Couture and Consequences

My five-year marriage with Alexander was like a couture gown, ripped to shreds.

"I want Victoria to show your collection for the New York Fashion Week spring preview."

My husband Alexander's voice cut through the sketch I was working on.

I stopped drawing.

I must have heard him wrong.

"What did you say?"

"Victoria is new. She needs a platform. Your new spring collection is the perfect springboard for her."

"You're a showstopper every year. What's the harm in giving her one shot?" he asked, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather.

"Besides, the brand needs new blood."

I stared at the man I'd spent five years with. Suddenly, his face looked sharp, unfamiliar.

"Do you have any idea how many nights I've stayed up working on this collection? And you want to give it to some new assistant?"

"Evelyn, don't be so petty. It's just a preview."

His expression turned cold. "I've already decided."

I clenched my fists, a thousand emotions churning inside me.

Fine. If you're going to treat me like this, don't blame me for leaving you.