I'm jolted awake by the piercing ring of the doorbell. I blink, disoriented, the early morning sunlight filtering through the curtains. For a moment, I wonder if I'm dreaming. But the insistent buzz drags me to full consciousness.
"Who could that be?" I mumble, half to myself, half to the empty apartment. Madison is still asleep, her breathing deep and even.
As I rise from the tangle of sheets, my robe falls loosely over my nightclothes. My heart thumps as I make my way to the door, a mix of curiosity and mild irritation stirring within me. Who would be visiting at this hour?
Through the peephole, I spot a familiar figure. "Damien?" I whisper, surprised. Then, clearing my throat, I call out, my voice louder and more assertive: "Who is it?"
"It's Damien Stone. I apologize for the early hour, but may I have a word?"
I pause, uncertain, my hand still clutching the robe closed at my chest. Then, with a silent sigh, I open the door, my movements slow and cautious. "Damien, this is unexpected. What—?"
My question trails off as I realize my state of undress. The robe has fallen open, revealing more than I intended. Heat creeps up my neck, a flush of embarrassment washing over me.
Damien, to his credit, averts his eyes. "I—I apologize," he stammers. "I didn't realize—"
"No, it's quite all right," I assure him, stepping back and tugging at the robe self-consciously. "Let me just—I'll be right back."
Closing the door, I rush back to my room, my cheeks burning. "Madison, honey, wake up!" I call out, my voice echoing through the small apartment. "We have a visitor. And for goodness' sake, put something on!"
I hear her stir, a groggy murmur indicating she's awake. With quick, efficient movements, I change into a modest shirt and jeans, shaking off the grogginess of sleep.
What could Damien be doing here? A sense of trepidation mixes with my embarrassment. I smooth my hair, take a steadying breath, and head back to the door.
As I open it, Damien stands there, his hands tucked into his pockets, his expression a mix of apology and determination. "I hope I didn't alarm you. I know it's early, but I wanted to catch you before you left for work."
"It's fine," I assure him, stepping back to allow him in. "Come in. Can I get you anything? Coffee, perhaps?"
He shakes his head, his eyes flicking briefly to my face before moving past me into the apartment. "No, thank you. I won't stay long."
Madison emerges from her room, rubbing her eyes. "Morning, Mom," she says, yawning. Then, spotting Damien, she straightens, her eyes widening. "Oh, hello."
A faint smile touches Damien's lips at her polite greeting. "Good morning," he says, his voice warm. "I apologize for the intrusion, but I needed to speak with your mother. It can wait, though. I can come back at a more convenient—"
"No, it's fine," I insist, waving away his concerns. "We were just getting up anyway. Madison, why don't you start some coffee? I'm sure our guest could use a cup."
As Madison disappears into the kitchen, curiosity sparkling in her eyes, I turn to Damien, a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty swirling within me. "Please, have a seat," I offer, gesturing to the couch. "What brings you here?"
He sits, his posture tense, and for a moment, we regard each other in a heavy silence. Then, with a resolute nod, he begins to speak.
I watch as Damien leans forward, his hands clasped together. The morning light catches his profile, highlighting the determination in his expression.
"After our conversation last night, I couldn't wait to discuss this in person." His voice carries a note of excitement I haven't heard before. "I've been developing plans for Elysian Threads' expansion, and a crucial part of that involves establishing a new design team."
The coffee maker gurgles in the kitchen. Madison's presence feels distant yet comforting as she busies herself with breakfast preparations.
"Your artistic background, Ella—" Damien pauses, his eyes meeting mine. "It's exactly what we need. The way you capture emotion, the depth in your work... I want you to lead this team."
My breath catches. "Lead the team?"
"Yes. Starting immediately." He shifts forward in his seat. "I know it's sudden, but the position needs to be filled right away. We're launching new collections, exploring fresh directions. Your vision could shape the future of Elysian Threads."
The weight of his words settles over me. Through the corner of my eye, I notice Madison has stopped moving in the kitchen, no doubt straining to hear every word.
"The design team would be yours to build," Damien continues. "You'd have creative control, resources at your disposal. It's not just about fashion—it's about creating art that people can wear, that tells stories."
I grip the arm of my chair, steadying myself. The opportunity sounds almost too perfect, like something from a dream. "This is... unexpected."
"I know." His voice softens. "But sometimes the best opportunities come when we least expect them."
The scent of coffee fills the apartment, grounding me in the reality of this moment. Here in my modest living room, wearing hastily thrown-on clothes, I'm being offered a chance to return to art—not just as a hobby, but as a career.
But what about Madison? The question echoes in my mind as Damien speaks. I'm drawn to this opportunity—it's a chance to reignite my passion, to build a career out of my art. Yet, as always, my daughter is my primary concern.
Damien seems to sense my worries and gives me a reassuring smile. "I've thought of everything," he says, his confidence unwavering. "We can provide a house in Horizon Bay, and I've already looked into schools for Madison. I believe she'd thrive at Horizon Academy."
I bite my lip, nervous energy bubbling within me. "Horizon Academy? But that's—"
"One of the best schools in the country," he finishes my sentence, his eyes holding mine. "Their arts program is renowned, Ella. And with your guidance, Madison's artistic talents could truly flourish."
I picture Madison, her face lighting up as she sketches. This opportunity could give her the resources and environment she needs to pursue her dreams. But it would also mean leaving behind everything familiar—her friends, our cozy apartment, the life we've built here.
As if reading my mind, Damien continues, his voice gentle. "I understand it's a lot to consider, especially when it comes to your daughter. But I truly believe this could be life-changing for both of you."
Madison enters the room, carrying a tray of coffee mugs. She moves with the grace of someone who has danced across these creaky floorboards a thousand times, navigating the path between boxes and stacks of books.
"Here we go," she announces, setting the tray down on the table. Steam rises from the mugs, carrying the rich aroma of fresh brew.
Damien reaches for a mug, taking it with a murmured "thank you." As Madison sits beside me, I find myself torn between excitement and apprehension. This opportunity is everything I've ever wanted, yet it carries the weight of responsibility—not just for myself, but for my daughter's future.
"The house would have a studio," Damien adds, his eyes fixed on me. "A place for you to create, and for Madison to explore her own artistic passions. And, of course, we would ensure that you have the support you need to balance work and motherhood."
"That's—that's incredible," I manage, my heart hammering in my chest. I glance at Madison, seeing the excitement and uncertainty mirrored in her eyes. "It's just—"
"A big change," Damien finishes for me. "And I completely understand if it's too much. But I wanted to extend the offer because I truly believe in your talent, Ella. And I think Madison's talent deserves to be nurtured, too."
Madison takes a slow sip of her coffee, her eyes never leaving Damien's face. I know she's eager for new opportunities, and part of me wants to embrace this chance for both of us. But another part is terrified of disrupting the stability we've built here.
"I'm—I'm flattered, Damien," I finally say, my voice steady despite the turmoil within me. "It's an amazing opportunity. I just need some time to discuss it with Madison and..." I trail off, not wanting to divulge too much about our situation.