"Linnea, it's so good to see you," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Isabella, the creative director of Hartwell Leather. We've been looking forward to this meeting."
I shook her hand, still feeling a bit dazed. "Thank you, Isabella. I can't believe this is happening."
Isabella smiled. "We've been following your work for a while now. Your designs are incredible, and we think you have a unique vision that fits perfectly with our brand."
I felt a surge of pride and relief. For years, I had been working on my designs in secret, pouring my heart and soul into them, even as Warren belittled my efforts. Now, it seemed, all that hard work was about to pay off.
"We want to offer you a position as our lead designer," Isabella continued. "You'll have the opportunity to create your own line, to put your name on every piece. What do you say?"
I felt tears welling up in my eyes. "I say yes. I would be honored."
Isabella clapped her hands in delight. "Wonderful! We'll get started right away."
Just as we were about to begin discussing the details of my new role, the bell above the door jingled again. A moment later, Warren and Corinne burst into the room, their faces flushed with anger.
"What is this?" Warren demanded, his eyes darting between Isabella and me.
Isabella raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Ashcroft, I assume. And you must be Corinne. I'm Isabella, the creative director of Hartwell Leather. How can I assist you?"
Warren's jaw dropped. "You work for Hartwell Leather? But... but Linnea—"
Isabella smiled politely. "Linnea is our new lead designer. We're thrilled to have her on board."
Warren's face turned red with rage. "This is a joke, right? She's just a hobbyist. She can't possibly—"
Isabella cut him off. "I assure you, Mr. Ashcroft, we do not hire hobbyists. Linnea's talent is undeniable, and we have every confidence in her abilities."
Warren's confidence faltered, and he turned to Corinne, who looked equally shocked. "You have to be kidding me," she muttered.
I stood up, feeling a sense of empowerment I hadn't felt in years. "Warren, Corinne, I know you don't believe it, but I've been working on this for a long time. And now, I'm finally getting the recognition I deserve."
Warren's eyes narrowed. "This is all a setup. You're just trying to make me look bad."
I shook my head. "No, Warren. This is about me. It's about my dreams and my hard work. You may have thought you could control everything, but you were wrong. I'm not the same person I was when we got married."
Warren's face contorted with anger and frustration. "You're not going to get away with this. I'll make sure—"
Before he could finish, the door to the private room opened, and four security guards stepped in. They were the same guards who had been called earlier, but this time, their demeanor was different. They approached Warren and Corinne with a calm, almost respectful air.
"Mr. Ashcroft, Miss Lavelle, we need to ask you to leave the premises," the lead guard said, his voice firm but polite.
Warren's eyes widened in disbelief. "What? Why? You can't do this!"
The guard looked at Isabella, who nodded. "Ms. Hartwell is a valued client of this establishment. We will not tolerate any disruption or harassment."
Warren's confidence vanished, and he looked around the room, realizing that he was the one being humiliated this time. "This isn't over," he spat, before turning and storming out of the room, Corinne in tow.
Before anyone could utter another word, the heavy oak door swung open—and what was revealed next left the entire room dead silent.
