Rose point of view
The showroom that had once been my pride now felt like a tomb, Silent. Empty. Abandoned. I moved between the clothing racks, touching fabrics that represented thousands of hours of work. My spring collection, the one fashion critics had called “boundary–pushing” and “career defining” just weeks ago, hung untouched, unsold,
unwanted.
My phone buzzed for the twentieth time that morning. Another cancellation, no doubt. Another buyer pulling orders. Another door slamming shut.
I ignored it, continuing my lonely tour through what remained of my empire. The front desk sat vacant, I’d had to let Jessica go yesterday, along with three other staff members. The remaining team worked from home now, making desperate calls to salvage what business they could.
The quiet made the memories louder. The launch party for this collection just two months ago. Champagne flowing. Music pulsing. Fashion editors praising my “visionary aesthetic.” Buyers from luxury stores around the world competing for exclusive pieces.
All gone.
In the back office, financial reports covered my desk in a sea of red numbers. The phone rang again, my lawyer’s name flashing on the screen. I answered this time, bracing for more bad news.
Rose, Mark’s voice carried the careful tone people use with the terminally ill. “Neiman Marcus just pulled their entire order.”
My fingers tightened on the phone. Neiman had been my biggest supporter from the beginning. Their spring order represented nearly a million dollars in revenue.
“They can’t do that,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “We have a contract.”
“They’re invoking the morality clause, Paragraph sixteen, section B. The same one Saks used yesterday.”
Another blow. Another cut. I sank into my chair, legs suddenly unable to support my weight.
“What about Bergdorf?” I asked, though I already knew the answer from his silence.
“Their email came five minutes ago. I was about to call you?
Three major department stores in twenty–four hours. Each one citing the same “reputational concerns” after the photos of me with Anton Bessonov had spread through every fashion publication.
“What about the spring production run?” I asked, mind racing to find some path forward. “We’ve already started manufacturing”
Mark hesitated. “That’s the other thing. Stellar Fabrics called this morning. They’re canceling delivery of the
materials.”
The room tilted sideways. Stellar was our main supplier. Without their specialized fabrics, we couldn’t produce anything, not the spring collection, not even basic pieces to keep cash flowing
“They can’t back out!” My voice rose despite my efforts to remain calm. “We prepaid half the order!”
“They’re refunding the deposit, but the contract has the same morality clause as the others. Rose, someone went through your agreements very carefully. Every major partner has the same exit provision.”
Chapter 49
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Ice spread through my veins. This wasn’t bad luck or coincidence. This was planned. Executed with precision by someone who wanted to destroy me completely.
“Who would do this, Mark? Who wants to ruin me?”
“It could be any competitor in the industry. Fashion is…”
“No,” I cut him off. “This feels personal. The timing of the photo leaks. The coordination of the contract cancellations. Someone is orchestrating this.”
Mark sighed. “I’ve reached out to my contacts at the other fashion houses. No one seems to know where the photos originated. They just appeared simultaneously on multiple blogs, like they were seeded deliberately.”
My mind raced through possibilities. Jealous designers? Industry rivals? Former lovers with grudges? The list of people I’d stepped on to reach the
top wasn’t short.
“Has anyone unusual been asking questions about me? Anyone new in the industry who might have something against me?”
“Not that I know of. But Rose, we need to focus on saving what’s left of the business. If we can secure bridge financing
“There won’t be a business left to save if we don’t identify who’s attacking us!” I slammed my hand on the desk, sending financial reports fluttering to the floor. “Someone didn’t just happen to find those photos. Someone went looking for them. Someone who knew exactly where to search.”
As if responding to my outburst, the office door opened. My assistant Michael stood there, face pale.
“What now?” I demanded, already knowing from his expression it wasn’t good.
“Vogue just pulled your feature.” His voice trembled slightly. “And Harper’s Bazaar is asking for comment about…. about the Russian money laundering allegations.”
The room spun around me. The Vogue feature had been scheduled for months, a six–page spread celebrating my authentic creative vision.” Now gone. And money laundering? The accusation felt like a physical blow.
“What allegations?” Mark asked sharply.
Michael handed me his tablet. On screen, a financial blog I’d never heard of detailed suspicious transactions between Anton Bessonov’s accounts and my early business funding. Transactions I’d thought were buried, hidden, forgotten
“This is insane,” I whispered, scanning the article. “These records were private. How did anyone get access?” But I already knew the answer. Someone with resources. Someone with connections. Someone determined to ruin
The landline phone rang… the private line that only went to certain clients and partners. I placed it on speaker, trying to gather my composure.
“Rose Lewis.”
“Ms. Lewis, this is Maria Chen from Women’s Wear Daily. We’re running a story about your brand’s financial situation and wanted to offer you a chance to comment.”
My heart stuttered. WWD was fashion’s bible. Their coverage reached every corner of the industry.
