Page 33 of The Broken Keys

“I swear on my pops’ grave.”

The doors slide open with a soft chime, revealing the hallway that leads to her office. But neither of us moves.

“Ready?” I squeeze her hand.

She takes a shaky breath and peeks out. “Ready.”

We stroll down the hall and enter an exquisite designer's studio. Livianna checks the phone for messages, the receiver pressed to her ear while she scribbles notes on a pad.

I scan the front entryway. “So, this is Lehlani Rose Design headquarters.”

The space around me hums with her vitality, even with her staff away on business. It’s interesting to see her switch from Livianna, the girl I fell in love with at sixteen, into CEO and fashion mogul. She’s still the same, but something about her reminds me of her pops.

Floor-to-ceiling windows flood the reception area with natural light. Everything is clean lines and bright colors that somehow manage to feel warm instead of cold. It’s sophisticated without being intimidating, creative without being chaotic.

“Every square foot.” She hangs up and turns to face me, pride and nervousness warring in her expression. “What do you think?”

I’m still processing the sleek reception desk, the carefully curated art on the walls, and the way her brand is etched in brushed-steel letters behind the front desk.

Lehlani Rose Designs. It’s not just a company. It’s a statement.

“It’s incredible, Lily. I knew you were successful, but seeing it…” I gesture around us, searching for words that don’t sound inadequate. “This is empire-level shit.”

She laughs, some of the trepidation melting away. “Don’t get too impressed. Half of it's still held together with coffee and sheer stubbornness.”

“Show me everything.”

She leads me past the entrance into the main area, and I have to stop and stare. Bolts of fabric in every color imaginable line one wall, organized by texture and hue, looking like art.

Mood boards cover another wall, filled with sketches, swatches, and photographs that tell stories I can barely comprehend. Design tables are scattered throughout the space, each one supporting focused creativity.

“This is where the magic happens.” She moves to a workstation, picking up a half-finished sketch. “We develop everything here first, from concept to pattern.”

“I’ve been in plenty of offices. They’re usually cold. This one feels alive, like it knows who runs it.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Her blush betrays her.

“Not ridiculous. Proud. I always knew you had it in you to build something like this.”

Her gaze snags on mine. “You weren’t exactly around to see it happen.”

The truth stings, but I take it. “I know. Doesn’t mean I don’t see it now. Doesn’t mean I don’t respect the hell out of you for it.”

Her silence says more than words. She runs her hand along the cutting table, eyes soft with ownership. I swear I’ve never wanted to protect something more.

I pick up a piece of material, feeling the weight between my fingers. “This feels expensive.”

“Italian silk. For the new line.” She takes it from me,handling it like it’s precious. “Every piece has to be perfect. No room for error.”

The way she talks about her work, the reverence in her voice, makes something shift in my chest. This isn’t just a job for her. It’s her calling, her identity, and proof that she can build something beautiful from her imagination.

My insides swell. “Show me more.”

We move through the space, and she relaxes into tour guide mode, explaining the process from initial concept to final product. She shows me the marketing director’s office, the operations officer’s space, and a conference room with windows that overlook the city.

“This is where we have client meetings.” She rests her hands on the polished table. “It’s where I convinced my biggest client to take a chance on someone who was relatively unknown.”

“Unknown my ass.” I lean against the doorframe, admiring her as she moves through the area like she owns it. Because she does. “You didn’t just grow up, Lily. You became who you were always meant to be.”