Chapter 1 - The Package I Threw at His Mistress
The woman opened the door wearing a black lace nightgown.
My boyfriend stood right behind her.
He was shirtless, his damp hair sticking to his forehead, with nothing but a white bath towel wrapped around his waist.
And his mouth was still wet from kissing her.
For three seconds, I couldn't breathe.
Then I looked down at the package in my hands.
A beautiful ivory dress. Size small. Paid for by a customer named Harper Lane.
A dress I had personally steamed, folded, wrapped, and driven across town to deliver.
I looked back at the woman.
Then at my boyfriend.
"You son of a bitch!"
Before either of them could move, I threw the entire package straight into her face.
She screamed.
My boyfriend's towel almost fell off.
And that was when my entire life began falling apart.
But the worst part?
The cheating wasn't even the biggest secret waiting behind that apartment door.
Forty-seven minutes earlier, I had been telling three hundred strangers on the internet how lucky I was to have him.
My name is Mia Parker. I'm twenty-eight years old, and for the past three years, I've supported myself by selling women's clothing through livestreams from our little apartment in Cleveland, Ohio.
My business wasn't glamorous.
I didn't have a fancy studio, expensive cameras, or a team of assistants.
I had two clothing racks, a secondhand ring light, a folding table, and a sewing machine that had belonged to my mother.
Every morning, I woke up at five, packed orders until seven, answered customer messages, and spent the afternoon photographing dresses.
At night, I went live.
Sometimes I made three hundred dollars. Sometimes I made thirty.
But I never quit.
My boyfriend, Derek Walsh, was thirty-two, unemployed, and remarkably talented at finding excuses.
He wasn't handsome in the conventional sense. His hairline was receding, his nose had been broken in a bar fight years earlier, and his beer belly hung over his jeans.
None of that had ever mattered to me.
When I met him, he made me laugh. He remembered my mother's birthday. He held my hand at her funeral.
I thought those things meant something.
Three years later, I was paying our rent, buying our groceries, covering his car insurance, and occasionally giving him money for job interviews that always seemed to take place near bars.
That Thursday morning, Derek kissed my forehead while I was steaming a blue blouse.
"Big day, babe."
I smiled. "Another interview?"
"Marketing manager. Downtown. This could finally be it."
"That's wonderful!"
He glanced at the money box beside my desk.
"Actually, could you spare eighty bucks? Parking, gas, maybe lunch with the guy afterward?"
I opened my wallet.
There were ninety-three dollars inside.
I gave him eighty.
"Go get that job."
He hugged me.
"You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Mia."
I believed him.
God help me, I actually believed him.
At eleven, I started my livestream.
"Good morning, beautiful ladies! Welcome back to Second Stitch by Mia!"
The comments began flying.
Girl, that green dress is gorgeous!
Do you have it in XL?
Where's your boyfriend today?
I laughed while holding up a floral sundress.
"Derek's at a job interview! Fingers crossed, everybody!"
Heart emojis filled the screen.
One longtime customer wrote, He's lucky to have you.
I grinned.
"Actually, I'm lucky to have him."
I wish I could reach through time and slap myself.
The livestream went beautifully. I sold twenty-seven dresses, eleven blouses, and six cardigans.
Then a private message appeared.
Harper Lane: Hi, Mia! I just ordered the ivory wrap dress. Is there any way you could deliver it today? It's for a special occasion. I'll pay an extra $40.
The address was only fifteen minutes away.
Forty dollars was forty dollars.
I replied immediately.
Absolutely! I'll bring it myself. Thank you so much!
I wrapped the dress in tissue paper, attached a handwritten thank-you note, and placed it inside a pink shipping bag.
Before leaving, I texted Derek.
How's the interview going, baby?
He replied a minute later.
Still waiting. Big company. Might take all afternoon. Love you.
I sent him a heart.
Then I drove straight to the apartment where he was lying.
The building was beautiful.
Glass entrance doors, marble floors, fresh flowers in the lobby.
Apartment 8C was at the end of a quiet hallway.
