Let Me Go, Mr. Howard Chapter 14

However, Sebastian merely gave her a dismissive glance before turning to Edith, his voice emotionless. "Don't worry about her." 

He paused, then added, "She's your subordinate. You can direct her work however you see fit. No need to be considerate."

Those words crashed down on Scarlett like a sledgehammer, pulverizing her last shred of hope.

She watched Sebastian casually take the fruit tea from Edith's hand, watched them walk away side by side, watched their silhouettes disappear down the hallway. Not once did he look back at her.

Slowly, Scarlett unclenched her fist. The crumpled fabric swatch slipped from her palm and fell to the floor. 

So in his eyes, her passion, her dedication—these were truly just things to be sacrificed and commanded at will.

Starlight. She whispered the show's name, suddenly struck by its bitter irony.

The next day, Scarlett mustered her strength and led her team to the fitting session. In the Starlight Show's dressing room, the overheated air was stifling.

Scarlett stood before the mirror, watching the woman wearing the centerpiece gown, her nails digging deep into her palm. 

It was a midnight blue strapless dress with cascading layers adorned with delicate crystals—designed to look like someone had wrapped the entire galaxy around their body.

But now, on Edith's friend Cindy—a social media personality who'd gained fame selling products through livestreams—it looked like a wrinkled dishrag. 

Cindy tottered on three-inch heels, unable to maintain even a basic posture. After just two steps, she stumbled, nearly knocking over a nearby clothing rack.

"This dress is way too long," she complained in a babyish voice, tugging at the waistband. "And it's so tight I can barely breathe."

"This is haute couture. It requires a model with presence to carry it—not loungewear," Scarlett's voice was ice-cold. 

She stepped forward to adjust the shoulder line, but the moment her fingers touched the fabric, Cindy swatted her hand away.

"Who do you think you are? Don't touch me," Cindy rolled her eyes. "Edith already told me I'm the lead model for this show. You're just an assistant manager. Mind your own business."

Scarlett's hand froze midair, her chest tightening. The lead model was supposed to be international supermodel Lina—whom she'd spent three months recruiting. 

But with one word from Edith, she'd been replaced by this Cindy who couldn't even walk straight, all for "helping a friend build her following."

"Ms. Scarlett Seymour," Peter walked in holding a fruit tea, his smile sycophantic. "Let's not make this too complicated. Ms. Edith Seymour said we're going for 'fun and festive'—no need to be such a perfectionist."

"Perfectionist?" Scarlett turned to face Peter, her gaze piercing. "She can't even hold up the shoulder line. The layered effect of the skirt is completely lost. How can she go on stage? This gown is the heart of Starlight—with her wearing it like this, the entire show will be a joke!"

"So it's a joke. So what?" Peter shrugged indifferently. "Mr. Howard doesn't expect this show to make much money anyway. It's mainly publicity for Ms. Edith Seymour's engagement party. Stop overthinking it. Good enough is good enough."

The countless nights she'd stayed up redesigning, the dozens of fabric mills she'd visited, all the talent she'd painstakingly assembled—reduced to "good enough is good enough."

Cindy continued to twist and pose before the mirror, taking selfies and humming off-key, treating the fitting session like a game. 

Scarlett stared at the butchered gown and suddenly felt nauseated. She turned and walked out of the fitting room as Peter's obsequious voice followed her, "Cindy, would you like to try the pink one next?"

---

The fitting session dragged into the night. Scarlett crouched on the floor, needle and thread in hand, modifying the waistline of the gown. Her stitches were tiny and precise, each one feeling like it pierced her own heart. 

Cindy's waist was considerably thicker than Lina's. She had to let out the waistline by two inches, completely destroying the celestial cinching effect she'd originally designed.

Her phone vibrated—a message from Chris: [Still at the office? I'm in the parking lot. I'll take you home.]

Reading the message, Scarlett's eyes suddenly burned with emotion. She replied with a simple "okay," gathered her sewing supplies, and dragged her exhausted body out of the building.

The late-night streets were eerily quiet, illuminated only by the amber glow of streetlamps. Just outside the entrance, she spotted a familiar black sedan—Sebastian's car.

The window wasn't fully closed. Edith was leaning on Sebastian's shoulder, talking on the phone in a sickeningly sweet voice, "Yes, I have Scarlett supervising the fittings. She's so meticulous, trimming every loose thread... What?" 

"No, she doesn't have any objections. How could she? After all, Seb gave the order. She's just an assistant manager—she has to follow my instructions." 

"Yes, after this show is the engagement. You must come to my engagement party..."

Every word was like a poisoned needle, precisely targeting Scarlett's ears. 

Standing in the shadows, she watched Edith's smug expression, watched Sebastian listening with downcast eyes, offering no contradiction—even casually stroking Edith's hair with natural affection.

So he knew everything. He knew about the humiliation she endured in the fitting room, knew Edith was using her name to boast, knew her passion was being treated as a joke. Yet he said nothing. Did nothing.

"Stop watching." A hand suddenly rested on her shoulder. Chris had appeared beside her, pulling her toward his car. "People like that aren't worth your anger."

Scarlett let herself be guided into the passenger seat. Chris handed her a bottle of ice water. "Don't hold it in. I know several supermodels who could save this show. We can bring them in tomorrow and replace that social media personality."

Scarlett twisted off the cap and took a sip. The cold liquid slid down her throat but couldn't extinguish the fire burning inside her. 

She watched Sebastian's car pull away, its taillights merging into traffic. Suddenly she laughed—a sound filled with bitter self-mockery. "It's pointless. Whoever he wants as the lead model gets to be the lead model."

"Scarlett..."

"I'm fine," Scarlett interrupted, turning to face him with a smile more painful than tears. "Really. I should be used to this by now."

---

When she returned to her loft apartment, it was nearly one in the morning. Pushing open the creaking door, she was greeted by the musty smell of dampness.

Scarlett didn't turn on the lights. Guided only by moonlight filtering through the window, she made her way to her desk. 

She pulled out a dust-covered cardboard box containing her design portfolios from the past three years.

The topmost book had a worn cover—her first purchase when she joined the company. On the first page was her employee badge, showing a ponytailed girl with clear, hopeful eyes. 

On the back of the discarded badge, she had written a small note: [Make designs shine on the runway.]