"That's... that can't be right," Brierley said, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew it was. The hope that had bloomed just moments ago withered and died. The relief she'd felt transformed into something far worse; the crushing weightof false hope followed by devastation. She'd let herself believe, just for a second, that things might work out. That the universe wasn't conspiring against her.
She was wrong.
Tears stung her eyes as she slumped down in the chair behind her desk. She'd been about to mentally close the door on her business, but to have that forced from her control felt unfair. She wasn't truly ready to give up on her dreams quite as easily now that the choice wasn't hers to make.
"Hey, don't cry," Tori soothed, moving around to the back of the desk. Putting her arm around her friend and giving her a reassuring hug.
"I just don't know how to make this work," she confessed between tears. "I've put everything into this place, and it's not making ends meet anymore."
"I know," Tori said. "Look, when was the last time you took a day off? Let's close up for the rest of the day. I'll treat you to some lunch."
Brierley wiped her eyes and reluctantly agreed. They walked down to the promenade, where the summer sun felt warm on her skin. Sitting in a high-backed wicker chair with a glass of crisp white wine and her favourite prawn cocktail sandwich, Brierley felt the tension in her shoulders begin to ease.
"You know, this was a great idea," she said.
"Anything to make you happy," Tori replied.
Tori leaned forward, her expression serious. "Talk to me. What's really scaring you right now?"
Brierley pulled a prawn from between the slices of bread, turning it over in her fingers. "Ohpaua isn't just a business, Tori. It's... It's the only thing that's ever been entirely mine. My own vision, my own work. If I lose it, I lose the one place where I get to decide what matters."
"You won't lose it," Tori said firmly.
"You don't know that." Brierley's voice cracked. "What if I can't make the numbers work? What if I'm not good enough? Then I'm just another person who failed at their dream, and I'll have to go back to working for someone else, making jewellery to their specifications, on their schedule. I'll lose the freedom to create what I actually want to create."
Tori reached across the table and took her friend's hand. "Listen to me. I've watched you work for three years. I've seen people come into that shop, and their faces light up when they see your pieces. That's not luck, Bri. That's talent. Real talent. You have something special—not just in your hands, but in how you see beauty in things other people overlook. That matters."
Brierley felt tears threatening again, but this time they felt different. Tori wasn't just being kind; she was witnessing something true.
"You're going to figure this out," Tori continued. "Not because it's easy, but because you're the kind of person who doesn't give up on things that matter. And Ohpaua matters. You matter."
Brierley pulled a prawn from between the slices of bread and nodded slowly. "You're right. I've got this. I just need to get back to work, get the tourists into the shop, and figure it out from there."
"That's the spirit," Tori grinned, raising her glass.
They clinked glasses, and for a moment, Brierley let herself believe it. The wine was warm and sweet, the afternoon light soft across the promenade. Tori was laughing at something, and Brierley found herself laughing too.
Then she reached for her bag to settle the bill, and the corner of the letter caught her eye. The Merloft Corp letterhead, crisp and official, peeked out from between her purse and her phone. She stared at it for a moment—at the numbers printed in cold black ink. The rent increase. The deadline.
The problem was still there. It had never left.
She tucked the letter back down, out of sight, and smiled at Tori. But the warmth of the afternoon had shifted. The wine tasted less sweet.
Chapter 2
BrehtMerloftloosenedhistie as he left the boardroom. The summer heat was stifling, but that wasn't why he felt suffocated. Another acquisition. Another set of small businesses squeezed for profit margins that barely registered in Merloft Corp's accounts. He was sick of it.
"Good meeting today, Mr Merloft," one of his colleagues said, tapping his thick bicep.
Was it? All Breht could think about was the shop owners who'd just received eviction notices. What was another ten thousand to a multi-billion-pound company?
"Thanks, Biff," he replied, keeping his tone neutral.
"Mr Merloft!" A stern voice cut through the corridor. He turned to see his mother—Dura, CEO of Merloft Corp—beckoning him into her office with one sharp finger.
He followed. The office was stark and cold, bereft of ornamentation except for a single silver picture frame on her desk. His deceased brother stared out from it; the son she'd actually wanted. Breht had spent fifteen years trying to be enough, and he'd never measured up. He'd learned years ago not to look directly at it.
"Dura," he greeted her formally, taking the seat she indicated.
