25. Selma

twenty-five

Selma

When Ashton suggested that I tweak the designs, I failed to see sense in what he was saying. Truth be told, I'd come very close to giving up. What was the point of hanging on? Everyone believed I was a slut who went around sleeping with her employees, and when I wasn't slutting around with them, I was being toxic.

As if that wasn't bad enough, the designs I'd spent the last year working on had suddenly gone public, and the culprit had been my own assistant—someone I'd trusted. To top it off, she'd been working for my ex-boyfriend and cousin, who had made it their life mission to ensure I never succeeded.

Had I learned nothing from the past? Was I cursed to keep following a cycle of heartbreak and broken trust? Would I have to live the rest of my life doubting every single person I meet?

I never got the answers to those questions. Instead, I'd spent the past couple of weeks sketching new designs. Since my publicist—Maria, bless her heart—had told the entire world that the leaked designs weren't my actual designs, I couldn't relent. Everything had to be perfect.

Ashton commented that I was working myself into madness, and it was unhealthy for both me and the baby. I'd tried explaining to him that sleeping was for suckers and I was not a sucker, after which I'd fallen asleep three seconds later.

I was burnt out.

Between vomiting twice every hour because every fucking thing made me nauseous to burying my head in my iPad and making changes to the patterns, I was this close to collapsing. Thankfully, after countless trials and errors, the dressmakers were on the right track and didn't need me as much.

It was why Ashton let me sleep for so long last night. I didn't even know what time we got home. My eyelids fluttered open, and I squinted as I adjusted to the sunlight seeping into the room through the opened curtains. I was in his bedroom, where I'd spent the night for the past two weeks.

Honestly, the thought of returning to my apartment and sleeping alone did not appeal to me anymore. I was a bit sad because soon, that was exactly what was going to happen. I was afraid that when all this was over, Ashton would go back to wherever he was before our paths crossed.

As much as I'd like to say the thought didn't squeeze my chest tightly, that would be me lying.

I'd gotten used to falling asleep and waking up by his side every morning. Even before we moved to his apartment, it had been that way in mine. Just like now, his woody, spicy scent settled around me like a warm blanket, and I inhaled, sighing on the exhale.

One quick glance at the bedside clock told me it was eleven in the morning. I yawned, hungry. I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept this long. My bones felt lax but there was still a tinge of fatigue beneath the feeling. I paid it no mind; ever since I'd gotten pregnant, tiredness and I had become best friends.

Ashton wasn't in the room, so I assumed he was probably in the kitchen or the living room. Sitting up, I grabbed my iPad resting on the bedside table, and unlocked it. A few emails were waiting for me, some from recognizable email addresses, others unknown. Today was a Saturday, but every day was a workday in this industry.

My stomach—which I guessed was probably the baby—cried out for food, and I pressed a hand over the gentle swell as if it would quell the pleas. Just a few emails and I'd go downstairs.

As I clicked on the mail icon, my eyes scanned the subjects, checking for what was important. When I got to the fourth email, my breath hitched. My index finger froze midair as the name registered. I blinked, sure my eyes were playing tricks on me.

When the email didn't disappear after a few seconds, I let out the breath I was holding. I clicked to open it, taking my sweet time as my eyes scanned the letters and my brain made sense of them.

Beneath the surface, excitement hummed in my veins, and it was with great effort that I sat my ass down and consumed the entire email, letting the iPad fall limply on my thighs. I ran it over in my head once, twice, absorbing it until a smile threatened to split my face in half.

This is it. Oh, my God. This is it.

The door opened then, and Ashton walked in, tray in hand. His eyes locked on mine, and he paused, taking in my smile and the excited glint shimmering in my eyes.

His gaze narrowed. "I know I'm a sight for sore eyes, but what exactly did I do to make you this happy?"

"Zed Chenko emailed," I said breathlessly as if I'd just competed in a marathon, and the prize money was a million dollars. "He wants me to do my unveiling at his runway show next Saturday."

***

My nerves were having a field day; I could barely sit still.

Which was fortuitous because I wasn't sitting at all. My legs carried me from one destination to another, and my heart pounded in my chest as I looked at the models who were supposed to wear my designs. They were the same ones from three weeks ago in the studio, the ones Ashton had found.

Speaking of Ashton, I had no idea where he was. Last I saw him, he was engaged in a casual discussion with Zed and some other guy, the three of them talking and laughing as if they had always been the best of friends.

I needed him by my side. How hard was that to understand? Releasing a tense breath, I watched as Maria and my stylists got to work with the models. Hair, makeup, and everything in between were put into action, and Maria asked me not to stress but to stand by the side, watch, and offer insights where I thought they were necessary.

