Catherine hugged Sophia tight before getting into the waiting car. Her head ached on the drive home. She didn't know what to do—it was one thing for Linda to hurt herself, but her decisions were hurting Sophia and Maria and Samuel too. She rubbed her temples and closed her eyes, wishing Linda has just stayed in the coma.

She arrived home and went upstairs to do work on her computer. She logged into the company email and found over 100 unread emails. With a sigh, she began to open them, reading them one by one and dashing off quick replies.

​​

"What are you doing?" Sean asked.

She looked up from her computer, surprised to see that the room had gone dark. She squinted her eyes, trying to make out Sean's figure in the doorway.

"I'm trying to work," she said. "I've been spending so much time at the hospital. I'm afraid I'm falling behind on my duties at Feather."

"Don't worry so much about it," Sean said. "Andy and Alan will take care of it."

"I know," she said. "But this is important to me."

"And your health is important to me," he said. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"I'm fine," she said.

He sighed, "Honey, you have dark circles beneath your eyes, and you look even paler than normal."

"I guess I'm a bit tired," she admitted. "But it's really nothing."

"I'll close Feather Textile if you continue like this," he said.

She froze.

"That's not an idle threat," he said.

***

Sean returned to his study, pouring himself a tumbler of his favorite whiskey. He paced the room and sipped the amber-colored liquid. He took a long swallow and sighed. If he'd known that Catherine would get so involved in the company, he never would have set the six-month deadline. Between Feather and the hospital, he felt like he barely saw her.

He sank into his chair, put his feet up on his desk, and closed his eyes. Though she refused to see it, Feather was dangerous. In just a few days, she'd made hundreds of enemies at the company. He knew very well that business had a dark side, and he didn't want to see her get hurt. He'd been glad that she was spending so much time at the hospital until Geoffrey reported that Linda was in touch with Tom again. He didn't want her anywhere near that man.

He took another sip of whiskey, enjoying the way the liquid-filled him with warmth. He'd promised her freedom, but he wanted to keep her safe. He had to keep her safe. He swirled the glass in his hands, and an idea struck him. He called for Drew, excited about his new plan.

***

Catherine woke in the morning and rubbed her eyes in the dim room. The bed next to her was cold and empty—she wondered what time it was. Stifling a yawn, she reached for the remote on her bedside table and clicked the button to open the curtains. As the curtains slid open, golden light flooded the room, and she blinked in shock. The entire room was filled with mannequins wearing dresses, suits, gowns, and skirts. She blinked slowly, wondering if she was still half asleep, but the mannequins stayed put.

She climbed out of bed and touched the gown nearest her, letting the taffeta slip between her fingers. She wandered among the rows of mannequins—gently touching and examining the clothes. It didn't take long for her to recognize the pieces from the fashion show. Breathless, she rushed downstairs, looking for Sean.

The dining room was empty, but she found him in his study sipping a cup of tea.

"Good morning," he said with a smile.

"Sean," she gasped. "They're beautiful!"

He placed the cup neatly in the saucer and stood up. He crossed the room and wrapped her in his arms, kissing the top of her head. She hugged him back, too excited by the dresses to worry about the embrace.

"I'm happy you like them," he said, pressing his lips to her cheek.

"They're amazing," she said. "But why are they here?"

"I wanted you to have some inspiration," he said.

"So you bought them all?" she asked. "How?"

"I have my ways," he said.

"But they must have cost a fortune," she objected. "They're limited edition pieces."

He shrugged, "I can afford it."

She bit her lip, trying to calculate just how much the clothing must have cost him. No matter how she figured it, the clothing was worth tens of millions of pounds. Her stomach twisted, and she pulled away.

"It's too much," she said.

He shook his head, "I want you to enjoy them."

"Thank you," she said, throwing her arms around him.

He hugged her back, pressing another kiss to the top of her head.

"Go," he said. "I know you want to examine them."

"Thanks," she said, half running toward the door of his study.

"Wait a minute," he said, his voice growing low. "Where are your shoes?"

She looked down at her bare feet and shrugged. "I guess I forgot them," she said.

"Honey," he sighed. "You need to take care of your health."

"It's the summer, Sean," she said. "I'm not going to get sick walking around barefoot."

He sighed, "Just take of yourself, Honey. If you don't, I'll intervene."

"Fine," she said, running up the stairs.

Back in the room, she walked between the mannequins carefully to keep her feet off of the trailing gowns on the floor. As she walked, she made a note of the way the colors shone in the sunlight, the way the fabric felt under her fingertips, the way each outfit highlighted the mannequin's figure. There were even more outfits than she'd noticed at first—it was truly overwhelming.

With a deep breath, she grabbed her notebook and began to move the mannequins. She worked slowly, careful to avoid snagging the fabric. Finally, she had them arranged by the designer. She started with Chanel, sitting on the floor to scribble notes about each outfit she saw. She noted the fabric, the types of stitches used, the cut and color, and the measurements. Once she'd made notes, she began to sketch the outfits. As she worked, she began to slip into the designers' mindsets. By copying their designs, she could understand why they made the choices that they made.