Aftermath of the Attack
The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and quiet regrets.
Doris sat beside Dante's bed, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath the thin white sheets. His arm was bandaged, stitches running just below the elbow—the only visible wound from the night that had nearly taken her life.
She hadn't let go of his hand since they arrived.
Outside, London pulsed with its usual rhythm—taxi horns, drizzle hitting pavement, neon lights blinking like promises waiting to be fulfilled.
But inside this sterile room, time stood still.
A nurse came in quietly, checked his vitals, and gave Doris a small nod before leaving.
"You're awake," Dante murmured without opening his eyes.
She smiled faintly. "I didn't sleep much."
He opened his eyes slowly. "You should've gone home."
"I couldn't." She squeezed his hand. "Not after everything."
He studied her face, searching for something—guilt, fear, doubt.
All he found was love.
And maybe forgiveness.
He exhaled. "Victor won't stop."
"I know."
"We need to end this."
She nodded. "Together."
---
Flashback: The Truth About Lila
Later that day, Doris returned to the studio while Dante rested.
Clara was waiting.
"You look like hell," Clara said dryly.
Doris handed her a folder. "This might change everything."
Clara opened it.
Inside were documents.
Photos.
Messages.
Recordings.
Proof that Victor Hale had been manipulating Lila Voss long before her death.
Emotional blackmail.
Financial control.
Dangerous influence.
And most damning of all—a ledger showing payments made to someone the night she died.
Someone who could have been the person who delivered the drugs.
Clara flipped through the pages in silence.
Then she looked up.
"This is enough to reopen the case."
Doris nodded. "It's not just about Lila anymore."
Clara raised an eyebrow. "It never was."
---
Confrontation at Midnight
That night, under the cover of darkness, Doris and Dante stood outside Victor Hale's private residence.
A sleek black townhouse tucked away in Knightsbridge.
Security cameras glowed red.
Lights flickered behind heavy curtains.
They weren't here for revenge.
They were here for justice.
Dante knocked on the door.
No answer.
He tried the handle.
It opened.
Inside, the house was silent.
Too silent.
They moved carefully through the hallways until they reached the study.
Victor sat behind the desk like a king on his throne.
His mask was off now.
His face calm.
"You finally came," he said smoothly.
Doris stepped forward. "We know what you did."
Victor smirked. "Do you?"
Dante clenched his fists. "Lila wasn't yours to control."
"She was mine the moment she signed with me," Victor replied coolly. "She owed me everything."
Doris shook her head. "She was more than your asset."
"She was weak," Victor snapped. "And you—" He pointed at Dante. "You destroyed her."
Dante took a step closer. "She destroyed herself. But you lit the match."
Victor leaned back, unshaken. "What are you going to do? Call the police? I've already covered my tracks."
Doris pulled out her phone. "Not anymore."
She pressed play.
Audio recordings filled the room.
Lila's voice.
Crying.
Begging.
Victor's threats.
Angry.
Possessive.
Victor's smile faded.
Dante crossed the room and grabbed him by the collar.
"If you come near her again," he growled, "I will make sure the world sees exactly who you are."
Victor sneered. "You think you're any better?"
Doris stepped forward. "Maybe not. But we're trying to be."
Victor laughed bitterly as they left.
But his empire was crumbling.
And everyone would soon know why.
---
The Fashion Show
Two weeks later, the biggest night of the season arrived.
Marlowe & Co.'s launch of the Echoes collection.
The venue: a grand ballroom lit by candlelight and chandeliers.
The front row: critics, celebrities, fashion icons.
Backstage, Doris adjusted the last piece of fabric on a model's dress—black silk with gold embroidery, inspired by Lila's legacy.
Behind her, Dante stood silently.
She turned to him.
"You don't have to stay."
"I want to."
She smiled softly. "Thank you."
He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "You did this."
"No," she whispered. "We did."
The show began.
Music swelled.
Models walked.
Gasps echoed through the crowd.
By the final walk, the audience was on their feet.
Applause roared.
Tears fell.
Doris watched it all from the wings, heart full.
Dante pulled her into a quiet embrace.
"It's over," he whispered.
She closed her eyes. "Not really."
"No," he admitted. "But it's different now."
---
Farewell and New Beginnings
A week later, Doris packed her suitcase.
The internship was over.
London had changed her.
So had Dante.
She found him standing by the window as she zipped up.
"You're really leaving?" he asked.
She nodded. "My work here is done."
He turned to face her.
"And us?"
She hesitated.
Then stepped closer.
"I don't know if I can stay."
He touched her face gently. "I wouldn't ask you to."
"But I wanted to say goodbye properly."
He kissed her.
Soft.
Slow.
Full of everything they hadn't said.
When they parted, she whispered, "I'll always remember our song."
He smiled sadly. "Play it whenever you miss me."
She nodded.
Then walked out the door.
Without looking back.
---
Final Scene
Weeks later, in a quiet apartment in New York, Doris sat at her desk.
She flipped open her sketchpad.
On the first page was a drawing of a man in a rain-soaked alley.
On the second, a woman in a red dress, surrounded by echoes of the past.
At the bottom of the page, written in delicate script:
"Some songs end too soon.
Others echo forever."
She closed the sketchbook.
And smiled.
Because he was right.
Some stories don't end.
They just pause.
Waiting for the next note to play.