Semua Bab My Enemy Is My Lover : Bab 101 - Bab 110

Rosa’s POVYears since I had seen Sarah. In the back of my mind, I still remembered our last conversation like some ghost I just couldn’t get rid of. As youngsters, we were as close as a couple of peas in a pod; buddies that shared everything from clothing to gossip. But at some point, it all changed. Soon, the gap between us was so wide we felt like strangers instead of sisters.Her name came up in my caller ID a few months ago, for the first time in ages—but I just couldn’t pick it up. What did she want now? So why now, after all these years of radio silence?And still, even with the pain she'd instilled in me, I longed for a reconciliation. While I wanted to convince myself that we could coalesce the remnants of whatever it was that we once shared, the scars were too deep and trust? Ha! Demanding the price of admission is completely foreign to me at this point.It was one afternoon, while I was in the boutique mind mapping designs for a new collection that I received the phone call

Rosa’s POVThe first warning sign was an innocuous meeting with my design team. My lead designer, Emily, put a magazine on the table and looked worried.“Rosa, have you seen this?”I looked down at the shiny spread, feeling my stomach drop. And in the headline The Next Big Thing in Fashion were some pieces that looked uncomfortably familiar—too familiar.I flipped through the pages, murmuring, “These… These are our designs.” The silhouettes, the fabrics, even the stitching details — they were strikingly similar to what we had flaunted just a few weeks ago.Emily tightened her voice with frustration and said, "I was thinking the same thing. Look at the credited boutique, even.When I quickly scanned the article, I froze. Even a boutique I never heard of, Elegance Exclusive — being touted as an emerging fashion force.“How is this possible?” I asked, my mind racing. These designs are brand new for us.Emily nodded. “That’s what’s strange. They clearly managed to gain access prior to the

Rosa’s POVAnd as soon as I entered my childhood home, the smell of old wood and lavender engulfed me. I hadn’t been here for years and everything seemed smaller than I remembered as if the walls had shrunk over time.“Rosa, no hurry,” my father said, giving me a little pat on the shoulder and retreating back to the kitchen. My head nodded, I was not even sure what the hell I was looking for as I was ambling through this house.The memories came rushing back; the laughter, the fights, my parents shielding me from what was really going on behind closed doors. It always seemed…incomplete but I never asked myself why. Until now.I never expected to find answers in the attic. A fine layer of dust covered everything, and cobwebs hung like long-forgotten veins between the beams. While digging through cardboard boxes deals with picturesque coffee tables and letters i ran across a small leather-bound journal.A diary.Dame, it was my mother writing in sloping letters. The pages of her journal

Rosa’s POVIt began innocently enough. Some letters written in what appeared incredibly fond handwriting. The first was very straightforward–a positive comment on the latest collection I had shared. It was not out of the ordinary; after all, the boutique had amassed a loyal fan base. At first, I thought little of it, a note from an admirer. But then the letters just wouldn't stop coming through. They got more personal, more fiery, creepy. And before long, it was more than letters.This is also the story from when I was attending my first week-long event in Manhattan, one of the largest expos for fashion over the year and saw someone in the crowd, someone I had seen before. It was a woman, tall with sharp features and killer curves, with dark eyeliner that looked like it could cut glass. Initially, I shrugged it off. I mean, it was a rushed event — As I ran through the crowd, she came back into focus from the edge of a gathering; Clare with her eyes on me.“Rosa!” I was about to brace

James’s POVIt was something I had always prided myself on: knowing where I came from; understanding the legacy of my family. I thought I knew everything about our wealth, our power, the empire we had created; that little part of my life which I imagined was mine. But when I sat across the table from my mom, her hands shaking a little as she passed me an envelope with a strange, faded insignia ironed on it, I knew just how little knowledge I had.“James,” her voice wavering, she continued “I have to tell you something. The family history around how we came by our money, I guess.I frowned and focused on my breathing. “What do you mean, Mom?”After some delay, she opened the envelope and took out a few creased yellowing sheets of paper. “Of course, I never wanted you to know this but today feels like it could be time. You have to know the real story about your father, about what it took to build the Harden dynasty.I leaned in, heart racing. Decades of effort, well-placed investments,