personally created, and signature silhouettes that flow like liquid silk as the models stride by. Each design tells its own story—stories of empowerment, resilience, and even flirty romance.

Around me, there’s a collective intake of breath as the models work the runway, confident and beautiful, embodying the spirit Bellamore is known for. I’m close enough to hear the whisper-soft rustle of fabric, the rhythmic click of heels echoing on beat with the music as each piece moves past me. With the spotlights above, hand-sewn crystals reflect tiny sparkles.

The diamond princess has outdone herself.

Editors, influencers, and industry insiders beside me lean in, eyes wide, fully captivated. Each look feels like Billie herself—bold, emotional, and unforgettable.

In this moment, sitting in Bellamore’s coveted FROW, I don’t just watch; I live it. It’s more than a show; it’s an experience that leaves me inspired, energized, and utterly enchanted by the woman I’m going to make my wife.

When Billie takes the runway, everything fades to a whisper. There’s a noticeable shift in the room—an electric awe blankets the crowd and is immediately followed by gasps and murmurs of admiration.

Cameras snap shots of her. She steps into the spotlight, her chin raised with the kind of defiance only Billie Calloway can embody. Every step she takes radiates confidence. Her expression is vicious, but her eyes flicker with pride and a hint of vulnerability.

Her gown cascades down her thin body in waves of deep crimson, molten gold, and burning amber, seamlessly blending into each other, as if crafted from actual flames. Layers of silk chiffon and organza ripple and flow with each step, mimicking the graceful, powerful movement of phoenix wings spreading wide.

Hundreds of delicate crystals are meticulously embroidered throughout the fabric, catching the lights and shimmering like embers scattered in the wind. They gather more densely at the bodice, resembling the fiery heart of the mythical bird itself—radiating outward in shimmering lines and intricate patterns that echo feathers.

As she moves, the gown transforms into a living flame, glistening and flickering beneath the spotlight. The dramatic train billows behind her, trailing elegantly like smoke.

The gasps continue .

The gown was crafted from dreams themselves, cascading elegantly around her like waves of fire.

My breath catches in my throat. I can’t tear my eyes away from her—not just because she’s stunning, but because I’m so fucking proud.

Billie isn’t simply wearing fashion; she is fashion. She symbolizes everything Bellamore stands for—resilience, creativity, strength, and rebirth.

Time slows as she pauses briefly at the end of the runway. Her gaze lifts, finding mine effortlessly through the sea of faces. In that heartbeat, it’s like we’re alone, as if this entire moment is ours. Her eyes soften, the faintest smile curving her lips, as if to say, I did it .

She spins, swinging her hips as she walks away like she owns the stage. Fuck, she does.

Applause erupts, pulling my attention away as my heart continues racing. The entire crowd rises, acknowledging the queen she’s always been.

This isn’t just a walk down a runway; it’s Billie reclaiming herself, reclaiming her power and stepping fully into who she’s meant to be, who I always knew she could be. And I’m the luckiest man alive to witness it.

The stage lights lower, and then the house lights rise.

Harper moves to the edge of the stage with a microphone in her hand. “That concludes our show. The last dress is called Born from Ash and exemplifies the essence of Bellamore—unbreakable, born from the flames, triumphant and radiant—a true phoenix rising. Thank you so much for attending,” Harper says, and the room cheers again.

I push my emotions down, remembering what she said to me this morning. “You inspired me.”

It was for me as much as it was for her.

Right now, I have to see Billie. Nothing else matters.

I move backstage, finding her chatting with Harper. My eyes lock on her, and I pull her away, crashing my lips against hers.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” I whisper between kisses, knowing I can’t get enough.

“It’s all because of you,” she says, tears streaming down her cheeks as she meets my eyes. “Because you saw what I was capable of when no one else did.”

It’s just us as we lose ourselves in one another.

“Wait,” she says, taking a step back. “That suit.”

“My girlfriend picked it out. Like it?” I ask, raising a brow.

She rubs her hand down my sleeve, and then her eyes widen when she sees the cuff links. “You?”

“I have all of your pieces, princess.” I shrug. “What can I say? I’m a fan.”

Her bottom lip quivers. “It’s always been you?”

“In more ways than one.”

“I hoped it was you. King of my heart.”

We laugh against each other’s mouths, and I think I hear Harper tell us to get a room.

I grab her cheeks, meeting her eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Please,” she says, and I take her hand, interlocking my fingers with hers.

“Stop!” I hear Harper scream at the top of her lungs. “No!”

I turn and look over my shoulder, alarmed by the panic in her tone.

The atmosphere shifts as Josh rushes backstage, his eyes wild and face flushed with rage. The energy crackles dangerously. Models scatter away from him, and even I recognize an approaching storm. My brows furrow, and then I notice the glint of a blade.

He has a knife.