I had not said it out loud, but I was fucking proud of myself for creating such a masterpiece. I'd gotten a picture of each model, and each design was specially made for her body size and shape. My god, they all looked fucking good. If I wasn't such a mess of nerves, I'd have burst into tears at my genius.

Standing outside the dressing room where the girls got ready, I exhaled, my mind raging. The hairs at the back of my neck stood on end as an unfamiliar presence surrounded me.

"I must say, Miss Volkov, you are an exquisite designer. I'd love to know what goes on in your head when you put pen to paper." A thick accent filled the air, and I raised my head to look at the man next to me, the compliment pleasing me way more than was reasonable.

"Please, call me Selma."

"Then you should call me Zed."

I smiled, wondering if this was real. All of it happened too fast. One minute, I was preparing to create a catalog for my lookbook, and the next, I was invited to a runway show by the biggest designer in the United States to reveal my new collection, practically handed to the media on a platter.

"Thank you again for the wonderful opportunity," I told him. "You don't know what this means to me."

After New York's Fashion Week, this runway show was the most anticipated fashion show in the country. Designers from all over the world practically begged for a seat at the table. They would pay a literal arm and leg if the opportunity presented itself. In fact, attendance was strictly by invitation, and only the best of the best was deemed fit to be invited.

Zed ran a tight ship, which wasn't unexpected, given his genius. No other designer was as decorated as him on this side of the world.

I had no idea why Zed had personally invited me, and it was at the tip of my tongue to ask, but was I truly going to look a gift horse in the mouth?

Whatever it was, I was grateful for it. Not only did I not have to spend money on the lookbook, but I also got the best publicity. Not even Maria could have pulled this off. At least ninety percent of the fashion world, including the paparazzi, would be present. And those that weren't would be closely monitoring the event, just looking for the right tidbit of gossip to further push their career forward at the detriment of another.

"Ah, I'm afraid I'm not as altruistic as you make me out to be," Zed confessed. "Everyone's talking about Selma Volkov and her leaked designs, which were amazing, by the way." The way his eyes glistened told me he didn't believe that the leaked designs weren't mine. "I, as well as every other person worth their salt, am eager to see what else you have come up with."

Intertwining my fingers in front of my plaid skirt, I smiled softly, though anxiety danced underneath the calm exterior. "I guess you'll all have to wait and find out, won't you?"

A corner of Zed's lips tilted upwards. "I guess so. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Selma. I look forward to your unveiling."

I smiled again, the smile falling when he disappeared out of sight. A plethora of what-ifs went through my mind.

What if the new designs were ugly? It was ridiculous to compare two weeks' worth of sweat to a year's hard work and meticulousness. What if everyone laughed? What if I never got my second chance? What if coming back had been a terrible idea? What if…what if…

"You look beautiful, peaches." I hadn't noticed Ashton sneak up behind me. His raspy voice enveloped me, traveling straight to my lower stomach and pulsating down to the place between my thighs. I clenched them, momentarily forgetting my inner musings of doubt.

"You always look beautiful," he murmured.

My heart rate picked up speed. He was so close behind me that his hot breath fanned the nape of my neck, and I bit my lower lip to hold back a moan that threatened to spill. No one else was around, but it didn't mean the walls didn't have ears. The last thing I wanted was for the media to take a picture because then there would be no denying it.

Turning around to face him, I took in his handsome face. He was staring at me so intently that my skin prickled with unspoken promises. We hadn't had sex since that night in the elevator, and I missed the feel of him inside me.

"Are you thinking about me fucking you?" His voice lowered to a whisper, his gaze dropping to my glossed lips. "'Cause I am. I'm going to make love to you so slowly tonight that you won't remember where you end, and I begin."

Fuck. My clit hummed. Tucking a strand of my straightened hair behind my ear to distract myself from the burn in my face, I cleared my throat. "You can't say things like that."

He brushed his knuckles across my cheek. "Why not? You don't like them?"

I did. Oh, Jesus. I fucking did. "That's not the point. We're in public."

"Are you saying if I slip a finger inside your panties, I won't find you wet and ready for me?"

"Ashton!" I scolded lowly, though my voice lacked the urgency I intended it to.

He chuckled, pulling his hand back. "You're cute when you blush."

I rolled my eyes at him, my blood still burning. "And you're annoying."

"I'll take it." He shrugged, crossing his hands across his chest and gesturing to the backstage dressing room. "How's it going in there?"

