Morning sunlight filtered through the floor to ceiling windows, washing the penthouse in a soft golden glow.
The silence felt... unfamiliar.
Malissa had nowhere she needed to be for the first time in a while.
No hospital visit.
No scheduled call from the correctional facility. No appointments. No obligations.
She stood in the kitchen, a mug of tea warming her hands as she stared out at the city below.
It should have felt relaxing.
Instead, she felt restless.
Perhaps she had simply become used to constantly worrying about someone.
Her mother. Her father. The appeal. The media.
Even Alexander's unpredictable schedule had quietly become part of the rhythm of the house.
Now there was nothing.
She carried her mug into the living room and dropped onto the sofa.
Her sketchbook rested where she'd left it the previous evening.
She reached for it almost absentmindedly.
Page after page of unfinished designs greeted her.
Some dated back to university.
Some had been drawn during lunch breaks at Aurora Publishing.
Others had been scribbled in hospital waiting rooms while her mother slept.
She smiled faintly.
There had always been dresses.
Even during the hardest days, there had been dresses.
Her fingertips traced the outline of a fitted evening gown before she quietly closed the sketchbook again.
No. She needed something different.
Something real. She needed inspiration.
Not photographs. Not old memories.
Real fabric. Real colours. Real people.
The thought settled almost instantly.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she headed upstairs. A baseball cap. A simple white face mask. An oversized hoodie.
Comfortable jeans. Nothing expensive.
Nothing eye-catching.
She caught her reflection in the mirror.
Ordinary.
Exactly what she wanted.
"Perfect," she murmured.
The textile district was already alive by the time she arrived.
Bolts of fabric lined both sides of the narrow street.
Silks shimmered beneath the morning sun.
Cottons in every imaginable colour spilled from storefront displays.
Vendors called out to passing customers.
Some bargained loudly.
Others laughed with familiar faces who stopped simply to chat.
The atmosphere was warm.
Busy. Alive.
Malissa slowed her pace.
She hadn't realized how much she missed this.
She drifted from one stall to another, allowing her fingertips to brush across lace, satin and linen.
One elderly shop owner smiled warmly.
"Designer?"
She looked up in surprise.
He gestured toward the sketchbook tucked beneath her arm.
"You've been touching fabric without looking at the prices."
A laugh escaped her.
"I suppose that's a giveaway."
"The good ones always do."
He held out a length of emerald green crepe.
"What do you see?"
Malissa accepted the fabric.
Her fingers tested its weight.
Its movement.
She smiled.
"A structured evening dress."
The man nodded approvingly.
"And?"
She tilted her head.
"A softer sleeve."
"Good."
He grinned.
"Very good."
For nearly twenty minutes they spoke about nothing but fabric.
Weaves. Textures. Construction.
The conversation felt effortless.
No one asked about Alexander.
No one mentioned the internet.
She really hadn't felt like herself in weeks.
She thanked the man before continuing through the market.
Every few steps she paused to make quick sketches.
A sleeve inspired by folded chiffon.
A neckline she spotted on a mannequin.
The drape of a patterned silk hanging in the breeze.
Ideas flowed faster than her pencil could keep up.
She barely noticed how much time had passed.
Until..
"Excuse me..."
She looked up.
A young woman stood only a few feet away.
Probably around her own age.
She smiled uncertainly.
"I'm sorry if I'm wrong..."
Malissa's grip tightened around her sketchbook.
"...aren't you Alexander Marquez's girlfriend?"
For a brief second, the sounds of the market faded.
The woman hurried to explain.
"I knew you looked familiar."
"My sister showed me the article yesterday."
"I wasn't sure because of the cap."
Malissa forced a polite smile beneath her mask.
"Yes..."
Her voice came out softer than intended.
"I've seen the articles."
"I knew it!"
The woman laughed awkwardly.
"I told my friend it was you."
Malissa glanced beyond her.
Another girl had already turned in their direction. Then a third. No one approached.
No one took photographs.
They were not rude.
Yet something had shifted.
Moments earlier she had been another customer browsing fabrics.
Now...
She was someone people recognised.
Someone they whispered about.
Someone they looked at twice.
The warmth she'd felt only minutes ago quietly slipped away.
"I'm sorry," she said gently.
"I actually have somewhere to be."
The young woman nodded immediately.
"Of course. Sorry for bothering you."
"You didn't."
Malissa offered a small smile before walking away.
She kept her pace steady until she reached the end of the street.
Only then did she exhale.
She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath.
She looked back once.
The market continued exactly as before.
Customers bargained.
Vendors laughed.
Children ran between stalls. Nothing had changed. Except...
The feeling.
She adjusted the brim of her cap and quietly headed toward the taxi stand.
It turned out that blending into a crowd wasn't nearly as easy as she'd hoped.
The executive meeting came to an end.
Alexander closed the folder before him.
