The Billionaire's Dangerous Redemption (by Claire Winters) novel Chapter 116

116 An Ex’s Return and a Burning Question

Hazel’s POV (1)

The afternoon light streamed through the tall windows of my design studio, casting long shadows across the worktable where I was pinning the final details on a charcoal suit jacket. I stepped back to assess my work, pleased with the clean lines and perfect fit.

“That’s exquisite,” Cora Cadwell said, running her fingers along the sleeve. “Sebastian will look incredible in this.”

I smiled, smoothing down the lapel. “Your brother has excellent taste. Most clients give me general ideas, but he knew exactly what he wanted.”

“That’s Sebastian for you.” Cora wandered around the studio, admiring the sketches pinned to my inspiration board. “Precise about everything.”

I carefully draped the jacket on a mannequin and grabbed my measuring tape. “Ready for your fitting?”

Cora nodded eagerly, stepping onto the small platform in the center of the room. I began taking her measurements for the evening gown she’d commissioned.

“Arms up, please,” I instructed, wrapping the tape around her waist.

“Sebastian’s been impossible to reach lately,” she complained, holding her position. “I swear he lives at that office.”

“Business must be demanding.”

“It always is. Meanwhile, our mother is driving me crazy with her matchmaking

attempts.”

I jotted down numbers in my notebook. “Another potential husband?”

“The son of some diplomat. Boring as watching paint dry.” Cora sighed dramatically. “Which reminds me-you should come to dinner this weekend. Save me from Mother’s interrogation about my love life.”

I hesitated, focusing on measuring her hips. “I appreciate the invitation, but I can’t.”

“Why not? Please don’t tell me you’re working all weekend again.”

“It’s not that.” I stepped back, meeting her gaze. “It’s traditional mourning period. Ivy only passed away two weeks ago.”

Cora’s expression softened with understanding before darkening slightly. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I moved to measure her shoulders.

“Have you heard from him?” Cora asked suddenly.

I didn’t need to ask who she meant. “Alistair? No.”

Cora’s eyes narrowed. “He’ll try to come back to you now that she’s gone. You know that, right?”

My hands stilled on the measuring tape. “I’ve moved on, Cora.”

“I know you have. But men like Alistair…” She shook her head. “They always think they can walk back into your life whenever they want.”

“He wouldn’t dare.”

Cora fixed me with a serious look. “Promise me you won’t take him back, no matter what sob story he spins.”

Something in her tone sparked irritation in me. Did she think I was that weak? That easily manipulated?

“I would never take him back,” I said firmly. “Not if he was the last man on earth.”

Cora nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Good. Because you deserve so much better. Like my brother, for instance.”

I felt heat rise to my cheeks and busied myself with noting final measurements.

“Sebastian never stops asking about you, you know,” she continued with a sly smile.

“We’re just friends,” I replied automatically.

“For now.” Cora winked. “Turn around, let me see the back.”

The fitting continued for another hour before Cora finally left, promising to check her calendar for a dinner date after the mourning period ended. I enjoyed her company,

116 An Ex’s Return and a Burning Question

but her warning about Alistair had left me unsettled.

I was clearing away fabric scraps when my phone rang. Unknown number. I answered

cautiously.

“Hello?”

“Hazel.” Alistair’s voice sent an unwelcome chill down my spine. “We need to talk.”

I ended the call immediately, my heart racing. How dare he contact me after everything?

Ten minutes later, as I was locking up for the evening, someone knocked on the studio door. Through the glass, I saw him-Alistair, looking disheveled in a rumpled suit, his

hair uncombed.

Against my better judgment, I opened the door a crack. “What do you want?”

The smell of alcohol hit me immediately.

“You hung up on me,” he said, his words slightly slurred.

“And you’re drunk. Go home, Alistair.”

He pushed against the door. “Just five minutes. Please.”

Reluctantly, I let him in, keeping distance between us. Up close, he looked worse-dark circles under bloodshot eyes, stubble on his usually clean-shaven face.

“Make it quick,” I said coldly.

Alistair ran a hand through his hair. “The memorial service for Ivy is this Sunday at St. Mary’s. Two o’clock.”

“And you came here to tell me this? You could have sent a text.”

“Tanya wants you there.”

I laughed bitterly. “Tanya accused me of murdering her daughter. The last place I should be is at that memorial.”

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify