Chapter 12
Ethan Sinclair had barely unlocked his phone when social media notifications flooded in. Frowning, he scrolled through the screen—every headline screamed about the chaos at Victoria Montgomery’s wedding.
"Lucas Whitmore’s ex-girlfriend crashes the ceremony."
"The bride storms out in the middle of vows."
His finger froze over one particular update: Mrs. Montgomery collapses at the scene, rushed to the hospital. Ethan’s breath hitched. That gentle woman who always made him soup, who chided him with, Ethan, you need to eat on time.
He locked his phone with a sharp click. The past should stay buried, just like this darkened screen.
When submitting his resume, Ethan hesitated over the send button. Finally, he applied for a design position at Santa, attaching the very piece that had become his professional disgrace—his graduation project, completed at 3 AM, now a permanent stain on his career.
"Your portfolio is… unique," the interviewer adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. "But this style—"
The conference room door swung open. An assistant hurried in, whispering into the interviewer’s ear. Ethan watched as the man’s brows lifted in surprise before extending a hand. "Nine AM tomorrow. Welcome to Santa."
Even with the employee badge hanging around his neck, Ethan still couldn’t believe it. In the break room, he was searching for information on Isabella Laurent when someone bumped into him from behind.
"Careful."
Coffee splashed across the woman’s beige blazer, leaving dark stains. Ethan scrambled for napkins, but she simply shrugged off the jacket, revealing a silk blouse underneath. "As long as no one’s burned," she said, bending to pick up his fallen phone.
The screen still displayed Isabella’s Wikipedia photo. By the time Ethan looked up, all he caught was the swish of a skirt disappearing around the corner.
Late at night, only two lights remained in the office. On his third glance toward that dim corner, Ethan finally walked over. The swivel chair turned, revealing Isabella’s exhausted face, dark circles stark under the fluorescent lights.
"About last time—"
"Planning to buy me dinner as an apology?" She shut her laptop. Her wristwatch showed 11 PM. "Good timing. I know a place that’s open all night."
As the foie gras melted on his tongue, Isabella suddenly asked, "Why give up opportunities back home?" Ethan’s knife slipped, screeching against the porcelain plate.
His mind flashed to graduation day. Two nearly identical designs side by side on the projector. Lucas waving the original sketches, accusing him of theft. Victoria clinging to her fiancé’s arm, sneering, A plagiarist has no right to call themselves a designer.
"Paris is better for a fresh start," Ethan swallowed the bitterness. He didn’t notice the way Isabella’s fingers traced the rim of her glass, as if confirming something long forgotten.