Agape never believed in ghosts, but some memories refused to die. Her face was on the cover of La Forme, her designs lighting up headlines, and her runway show in Milan was the talk of the industry. Yet, with every new spotlight came the long shadows of the past.
Patrick sent flowers—white calla lilies, then another bouquet with a note: "I see you. I never stopped." She tossed them both. Let silence be his punishment.
Naomi, never one to be outdone, made her next move online, posting veiled jabs about loyalty and betrayal. The public took sides. Hashtags ignited. But Agape remained poised, building her empire brick by unapologetic brick.
The Milan show was a triumph. In a candle-lit church, her models emerged like ghosts reborn—draped in monochrome that bled into color, symbolizing her journey from heartbreak to rebirth. The crowd rose in thunderous applause as the finale—a color-shifting gown—floated down the runway.
Later, Patrick texted her: "You were incandescent."
She replied: "Then maybe now you know what you lost."
The next day, Naomi announced her pregnancy.
The media spun into frenzy, but Agape didn't flinch. She brewed her tea, slipped into silk, and smiled. Naomi could weaponize her womb, but Agape had reclaimed her soul.
When Patrick arrived unannounced at Harmonique, eyes full of regret, she listened to him plead.
"I made mistakes," he confessed. "Do you still love me?"
She met his eyes, steady. "I loved who you were. But the man you became doesn't deserve the woman I am now."
He left. She didn't watch him go.
Later that evening, Samantha poured them both wine. "You're really done with him, aren't you?"
Agape raised her glass. "Completely."
Outside, the city pulsed with life.
She had survived the heartbreak, the betrayal, the war of whispers.
And she had won.
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End of Book: Her Rival