I turned, staring at the door as if it held all the answers I was looking for. "Maria is in charge. I think she's gone on a power trip because now she doesn't want me around. Says I need to rest."

"She's not wrong. If you remove all that makeup, you look like a zombie."

I elbowed him in the ribs, earning a chuckle out of him.

"Don't worry," he said. "There's very little that can make me fall out of love with you, and I'm not sure it even exists."

The words knocked the breath out of me, and the cold in my veins turned to ice. It wasn't the first time I heard those words from him, but they rang out loud and clear this time. At least the first time, I'd convinced myself he'd been caught up in the throes of passion and hadn't meant them.

"Blink, so I know you're not dead, Selma." Ashton's voice cut through the drumming of blood in my ears. It was low yet full of sarcasm.

I opened my mouth to respond, but only a puff of air came out. What did one say to such an admission without sounding like a fool? A certain feeling of dread overwhelmed me, drawing me back to a time when those words had meant something.

I love you, Selma. I cherish what we have. But all of that had been a lie. Every single word, every promise of love.

All fucking lies.

Because that was what men did—they lied. Once they got what they wanted from you, or decided you were too much to handle, all those promises turned to dust. How many times had I believed them? How many times had my father promised to have dinner with me, or even buy me a birthday present?

And yet I had swallowed down his words like they were manna, and I was starving. In hindsight, I supposed I was in a way. It was probably why the years of disappointment did little to persuade me that I was wasting my time.

Then Alex came along with his own share of promises. He broke down my walls and made me trust him. He made me envision a life where it was only us against the entire world. I'd been drunk on love and money at the time, too blind to see that I was digging my own grave.

And now, Ashton was here with his own promise of love. Leaving aside the fact that it could all be bullshit, how was I supposed to love him when I wasn't even sure I loved myself? If this was the past when I'd been confident and audacious, maybe the thought that someone like Ashton could love someone like me would have made a little sense.

But as it was, my self-esteem was so low, and three years had not been enough time to drag it out from the hole it was buried in.

So, no. Nothing would ever happen between us. I no longer believed in love, and I was tired of men disappointing me. The only thing tying us together was the baby in my womb. When it was born, we would work out a visiting schedule of some sort. But that was it.

That was all it can ever be.

By the time I came down to reality, Ashton was gone. I tried to push down the ball of regret lodged at the base of my throat, but it would only come back up again, so I left it. Marching forward, I twisted the knob of the door and pushed it open, revealing Maria and the girls. At the other end of the room was an opening that led to the runway stage, covered by a thick red curtain.

"Ready?" I asked, clapping my hands together.

Everyone nodded in affirmation, and someone whooped.

Plastering a smile, I nodded. "Alright. Let's do this."

Ten minutes later, it was time. One by one, I arranged the girls according to basic colors and patterns first, saving the best for the last. The runway walk took about fifteen minutes, give or take, mostly because I had fifteen girls walking.

However, as they walked, I realized that the true beauty in the designs lay in the inexperience of my models. These girls had never modeled a day in their lives, having submitted applications to what they thought was a new modeling agency. There was no finesse in their walks, no professionalism, just pure passion.

And I loved it. Standing backstage, I let my eyes roam across the crowd. Everyone in my line of sight had their eyes on each girl walking down the runway. The designs spoke for themselves, eliciting emotions from fascination to unadulterated heat.

Honestly, this was my best work yet. And it was all because of one man. My heart swelled with an emotion I couldn't qualify. I couldn't have done this without Ashton. I looked for him in the crowd, but he was nowhere to be found. I'd find him after we were done.

Soon, the time came for the designer to walk the runway. With my heart in my mouth, I stepped onto the track, the applause almost knocking me off. The girls walked behind me as I moved, waving to the crowd. I was a fucking mess of nerves, and yet I put one foot in front of the other, barely meeting anyone's eye.

The crowd stood to their feet as the applause rang out. Cameras flicked nonstop in my direction. I pressed a hand to my chest, bowing. I'd done it. I'd fucking done it. Me and my team.

After throwing one last thank you at the crowd, I turned and walked away. Only when I got back to the dressing room did I let out the breath I was holding.

Fucking hell . I'd done this countless times in the past. Why was my heart beating through my ears?

A second later, the room filled up as the girls entered one by one, their excitement palpable. There was a squeal here and a shout there. Maria was absent, probably off socializing. I swear, I didn't understand how she managed to know so many people.

I owed her a lot. She'd been by my side from the very beginning, putting up with my bullshit and never once complaining. If I ever wished for a sister, it would be her.

The girls were caught up in the buzzing celebration, and as I decided to pay them for their services regardless of the previous agreement, I left the dressing room, closing the door softly behind me.

