The Fashion CEO

PROLOGUE – A NIGHT OF BLISS

If I were ever told that one crazy night could destroy everything I had built, I would have laughed out loud and poured myself another drink.

But that is the thing about chaos. It never knocks before coming in. It thrives on surprises.

That night, the city pulsed like it had heartbeats. I have never been in a place that crowded before. The night was thick with intentions. The stars glistered in the sky. I, Rain Hart, fresh off an overcrowded bus from an unknown town, a town that I had always wondered if it was even on the map. I stood at the edge of my new life. I made it. I was finally here, the great city of lights, fashion, and dreams that girls like me, and from where I was coming from, could not afford.

Tomorrow, my classes will begin at the globally recognized fashion school, owned by Katherine Knight. The Katherine Knight. The goddess of Haute couture. I had spent years stitching pieces of fabric together, day and night, watching this woman online, literally worshiping her and vowing that I would meet her. Now, it was happening.

But first, I wanted to celebrate my arrival and drink to a new chapter. It felt like the first thing to do. Like an opening ritual.

The bar smelled like whiskey, cigarette smoke, and bad choices. It was very loud and wild; the type of place where no one cared who you were or questioned you, only how long you could keep up. The music hammered through my chest as if trying to adjust my heartbeat. I didn't plan to drink much, but the atmosphere was electrifying and sucked me in. Someone handed me liquor, another handed me a dare, and before I knew it, I was dancing on top of a table.

Screaming.

Laughing.

Free.

The crowd applauded and cheered excitedly like I was their queen. My hair flew around, part of it covering my face, and the hem of my short red dress glittered under the neon lights. I felt like I was walking on clouds, and for the first time in my life, I wasn't the broke girl chasing dreams. I was living the dream.

And that was when I saw him.

He was drinking at the bar, black shirt buttoned halfway, expensive accessories, eyes like sin; calm, calculative, powerful, and watching me with the kind of concentration that made my skin tingle. Most men stared like they desired to own you. He looked at me like he already did.

I don't remember who made the first move, but I remember being pressed against him in the bathroom, laughter mixed with unclear whispers and moans. There was this dangerous aura around him, not just the way he looked, but that quiet confidence that said he was used to getting anything he wanted. And that night, of course, he wanted me. Every part of him said so clearly.