Voss Group Design Studio – 48 Hours Before the Gala
Jade slammed the sketchbook shut, her frustration sharpening into something electric as she stared at the mannequin. Sophia Blake's gown was a battlefield—deep emerald velvet pooling like spilled wine, the off-the-shoulder neckline a dare she was terrified to accept. But every time she visualized the Ankole horn shoulder details, she remembered his touch: Ethan's hand brushing her ear, the calloused pad of his thumb grazing her collarbone. Focus on the fabric, she told herself, but her mind wandered to the way his cologne—bergamot and something darker, like aged whiskey—lingered in the stairwell after their last confrontation.
"Need a hand?"
His voice was honeyed sin, dragging her from her thoughts. Ethan stood in the doorway, coffee in hand, his charcoal suit fitting him like a promise of danger. She noted the way his gaze raked over her body—slow, deliberate—as if memorizing the curve of her spine where it met her hips. He's your enemy, she reminded herself, but her pulse betrayed her, thrumming in her throat as he approached.
"Thought you were too busy terrorizing protesters," she said, her voice breathier than she intended.
"Protesters don't intrigue me like you do." He set the coffee down, leaning close enough that she could see the faint stubble along his jawline. "Divas, though… they require special attention." His knuckle grazed her elbow as he reached for the sketchbook, a touch so brief it could've been accidental—if not for the smirk playing on his lips.
Jade swallowed, acutely aware of the space between them. "Sophia's not a diva. She's… fragile."
"Fragile?" He laughed, low and rough, as he flipped through her sketches. "She's a predator. But you…." His thumb paused on the Ankara print design, tracing the bold patterns. "You're a weapon. Why hide this?"
"Because your board would call it obscene. Unsellable." She met his gaze, refusing to flinch. "Because they see Blackness as a liability, not a legacy."
His eyes darkened, and for a moment, the air crackled with unspoken truths. When he spoke again, His voice is lower . rougher, as if he'd swallowed smoke. "I don't give a damn about liability. I care about impact. And this"—he tapped the sketch—"will ruin them."
Before she could respond, the door flew open. Sophia breezed in, her laugh like shattered glass, her assistant trailing with the sabotaged gown. Jade's stomach dropped at the sight of the minstrel embroidery—grotesque, deliberate, a slap in the face.
"Jade, darling!" Sophia purred, pressing a kiss to each of Jade's cheeks, her perfume cloying against the faint scent of Ethan's cologne. "I added a personal touch. Isn't it charming?"
Jade's fury boiled over, but Ethan moved first. She felt the heat of his body as he stepped between her and Sophia, his voice a blade. "Get. Out."
Sophia recoiled, but Jade barely noticed. She was hyperaware of Ethan's arm brushing hers, the tension in his shoulder as he glared down the actress. When the door finally closed, he turned to her, and she was struck by how close they were—close enough to count the flecks of gold in his storm-gray eyes, close enough to wonder if his lips would taste as sharp as his words.
"Listen to me," he said, his hand landing on her waist to steady her. The touch sent a jolt through her, hot and insistent. "We'll fix this. But I need you to trust me."
She tilted her chin up, defiance warring with the ache low in her belly. "Why should I trust you?"
"Because." His thumb pressed into the small of her back, pulling her an inch closer. "You and I… we understand what it means to be underestimated." His gaze dropped to her lips, lingered, before meeting her eyes again. "Now tell me how to make this gown ignite."
Jade's breath hitched. She should pull away, scream, demand he remove his hand. Instead, she leaned into the pressure of his grip, relishing the way his jaw tightened at the movement. "Ankara lining," she said, her voice steady despite the wild thrum of her heart. "Hidden. When she turns, it catches the light… like a secret only the brave can see."
"Brave," he echoed, his voice a murmur now, his nose brushing her hair as he reached past her for the sketchbook. "I like that."
The moment shattered when Sophia's voice echoed in the hallway, but the damage was done. Jade felt the ghost of his touch long after he stepped back, the warmth of his palm seared into her skin. And when she found the pill bottle later, tucked into the coffee cup's sleeve, she didn't just see a man with a secret—she saw the flicker of a match, waiting to ignite the tinder between them.
Down the hall, Sophia smirked as she hit "post" on the #JadeCarterCulturalAppropriator tweet, attaching a photo of the sabotaged gown. But in the studio, Jade spread the Ankara fabric with trembling hands, imagining Ethan's grip on her waist, his breath in her hair. Let them see the secret, she thought. Let them burn.