I had to find Ashton. I needed to see him, watch the corners of his eyes crinkle as he laughed, wrap my arms around him, and thank him for everything he'd done for me.

But as I made to take one step forward, my feet paused, and my eyes narrowed at the person standing right in front of the dressing room.

"It looks like you were never meant to stay down," he said. "I can't say I'm not impressed. That was the most enthralling runway show I've ever attended."

My lips pursed as my eyes roamed over him. He was impeccably dressed in an all-black suit, with not one crease to be found. He had a Rolex watch on his left hand, hair that had probably been tamed with a fine-tooth comb, and shoes that shone brighter than the lights illuminating the hallway.

The epitome of soft masculinity: Alexander Shithead Winston.

No one would guess that underneath that soft and shiny exterior, he had a heart as black as charcoal. It was inconceivable that someone could go to such great lengths to ruin another's career and drag their name through the mud, but here he was as living proof—the man who had dedicated his life to ensuring my total destruction, even though he'd been the one to cheat and steal from me, and I'd been gracious enough not to sue the bastard for theft.

Without saying a word, I moved to walk past him, but his hand shot out to grab my arm. I stopped, packing disgust into my gaze and letting it linger on his hand wrapped around my arm before lifting it to his face.

"What is the meaning of this?" I demanded.

In the past, I would have paid attention to the earnest look in his eyes, but I'd been fooled by him for two whole years, so excuse me if I wasn't buying into his little act anymore.

"I just want to talk, Selma," Alex said.

I jerked back my arm, flashing him a death glare. "Thanks, but no. I canceled my subscription to your bullshit a while ago, and I don't think I'll be renewing.

Pursing his lips, he inched forward, and I stepped back. I was so disgusted that I didn't even want to breathe in the same air as him. Being in his presence grated on my nerves, but a part of me wanted to hear what he had to say.

"Listen, I know you're angry at me."

I scoffed. "Angry? Bitch, please."

He ran a thumb over his lower lip, averting his gaze for a second as if he were nervous. I narrowed my eyes. This Alex was very different from the one at the gala who had mocked me for even showing my face in public. What was his play?

"I hurt you, and I'm sorry." He sighed, meeting my eyes. "I know I've been a dick, but honestly, I've missed you these past few years, and I…" He took a step closer again. "I miss you, Selma."

Hold the fuck up.

"What?" I was so shocked that I didn't think to move back. He was so close that I could smell his breath. "Is this another one of your jokes or something?"

Alex shook his head, dragging a finger down my cheek. "I'm serious. It's not the same without you."

"Wait a minute. Aren't you with Iris?" I hated the bitch, but she was still my cousin, and even though she had hurt me, the thought of doing the same thing to her did not sit right with me.

Alex sighed, and the fight that was always in his eyes was now mellow. Yet I didn't believe for a second that he was anything other than a snake.

"She's not you, Selma. No matter how much I tried to make her out to be. She'll never be you."

The funny thing was, I would have forgiven him. If he'd said this to me three years ago when everything fell apart, my heart would have swelled with love for him, and I would have stupidly forgiven him because that was how deeply I loved him.

But he didn't, and that just meant I loved him way more than he loved me. Or perhaps he never loved me at all.

And right now, staring at him up close for what I knew was the last time, I realized with a scoff that I genuinely didn't feel anything for him anymore—not love, not even anger— nothing . He was that insignificant now and didn't deserve anything from me.

"I don't care, Alex. You've hurt me beyond words, threw my trust back in my face, and I'll never forgive you for that." I felt a tingling behind my eyes.

There were so many things I'd wanted to say to him. I'd spelled them out and rehearsed the words countless times in front of a mirror and never found the courage to say them to him. But those particular words had been stuck in my throat for a long time, and I'd given up hope that they would ever come up. And now that they had, it was ironic how hollow they sounded, just like my feelings for him.

"I love you, Selma," he said.

I scoffed, giving my head a little shake because all I could think of was how much bullshit he spewed daily. If he thought those three little words would convince me of his faux sincerity, he had another thing coming.

They certainly didn't make my heart race like earlier when he said them.

It happened so suddenly that I didn't see it coming. One second, I was standing there staring at Alex, and the next, he was kissing me, his lips moving above mine like he was starved of physical attention. For the first few seconds, I froze, my hands folded into tight fists at my sides as my heart hammered against my ribcage. Shock mixed with a distinct feeling of helplessness like black ink swallowed me, from my legs to my stomach.

It was still swirling up my arms when I heard a familiar voice scream my name.

"Selma!"