“Why just a friend? Why can’t I be Somania?”
Why was he so certain I wasn’t her? I had admitted it to him on his last trip abroad.
Steven frowned, his voice deep. “Myron showed me your portfolio. Somania’s signature is butterflies—her style is wild, unrestrained, full of audacious hope. You prefer feathers, a style that shows reverence for life. It’s a world away from Somania’s reckless approach.”
He continued, his gaze intense. “Unless a person goes through a massive, life-altering event, their core style doesn't just change overnight. You can’t be the same person. But you always speak about Somania with such confidence, you seem to know Horace well, and you know things about her origins. You must know who she is. Why isn’t she at the competition? Where is she now?”
I listened thoughtfully. I hadn’t realized Steven was so perceptive, even without a background in design. He didn’t know me, but he knew Somania’s style so well that he could distinguish my current self from my past self.
“Why are you so determined to meet Somania?”
“You haven’t answered my questions.”
“You answer mine first, then I’ll give you the answers you want.”
Steven’s lips thinned. “Because she once did me a huge favor. I have to find her and thank her in person.”
A huge favor? I had no memory of ever helping Steven. I was just a designer for hire. What could I have possibly done for a man from a family as powerful as his?
My heart stirred. “What did she do for you?”
He shot me a look. “You still haven’t answered me.”
My gaze deepened. “I do know Somania. I know where she is. I can even connect you. But… what’s in it for me?”
The handsome man narrowed his eyes, his focus fixed on my face. “What do you want?”
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