Page 19 of Not His Bride

“It’s your project. If Portugal fails, it lands on your professional record.”

That stings for exactly one second. Then I remember who I’m talking to.

Debbie tries a different tactic, her voice suddenly softer. “Lilith, nobody’s asking you to come back. I just—” She sighs. “I just need you to fix this one thing.”

“First of all, the project was going well when I left. Anything that happened after that is not on me professionally.”

Debbie and my father go off on that, and I lower the phone from my ear.

So far, they’ve replaced me with nobody. That’s what finally gets me. Dad still calls it finesse, like I smile sweetly at suppliers until they cooperate. Debbie thinks one phone call from me will fix Portugal because that’s what she’s used to seeing—the problem disappearing after she hands it to me.

But I know what went into that launch: the distributor negotiations, fulfillment, production schedules. The supplier relationships Debbie never bothered learning because I handled them first. And I know how to do all of it without the Jovi Group.

If you strip away the logos and the company name, there’s nothing left except what I’ve put into it over the years.

On instinct, I glance up at my prized possessions. Morning light stretches across the maroon wall, catching the glass over my framed playbill and Phantom mask. They’ve got a theatrical presence to it, way more interesting than the branded perfume and generic launches the Jovi Group does every quarter.

The idea arrives fully-formed. A boutique lifestyle brand, but sharpened into a darker, more romantic brand. Candles, fragrance, glassware, found objects. Textiles, maybe. Accessories, but only if they’re curated instead of mass-produced. Limited collections, small launches, dramatic presentation, gothic but not cartoonish.

The kind of place that would put a Phantom mask and a raven in the same campaign and make it feel inevitable. Like this apartment.

I realize Debbie is still talking.

She’s gone back to the beginning. “It’s not a big ask. You made the Portugal launch happen in the first place, so if you pick up the phone, it’ll take you five minutes to get everyone aligned again.”

I let her wind down.

She must realize I’m not answering, because her voice gets sharper. “Lilith?”

“I’m here,” I say.

Her relief is audible. She’s about to pitch again when I cut her off.

“But my resignation stands. You’ll have to finish it yourselves.”

Silence from both ends.

It’s the longest my father has ever paused on a call. He’s probably waiting for me to reconsider. Or maybe he can’t believe it’s actually over.

Debbie recovers first. She sounds brittle. “You’re going to let the whole thing fall apart because you’re angry at us?”

“I’m not letting anything fall apart. It’s yours to handle now.”

Something crashes faintly on my father’s end, but I don’t stick around to hear it. I’ve said my piece and have nothing else to give, so I hang up.

If anyone deserves to have her name on the work, it’s me.

If I’m going to launch my own company, I need to be certain my family can’t stake a legal claim on it. Three mornings later, I slide the dog-eared pages of my old Jovi Group agreement across the sleek glass conference table to Kelsey Ellison. She’s a beast of a corporate lawyer, but that isn’t the only thing she takes seriously. She’s also a fashionista. Behind her desk is a glass case filled with limited-edition pumps. From where I’m sitting, I spot at least one Barbie pair and a Betsey Johnson design, neither of which I’ve seen before. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re one of a kind.

“First, let’s address the elephant in the room,” Kelsey begins.

“Me leaving my father’s company?” I ask, genuinely confused, because she already knows why I’m here.

“The annulment.”

Ah, right. “Perfect, thank you. Has it gone through yet?”

“No, but someone at my firm will be happy to handle it for you. Announcing it at your reception didn’t start anything.”