“What exactly is your story about?” Lasked, fighting to keep my voice professional.
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“We’ve received information that several major retailers have canceled orders amid concerns about your past business associations. Sources also indicate Stellar Fabrics has terminated your supply contract, and your main manufacturing partner is suspending production.”
Every disaster I’d learned about this moming, wrapped into one neat package. How had they gotten this information so quickly?
“We’re also including details about the Russian yacht photos and alleged financial irregularities,” Maria continued. “Is there a statement you’d like to make?”
Mark made frantic cutting motions across his throat. Don’t comment. Don’t engage. Don’t make it worse.
“This is a targeted campaign to destroy my reputation and business,” I said, ignoring his warning. “Someone is deliberately spreading lies and manipulating contexts to damage my brand. I categorically deny any wrongdoing.” “So you’re saying the photos with Anton Bessonov are fake”
The trap was obvious, but my anger overwhelmed my caution. “The photos are real. The relationship was not what’s being implied. And my business dealings have always been legitimate.”
“Then how do you explain the three million dollars transferred from offshore accounts into your initial business funding?”
The specific amount sent ice through my veins. That number wasn’t public. Wasn’t even in my official records. Only two people knew that exact figure, me and Anton.
“I have no further comment,” I said, ending the call before could say something worse.
“Rose,” Mark said quietly. “What offshore accounts?”
I shook my head, unwilling to answer even my lawyer. Some secrets had to remain buried, especially now. Michael hovered uncertainly by the door. “There’s one more thing. The factory in Milan called. They need to speak with you urgently.”
Our main production facility. The backbone of the entire operation. If they pulled out too….
“Give me
five minutes,” I said, needing a moment alone before facing the next disaster.
When they left, I moved to the window overlooking the Fashion District. Just last year, I’d chosen this office specifically for this view, a constant reminder of the industry I was conquering. Now it felt like looking at a kingdom that had rejected me.
My phone buzzed with a text from Stefan: *Are you seeing the news? We need to talk. Someone is coming after both of us.”
So he’d made the connection too. Whatever was happening, we were both targets of the same enemy.
The question was, who? And why?
A notification appeared on my computer screen. An email from my bank. Subject line: URGENT ACCOUNT
FREEZE
My lands shook as I opened it. The message was brief but devastating. Due to “ongoing financial investigations,” all business accounts associated with my name were temporarily frozen. Effective immediately,
No access to operating funds. No way to pay remaining staff No ability to settle debts with the few suppliers still willing to work with me.
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Chapter 40
Complete financial paralysis.
I dialed Stefan immediately. “They’ve frozen my accounts, I said without greeting, “All of them.”
“Mine too,” he replied, sounding as shaken as I felt. “Ten minutes ago. Right after I lost my last two major Asian shipping partners.”
“This isn’t coincidence.“!
“No,” he agreed. “Someone’s targeting us both systematically. The question is who has the power and motivation to do this”
“Who would hate both of us this much?” I whispered, genuine fear replacing anger for the first time.
“I don’t know. But whoever it is, they’re not stopping until we’re completely destroyed.”
After he hung up, I stood alone in my silent showroom. Beautiful clothes that no one would buy. A business account with no money. A reputation in tatters.
Everything I’d built, everything I’d schemed for, everything I’d sacrificed for, gone in a matter of days.
The door opened again. Michael entered looking like he might vomit. “The factory in Milan has terminated our contract. And Women’s Wear Daily just published their article. It’s… it’s bad, Rose.”
I took the tablet he offered, scanning the headline: “ROSE LEWIS EMPIRE COLLAPSES AMID SCANDAL AND FINANCIAL IRREGULARITIES,”
The article was comprehensive, devastating, and filled with details no one should have known. Every financial vulnerability. Every contract termination. Every skeleton I thought safely buried.
As I reached the end, something caught my eye that made my blood freeze.
industry insiders note the curious timing that both Lewis and her fiancé Stefan Rodriguez are facing simultaneous business collapses, leading to speculation about possible connected financial improprieties.”
They were linking us together, suggesting our separate disasters were somehow connected to shared wrongdoing. Making us both toxic in their respective industries.
I sank to my knees among the beautiful clothes no one would ever wear, surrounded by the dreams that were turning to dust before my eyes.
Whoever was doing this had resources I couldn’t fight, connections I couldn’t match, and a determination I couldn’t overcome. They weren’t just attacking my business, they were systematically erasing everything I’d built.
As I knelt there, a strange calm replaced my panic. I’d fought my way out of nothing once before. Clawed my way up from the foster system. Reinvented myself as the perfect daughter, the talented designer, the success story.
I could do it again.
I would do it again.
But first, I needed to find out who hated both me and Stefan enough to orchestrate our complete destruction
Because this wasn’t just business. This was personal.
And I would make them pay.
