Chapter 3 3

Harper stepped into the Mercer Industries design studio, inhaling the familiar scent of fabric, leather, and fresh sketches. The space was immaculate, a perfect blend of modern efficiency and creative chaos. Massive tables were covered in materials, while mannequins displayed early prototypes of evening gowns and suits. This was her domain. This was where she thrived.

Workers bustled around, some draping fabrics over mannequins, others cutting patterns with careful precision. The energy in the room was electric, but Harper kept her focus sharp. This wasn't just about proving herself- it was about crafting a collection that would elevate Mercer Industries beyond its already impressive reputation.

A clipboard in hand, she moved between stations, inspecting every detail. Silk, chiffon, tailored wool- each fabric had to meet her exacting standards.

Holden entered the room, and for a brief moment, her focus wavered. He wasn't in his usual business suit. Instead, he wore a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the top button undone. The look suited him far too well.

His gaze swept across the studio before landing on her. "How's the progress?"

"Steady," Harper replied, keeping her tone professional. "We're finalizing samples today."

Holden nodded and strode closer, his presence commanding attention without effort. "Anything you need?"

A loaded question, but Harper didn't let her thoughts drift. "Full approval on the specialty fabrics. Some of the custom orders haven't been signed off yet."

"I'll take care of it."

His willingness to cooperate threw her off balance, but she wasn't about to complain. "Good. That'll keep production on schedule."

One of the seamstresses, a petite woman named Clara, approached with a hesitant smile. "Miss Quinn, I have the revised stitching on the blazer you wanted to see."

Harper turned her attention to the garment, running her fingers over the fabric. The detail was precise, the craftsmanship flawless.

"This is perfect," she said, genuine approval in her voice. "Great work."

Clara beamed, then glanced nervously at Holden before scurrying away.

Harper raised an eyebrow. "Does everyone here live in fear of you?"

Holden smirked. "I prefer to think of it as maintaining high standards."

"Or intimidation," she countered, crossing her arms.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "You never were afraid of me."

"No," she said simply. "I wasn't."

The weight of their history pressed between them, heavy and unresolved. Silence stretched before Holden finally exhaled and stepped back.

"I'll get the approvals sorted."

Without another word, he turned and left, leaving Harper with the lingering scent of his cologne and a heart that beat a little too fast. Holden strode back to his office, jaw tight. Harper was handling this project with the same sharp precision that had made her one of the most sought-after designers in the industry. He had expected nothing less.

What he hadn't expected was the way she still got under his skin.

His assistant, Laura, intercepted him before he could reach his desk. "Your stepmother wants a word."

"Of course she does," he muttered.

Pushing open the doors to the executive suite, he found Vivian Mercer seated behind his father's old desk. A picture of power, elegance, and calculation.

"You didn't clear Harper's final approvals through me," she said, her voice smooth but laced with disapproval.

Holden leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Because I don't need to."

Vivian's lips curved into a knowing smile. "You always were stubborn. But letting personal history cloud your business decisions? That's reckless."

"This isn't about the past."

Her gaze sharpened. "Isn't it?"

Holden exhaled slowly, reigning in his temper. "Harper is the best choice for this collaboration. The board agrees."

"The board can be swayed."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

Vivian folded her hands together, her red nails tapping against the polished wood. "That you should tread carefully. Harper Quinn was a complication once, and she could be again."

"I can handle it."

Vivian studied him for a long moment before standing gracefully. "For your sake, I hope that's true."

She left without another word, but her warning lingered.

Harper arrived home late, exhaustion settling into her bones. The evening city lights flickered through the windows, casting a soft glow over her apartment. Tossing her keys onto the counter, she grabbed a bottle of water and sank onto the couch.

Every moment spent at Mercer Industries was a reminder of what once was. Holden had been different today. Still the same powerful presence, still impossibly composed, but there had been moments-fleeting ones-where she caught glimpses of something else beneath the surface. Something she couldn't afford to acknowledge.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her from her thoughts.

Lena: Tell me you haven't fallen into old patterns.

Harper rolled her eyes, typing back a quick response.

Harper: I'm fine. Just work.

The dots appeared on the screen, then disappeared.

Moments later, another text popped up.

Lena: Just work? Or just Holden?

A sigh left her lips, but she didn't reply. She didn't have an answer to that.