I checked the address, smoothed my hair in the reflection of a framed painting, and knocked.
Footsteps approached.
The door opened.
A blonde woman with perfect makeup and a black lace nightgown stared at me.
"Yes?"
"Hi! Delivery for Harper Lane."
Her eyebrows lifted.
"Oh. You're Mia?"
Something about the way she said my name made my stomach tighten.
Before I could answer, a man's voice drifted from inside.
"Baby, who is it?"
My heart stopped.
I knew that voice.
Derek appeared behind her, shirtless, wearing a bath towel.
He was smiling.
Then he saw me.
The smile vanished.
"Mia?"
Harper turned toward him.
"You know her?"
I stared at the lipstick smeared near his mouth.
The bathroom behind him was filled with steam. Two wineglasses sat on the kitchen counter. His shirt was hanging over the back of a chair.
I could barely make my voice work.
"Your interview?"
Derek swallowed.
"Baby, I can explain."
I looked at Harper.
"Is this the special occasion?"
She glanced at the package.
Then, unbelievably, she smiled.
"Well, this is awkward."
Something inside me snapped.
I hurled the package.
It struck her cheek and shoulder before bouncing across the marble floor.
"You ordered a dress from me while you were sleeping with my boyfriend?"
Harper shrieked.
"Are you insane?"
Derek grabbed my wrist.
"Mia! Calm down!"
I ripped my hand away.
"Don't touch me!"
A door opened across the hallway.
An elderly man stepped outside.
Derek lowered his voice.
"You're embarrassing me."
I actually laughed.
A horrible, broken sound.
"Embarrassing you? You're standing in another woman's apartment wearing a towel I probably paid for!"
Harper folded her arms.
"Maybe if you paid more attention to your man instead of talking to strangers on the internet—"
"Finish that sentence," I whispered.
She stopped smiling.
I stepped toward Derek.
"I gave you eighty dollars this morning."
He looked away.
"Where is it?"
"Mia—"
"WHERE IS MY MONEY?"
He reached toward the kitchen counter.
That was when I noticed his wallet beside an expensive bottle of whiskey.
A familiar blue bank card was sticking out of it.
My business debit card.
I had been looking for it since Tuesday.
I pointed.
"Why do you have that?"
Derek moved quickly, shoving the wallet behind his back.
"It's nothing."
Harper's expression changed.
For the first time, she looked genuinely nervous.
I stared at them.
"What did you do?"
Neither answered.
I pushed past Derek, snatched the wallet from the counter, and pulled out my card.
My name was printed across the front.
MIA PARKER — SECOND STITCH BUSINESS ACCOUNT.
The room went silent.
I looked at Derek.
"You stole from me?"
He shook his head.
"Don't make this worse."
Harper suddenly reached for her phone.
"Derek, get her out of here."
But I had already seen something else.
On the dining table sat a cardboard box.
A very familiar cardboard box.
Inside were six dresses from my newest collection.
My collection.
My designs.
My handwritten inventory tags.
Except someone had taken my labels off.
In their place were elegant black tags printed with two words.
HARLOW HOUSE.
I picked up a dress.
My hands began trembling.
"Why does she have my inventory?"
Derek said nothing.
Harper snatched it from me.
"Put that down. It's mine."
I looked her straight in the eyes.
"No. I made that."
She smiled coldly.
"Then I guess you should've protected your business better."
I walked out before I did something I'd regret.
Halfway down the hallway, my phone vibrated.
A banking notification lit up the screen.
Transfer completed: $18,400.00.
My emergency savings.
The money I had spent three years putting away.
Gone.
And underneath the notification was a message from Derek.
Don't do anything stupid, Mia. We need to talk.
I stood alone in the elevator, clutching my stolen debit card.
For the first time that day, I wasn't crying.
I was looking at the transfer.
At the recipient's name.
Harlow House Holdings LLC.
Harper's company.
They hadn't just betrayed me.
May you like
They had been building a business with my money.
And they were planning to leave me with absolutely nothing.
