Chapter 5 The Press

Eliza sat with her fingers resting lightly on the arm of the sleek black chair in the stylish, minimalist office of *Vogue Style*. Sunlight filled the area, casting a gentle shine on the white walls that featured fashion photos of some of the top names in the business. In her previous existence, when she was merely an accessory to Noah's world, she had dreamed of visiting this kind of place, which was effortlessly glamorous and ensnaringly flawless.

It was her moment to shine today.

Sitting across from her, notebook in hand, was the reporter, Claire Whitmore, a keen-eyed journalist with a natural grasp of the fashion industry. With her dark hair falling in elegant waves over her shoulders and her crimson lipstick applied flawlessly, Claire exuded the polished confidence that Eliza found admirable. Women like her, who didn't simply enter a room but owned it, had always amazed Eliza.

"I must admit, Eliza, the growth of your brand has been nothing short of explosive," Claire said in a suave but sincere tone of interest. "From your initial design sketches to your current flagship shop in New York and your globally acclaimed collections." What's the trick?

A smile curved Eliza's lips, but it wasn't a well-practiced one. It came from a place of pride and the silent delight of her newfound freedom, and it was sincere.

She said simply and steadily, "Hard labour." "I've always had a strong interest in fashion, but it goes beyond simply making garments; it also involves knowing my target audience, their needs, and what gives them confidence."

Claire nodded reflectively while making notes. What about the commercial aspect of it? Not only are you a designer. In a world where men predominate, you are a woman who is a power in the industry. How did you overcome the obstacles?

Eliza thought on the question for a bit. In actuality, it hadn't been simple to make a breakthrough. She had doubted her capacity to succeed on her own, and there had been evenings when she wanted to give up. But those were the occasions that had stoked her fire, the ones that threatened to destroy her. She had spent her entire life living under the control of others-her father, Noah-but now she was creating something that was genuinely her own.

With a fixed gaze, Eliza remarked, "Claire, I didn't merely burst past the walls." "I destroyed them." Slowly, piece by piece. I would never be able to conform to the predetermined mould. I thus constructed my own.

The strength in Eliza's comments pleased Claire, as her eyes brightened. You've evolved into the lady who is rewriting the rules. Eliza, what are you going to do next? What does your brand's future hold?

With a determined edge to her voice, Eliza leaned forward. "The future has no boundaries. I want to make fashion accessible to ladies who didn't believe they could afford it or that they were deserving of it. Beyond clothing, I want to make something. Something that gives you power.

Claire's grin widened. "Empowerment." We hear that word a lot these days, but it feels genuine coming from you.

The word didn't make Eliza cringe. She no longer felt the need to justify her path. The world was starting to recognise her as the formidable force that she was: Elizabeth Callahan. She had earned her position in this world.

As the conversation went on, Eliza's self-assurance increased, her speech became more fluid, and her outlook on the future became more apparent than before. She talked about the people she designed for-women who weren't scared to be bold, to be themselves, and to take up space-as well as her future collections and aspirations to expand internationally.

When the interview ended an hour later, Claire stood up and offered assistance. "Eliza, I appreciate your candour. One of the most motivating interviews I've had in a long time was this one. Your narrative will undoubtedly strike a chord with our readers.

Knowing that she was no longer the lady who had lurked in the background of a man's achievement made Eliza's heart swell as she shook her hand. Now it was she who was paving her way.

"I'm grateful, Claire," she murmured. "I'm prepared for the world to witness my abilities."

---

The interview went live a few days later. Although Eliza hadn't anticipated the article would cause such a stir, she became aware of the impact her words had when her phone began to beep nonstop with notifications and texts. Fashion blogs, influencers, and even rivals were taking note of *Eliza Callahan Designs*'s triumph, and the press was ablaze with acclaim.

However, one message stood out among the several offers of partnerships and congrats.

A single line of SMS from an unidentified phone sent the straightforward message:

*"Eliza, I see you."

She looked at the message, wondering who it may be, and scowled. However, the feeling of familiarity and the weight of the words persisted in her gut. Then it struck her, an instinct she was unable to resist.

Noah.

She shook her head in an attempt to block out the idea. He was not going to get in touch. Not after everything. But the more she considered it, the more the message tore at her, the more the tone's familiarity resonated with her on a deep level.

In an attempt to divert her attention, she swiped to the next message, but her thoughts kept returning to that mysterious text. Once more, her phone buzzed.

It was a headline this time. * "Eliza Callahan: The New Powerhouse in Fashion"*. Below is an unposed picture of her during the opening of her flagship store, her face beaming with self-assurance.

But a name that made her stomach turn was in the comments.

*Callahan Noah.*

The majority of the comments were encouraging and full of compliments from peers and fans. However, it was obvious that Noah was there-he was observing. Now that he had witnessed her ascend, he was paying attention. He was there, and even from the distance of a screen, she felt uneasy. Even after all this time, he seemed to be quietly demarcating his area and reminding her of his role in her life.

With her thoughts racing, Eliza put down the phone. I thought she had moved on. She was the sole owner of the lovely creation she had created. Why, then, did she feel as though she was being drawn back into the circle of Noah's world when he reappeared and acknowledged her accomplishment without saying anything?

Eliza kept thinking that this was just the beginning as she gazed out the window at the busy streets of New York, which were teeming with opportunity. Both he and the press had taken notice of her.

What about Noah's remorse? It was just getting started.