Dinner was a whirlwind of food, laughter, and teasing. Robert proudly served the meatballs, the sauce rich and savory, the meat perfectly tender. They all dug in, the clink of forks against plates filling the space, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or family joke.

“So, what’s next for Threads of Change?” Vivian asked from across the table, her phone screen glowing with the latest social media buzz around Ellen’s show.

Ellen took a bite of meatball and paused, savoring the familiar taste. “I don’t know yet. The show was a huge success, but it’s still just the beginning. I want to keep pushing boundaries—sustainability, activism, unity… I want to make sure that the message isn’t lost. Fashion isn’t just about looking good. It’s about feeling good too.”

Vivian smiled, her eyes soft with pride. “That’s exactly what I’ve always admired about you, Ellen. You’ve never just wanted to be in the spotlight—you’ve always wanted to make a difference.”

Ellen met her mother’s gaze, a warmth spreading through her chest. “Thanks, Mom. I couldn’t have done it without you… both of you.” She looked at Robert and Ethan. “You’ve always believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.”

Ethan raised his glass of soda, his grin teasing. “What’s the fun in being a big shot if you can’t humble yourself every now and then? I mean, I did all the heavy lifting, you know.”

Ellen laughed and tossed a napkin at him. “You were the one who ate all the cookies in the studio, don’t talk about heavy lifting.”

Robert chuckled, raising his glass as well. “To Ellen. The designer of the year. Who somehow still manages to come back to the kitchen for her mother’s meatballs.”

They all clinked glasses, and for a moment, the world outside felt far away. The pressures of the fashion industry, the judgment, the doubts—all of it seemed to fade, replaced by the love and grounding of family.

As dinner continued, they swapped stories—Ethan’s latest high school drama, Robert’s new attempts at homemade pasta, Vivian’s garden triumphs—and Ellen let herself relax, her heart full. For all the ambition, the fame, and the success, it was moments like this that made everything worthwhile.

It was early morning, and the office was buzzing with energy. Ellen walked into her headquarters, her heels clicking decisively against the marble floors. The aftermath of Fashion Week was still settling in her bones—exhilarating but exhausting. She had worked hard, and the response to Threads of Change had been overwhelming. Investors were interested, the press was abuzz, and the world was finally taking notice.

But the work didn’t stop. The collection was only the beginning. Now, she had to push forward, securing the financial backing she needed to expand her brand and bring her vision to life. Ellen knew this was where the real battle would begin—the fight for her brand’s future.

Her assistant, Amy, was already at her desk when she entered. “Good morning, Ellen. You’ve got a packed day ahead. We have calls lined up with potential investors, the press is asking for interviews, and the production team is waiting on some last-minute approvals for new designs.”

Ellen nodded, her mind already shifting into work mode. “Thanks, Amy. Let’s get to it.”

As she settled into her office, a sense of focus and determination washed over her. The phone rang, pulling her from her thoughts. She glanced at the screen. It was a call from Harper & Son Investments, a firm she had been courting for the past few weeks—one of the biggest names in fashion capital.

“Hello, Ellen. It’s Amanda from Harper & Son. We’re very impressed with your recent show. We’d like to move forward with discussions about investment opportunities. When would be a good time for us to meet?”

Ellen’s heart skipped. This was it. This could be the breakthrough she had been working toward. “I’m free tomorrow afternoon. How does 2 p.m. sound?” she replied, trying to keep her excitement in check.

“That works perfectly,” Amanda said, before hanging up.

Ellen leaned back in her chair, a smile tugging at her lips. She had a few potential investors lined up already, but this one—this one could take her business to the next level.

But just as quickly as that sense of accomplishment came, it was replaced by a sharp pang of unease. The work’s not over yet, she reminded herself. She needed to stay vigilant. The next step was crucial, and she couldn’t afford to let anyone get in her way.

Ellen was just about to dive into a meeting with her design team when she received a message notification from Amy. The subject line was urgent.

“Ellen, you need to see this. It’s from Eleanor.”

Ellen’s stomach dropped as she clicked open the email.

It was a forwarded message from Eleanor’s assistant, but it didn’t take much reading to understand what was happening. The email was a direct communication from Eleanor Vaughn, former CEO of a rival fashion conglomerate and now an influential investor in the industry.

Subject: Urgent – Investment Blockage for Threads of Change

Dear Amanda,

I hope this email finds you well. I wanted to reach out personally to inform you of some serious concerns regarding a potential investment in Ellen Fox’s fashion line, Threads of Change.

While Ellen’s collection was well-received at Fashion Week, her track record and business acumen are, quite frankly, lacking. Her inability to build relationships, her unprofessional attitude, and her lack of understanding of the financial side of fashion have raised red flags in the industry.

I strongly advise you to reconsider any investment in her brand. If you would like to discuss this further, I am happy to provide more detailed information about her past dealings. Please don’t hesitate to reach out. I believe a more established partnership might be in your best interest.

Best regards,

Eleanor Vaughn
CEO, Vaughn Ventures

Ellen’s breath hitched in her throat as she read the email. The words were harsh, but there was a level of calculated malice in the message that stung deeper than any personal attack. Eleanor wasn’t just trying to block her; she was trying to destroy her credibility, to paint her as incompetent, unprofessional, and unworthy of the investors Ellen had worked so hard to court.

“Shit,” Ellen muttered, slamming the phone down on her desk. “Not this again.”

She stood up from her desk, pacing the room. The weight of everything—the success, the media buzz, the investors coming in, the collection, and now this—was starting to feel overwhelming. She couldn’t just sit back and let Eleanor’s petty revenge sabotage everything she’d worked for.