Page 106 of The Innovator

Should I confront him? But he’d been busy, and I didn’t want to add more stress onto his plate.

Shopping had solved a lot of issues for me in the past. Maybe it would solve this one too. I loved the late October weather that called for a light jacket over a sweater and long boots. I entered a boutique in downtown Providence called The Style Palette and browsed the racks. The quaint shop carried unique collections and supported local designers. I loved the atmosphere where you could find novelty styles.

Not that I didn’t enjoy going to the big shops with all the big brands. I loved it, but I was used to that world already. Enjoying the little shops and discovering new designers held a different kind of allure for me. Newly discovered designers didn’t have barriers. They could be wild and free. Once they became popular, there was this stigma that they had to stay in their lane so people could pick them out of the crowd.

I felt like I was one of these up-and-coming designers, even though I had years of experience in the fashion world. My new collection was limitless. I didn’t care about barriers. I’d been there and knew what it felt like. Also, I didn’t need the financial support that most designers required to start their career.

Though I had experience, I still feared failure. As an artist—as a designer—criticism poked my skin, no matter how thick it was. I was pouring my heart and soul into this collection. I was showing the world a part of me that no one had seen before. This was me turning myself inside out, so it was natural for me to fear people’s reaction. What if no one responded well to my collection? What if the press wrote a bad review and no one bought my designs?

Stop sabotaging yourself. It doesn’t matter what others think as long as you love it.

I had to succeed for myself, for Grayson, and for my dad. These men believed in me, and I didn’t want to disappoint them.

I found some nice pink lingerie hanging on the rack.Maybe Grayson would like another lap dance with me in this outfit. After paying for my items, I left the shop and walked toward a takeout place. I was in the mood for sushi.

Someone bumped into me, shoving me right into the wall of the apartment building. I turned, and my heart hammered at the woman wearing a hooded jacket.

Aunt Estelle held a gun to my stomach. “Come with me. We need to talk.”

I should have screamed, but I was curious about what she had to tell me. The world was looking for her.

One look in her eyes revealed a crazy woman at the end of her rope with nowhere to go. She’d shoot me without qualms. That was her personality. She always had to have the last word.

I could let her talk because I had things to say to her too. I also wanted to test my self-defense skills on her. Not that I was good or anything, but my anger toward her needed an outlet. From the few self-defense classes and lessons with Grayson, I’d learned some moves.

She nudged me into an alley beside the apartment building and pushed me against the wall. I dropped my shopping bag.

“There’s a manhunt for you. I can scream, and the authorities would be here. What do you want, Estelle?” Her name stung like poison on my tongue, and I understood why Grayson had addressed his uncle the way he had. She had lost the privilege of being my aunt.

“You ruined everything, bitch.”

“Me? You murdered my father and fifty other passengers because you feared he’d reveal your true identity. You don’t deserve to be part of the family. Dad accepted you even when he knew your identity. But you killed him.”

“House of LaRue should’ve been mine! Your father was an incompetent man. He couldn’t take LaRue to the next level. Every time I asked him to collaborate with investors, he turned it down. LaRue could have been the most valued brand in Europe, but he chose not to see its potential. What kind of business owner rejects an opportunity to advance? Stupid idiot.”

“A businessman who values family and knows that quality doesn’t mean how big it is in Europe. That makes him smart. It makes you an evil woman who’s been working with criminals. What kind of person sells her niece to some sick man?” My hands curled into fists.

“You’re not my niece. I put your picture up for auction, and several men placed obscene bids on you. I’m a businesswoman, so I’m not stupid enough to let that golden opportunity slip away.”

“Just so you know, that Italian guy you paid is dead.”

She blinked. “You killed him?”

I didn’t reply and only smiled. She could interpret that statement however she liked.

“Bad people always pay for their sins. It’s God’s punishment. Yours is coming.”

“You don’t have the guts to kill anyone,” she seethed as her hand trembled uncontrollably.

I took the opportunity and shoved her away, picking up a shard of glass from the ground. “Try me.”

Her body quaked and a glaze formed in her eyes. Was she on drugs?

“Even your daughter doesn’t want to have anything to do with you. She told the press her mom was dead to her. Did you know she’s pregnant? Do you think she’s going to want her child associated with amurderer?”

“You—”

I chopped at her hand with my forearm, and the gun clanked to the ground. I kicked it aside and used my body to block her attack. She pulled my hair, and I slammed a fist into her face and chest. She screamed and attacked me with her hands, which I blocked.

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