Please Come Back, My Love novel Chapter 18

14:52 Fri, Jun 12

Please Come Back, My Love

Chapter 18

“Did you see Victoria’s Instagram? She posted about ‘coming home to the man she loves.”

“I heard she’s been sick. Depression. That’s why she stayed in Paris.”

“Poor Elena. She really thought she had a chance.”

I kept my head down, focusing on hem measurements. The numbers blurred. My hands shook.

Around eleven, another wave of nausea hit. I rushed to the bathroom, barely making it to a stall before I threw up what little breakfast I’d managed.

I leaned against the cool tile wall, breathing hard, one hand pressed protectively over my stomach.

I can’t do this, I thought desperately. I can’t raise a child alone. I can’t keep working here, watching Julian with Victoria, pretending

everything’s fine.

But what choice did I have?

Around noon, Marcus stopped by with coffee. “Thought you could use this.”

The smell hit me like a physical blow. My stomach lurched.

“Thanks,” I managed, pushing it away. “But I think I’ll stick with water today.”

He frowned. “You sure you’re okay to do this meeting? I can reschedule-

“I’m fine,” I lied.

He didn’t look convinced. “The client today is Richard Morrison. Hotel magnate. He can be… difficult. Just stay professional and let Mr. Sterling handle him if things get uncomfortable.”

will. Thanks, Marcus.”

At 1:30, a black town car pulled up outside. The driver held the door as I slid inside, portfolio clutched to my chest like a shield.

was on the Upper East Side, housed in a renovated Gilded Age mansion. The kind of place that smelled like old

The Whitmore Club w

money and older

secrets.

I was escorted to a private meeting room on the second floor–all dark wood paneling, leather chairs, and oil paintings of dead white men. A sidebar held crystal decanters of whiskey and brandy.

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14:52 Fri, Jun 12

Chapter 18

The evening gown prototypes were already set up on dress forms in the corner, the midnight blue silk catching the afternoon light.

I arranged my notes on the mahogany table, trying to steady my breathing.

The door opened.

A man walked in–mid–fifties, expensive suit, salt–and–pepper hair perfectly styled. He had the polished look of old money, though something about his too–white smile felt rehearsed.

“You must be Elena.” He extended his hand. “Richard

I’ve heard wonderful things about your work.”

I shook his hand, relieved by the professional greeting. “Mr.

1. on. It’s a pleasure.”

“Please, call me Richard.” He gestured to the dress forms. “These are even more stunning in person. Sterling wasn’t exaggerating about your talent.”

“Thank you. I’m very proud of this collection.”

“As you should be.” He moved to the sidebar. “Now, shall we have a drink while we wait for Julian? I have a twenty–five–year–old

Macallan here that’s absolutely divine.”

He reached for the crystal decanter, pouring amber liquid into a glass.

“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t,” I said quickly, my hand moving unconsciously to my stomach. “I’ve been fighting off a cold.

Alcohol won

For the baby, I thought. I can’t drink for the baby.

Morrison paused mid–pour. For just a second, something flickered in his eyes–disappointment? Irritation?-but then his expression

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