"Meeting adjourned."
Chairs shifted around the conference table as department heads gathered their documents.
Quiet conversations resumed.
Alexander exchanged a few brief words with Mike before both men stepped out of the conference room together.
As they walked toward the CEO's office, Mike opened the tablet in his hand.
"There's one matter you should know about."
Alexander continued walking.
"The media?"
Mike nodded.
"They've stopped focusing on your relationship."
"They're building a profile on Miss Fisher."
Alexander unlocked his office and walked inside.
Mike followed.
"Entertainment outlets have contacted Aurora Publishing requesting employment records."
"Unofficially."
"They've also reached out to former employees and a few people believed to have attended design school with her."
Alexander slipped off his suit jacket and hung it neatly on the coat stand beside his desk.
"For what?"
"They're looking for a story."
A brief silence settled between them.
"Has anyone spoken?"
"No."
"Mrs. Grant refused every interview request."
"Aurora Publishing declined to comment."
"So far."
Mike nodded once.
"So far."
Alexander looked through the glass wall overlooking the city.
"Find out who's asking."
Mike hesitated.
"You don't want me to stop them?"
"No."
Alexander's voice remained calm.
"I want to know who's paying for it."
Understanding crossed Mike's face.
"I'll look into it immediately."
Alexander gave a slight nod.
Mike quietly left the office, already making a mental list of where to begin.
The VIP relaxation lounge overlooked the city skyline through floor to ceiling glass windows.
The afternoon sun spilled across polished marble floors while soft instrumental music drifted through hidden speakers.
Only four guests occupied the lounge.
Privacy was one of the privileges of membership.
An attendant set a cup of warm herbal tea beside Helena while another adjusted the sash of Clarissa's robe. Their massages and skincare treatments had ended only minutes earlier, and the lounge offered guests time to unwind before changing back into their clothes.
For a while, no one spoke.
Then a familiar name drifted across the room.
"Did you see the photographs of Alexander Marquez and his girlfriend?"
One of the women smiled.
"I did."
"The pictures weren't very flattering."
Another nodded.
"I actually think she's prettier in person."
"And they look surprisingly good together."
Clarissa's fingers tightened around the porcelain teacup.
"They don't even suit each other."
The words escaped before she could stop them.
The conversation paused.
One woman lifted her eyes toward Clarissa.
Another exchanged a brief glance with her companion.
Even the attendant pouring tea slowed ever so slightly before continuing.
No one challenged her.
No one agreed with her either.
The discussion simply drifted elsewhere.
A charity gala.
An upcoming auction.
A new couture collection debuting in Paris.
Clarissa heard none of it.
A short while later, attendants escorted the guests back to their private dressing suites.
Freshly pressed designer outfits had already been prepared.
Jewelry was returned to velvet trays.
Designer handbags waited neatly on polished counters.
Within minutes, Helena and Clarissa stepped out looking as immaculate as when they had arrived.
The chauffeur was already waiting beside the car.
An attendant opened the rear door.
Only after the vehicle pulled away from the spa did Helena finally break the silence.
"You embarrassed yourself."
Clarissa turned sharply.
"I only said what everyone was thinking."
"No."
Helena's voice remained calm.
"You said what you were feeling."
Clarissa looked away, her jaw tightening.
"It isn't fair."
Helena smoothed an invisible crease from her sleeve.
"Fairness has never decided anything."
Silence settled between them.
Then Helena spoke again.
"If you want to remove a person from your path..."
She turned her head slightly.
"...use your head."
"Not your emotions."
The city rolled past outside the tinted windows.
Clarissa stared ahead without seeing any of it.
Use your head...
The words echoed quietly in her mind.
Slowly, the frustration in her expression settled into something colder.
She didn't need Alexander to notice her.
She needed Malissa Fisher to disappear.
***
The taxi stopped outside the penthouse just before sunset.
Malissa thanked the driver before stepping onto the pavement.
She rode the elevator to the top floor in silence.
The familiar doors slid open.
The apartment was quiet.
Alexander hadn't returned yet.
She slipped off her shoes near the entrance before walking toward the living room.
The sketchbook remained tucked beneath her arm.
Slowly, she removed her face mask.
Then the baseball cap.
She placed both on the coffee table.
For a long moment she simply stood there, looking at them.
She had worn them believing they would help her disappear.
Instead...
Someone had recognised her anyway.
Not because she had spoken.
Not because she had introduced herself.
Simply because strangers now knew her face.
She lowered herself onto the sofa and opened the sketchbook.
The designs she had drawn earlier were still beautiful.
The fabrics had still inspired her.
The conversations had still reminded her why she loved fashion.
No headline could take that away.
A small smile touched her lips as she picked up her pencil once more.
Outside, evening settled over the city.
Inside, Malissa quietly returned to the one dream that had always belonged entirely to her.