Chapter 1 - The Question That Changed Everything
A woman dropped a broken sewing needle on the floor and whispered:
"Someone was inside the shop."
When Noah Moretti arrived the next morning, he found my father's old measuring tape cut in half beside the fitting platform.
But three numbers were written on the back:
"47 - 34 - 27."
Noah suddenly realized this wasn't a random threat.
The first time Noah Moretti asked if I had a boyfriend, I was standing three inches away from his chest with a needle between my fingers.
I should have known that was the moment my life changed.
Not when the stranger entered my apartment.
Not when the threats started.
Not when powerful men from Noah's world began watching my shop from across the street.
It started with a simple question.
A question that should have meant nothing.
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
I was used to difficult customers.
That was part of owning a tailor shop.
People came in carrying impossible requests.
Make me look younger.
Hide this scar.
Make me appear richer than I am.
Fix this jacket before tonight because my entire career depends on it.
But Noah Moretti was different.
He did not come into my father's shop asking for clothes.
He came in like the world already belonged to him.
My father's name was still carved above the entrance.
Mason Tailoring.
Thirty-two years.
Three generations of customers.
One small business that survived because my father believed every person deserved a suit that made them feel powerful.
After his heart attack, the shop became mine.
So did everything else.
The medical bills.
The unpaid rent.
The broken equipment.
The responsibility of keeping his dream alive.
I was twenty-seven years old and already felt older than most people twice my age.
I knew how to repair torn fabric.
I knew how to negotiate with angry customers.
I knew how to pretend I wasn't scared when the electricity bill arrived.
But I did not know how to handle Noah Moretti.
Everyone knew his name.
Some people knew him as a businessman.
A wealthy investor.
A man who owned shipping companies and expensive buildings across the city.
Others knew the truth.
The people who lowered their voices when he walked past.
The people who stopped asking questions.
The people who called him something different when they thought nobody was listening.
Mr. Moretti.
The boss.
The man you did not disappoint.
That afternoon, he stood on my fitting platform wearing a half-finished charcoal jacket.
His white shirt was open at the collar.
His dark hair was perfectly styled despite the rain outside.
A scar crossed his jaw.
His tattoos disappeared beneath the fabric waiting to be completed.
He looked less like a customer and more like someone who had walked out of a world I had spent my entire life avoiding.
I wrapped the yellow measuring tape around his shoulders.
"Forty-seven and a half," I said.
He looked at me through the mirror.
"What?"
"Your shoulder measurement."
"You sound disappointed."
"I sound like someone doing her job."
A small smile almost appeared.
Almost.
"You always answer people like that?"
"Only when they ask questions instead of paying attention."
His bodyguard stood near the door.
Paulie.
A large man with tired eyes and the expression of someone who had spent years watching dangerous situations become more dangerous.
He looked at me.
Then at Noah.
Then quickly looked away.
I ignored him.
"Arms up."
Noah raised his arms.
I continued measuring.
His expensive watch reflected under the warm lights.
His lighter appeared again.
Gold.
Heavy.
Beautiful.
And somehow annoying.
Click.
Open.
Click.
Closed.
I looked at it.
"If you break that thing, don't ask me to repair it."
Paulie's eyebrows lifted.
Noah looked amused.
"You repair everything?"
"Almost."
"Almost?"
"I don't repair bad decisions."
For the first time, Noah actually smiled.
Not the polite smile rich men used when they wanted something.
A real one.
It disappeared quickly.
I moved around him and adjusted the shoulder line.
The shop was quiet except for the rain hitting the windows.
I should have focused on the jacket.
Instead, I noticed something strange.
Noah Moretti was watching me.
Not the suit.
Me.
I stepped back.
"Something wrong?"
"No."
"Then stop staring."
Paulie almost choked.
Noah looked at him.
Paulie immediately became interested in the ceiling.
Then Noah looked back at me.
"You aren't afraid."
I placed the measuring tape on the table.
"Should I be?"
Most people would have changed the subject.
Most people would have apologized.
I did neither.
His expression became unreadable.
That was when I understood something.
Men like Noah Moretti were surrounded by people who feared them.
They were surrounded by people who agreed before they finished speaking.
They were surrounded by people who never told them no.
I had spent too much time fighting my own problems to be impressed by someone else's.
I picked up the chalk.
"Turn around."
He did.
I marked the jacket.
Then he asked it.
The question that changed everything.
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
My hand stopped.
The chalk touched the fabric but didn't move.
For a second, I thought I had misunderstood.
I looked at him through the mirror.
"What?"
His eyes stayed on mine.
"A boyfriend."
The rain outside suddenly sounded louder.
I removed the pins from my mouth.
"No."
His fingers stopped moving.
The lighter remained open.
Then I added:
"Not currently."
Click.
The lighter shut.
Hard.
I noticed.
So did Paulie.
Noah stepped down from the platform.
"Not currently?"
I stared at him.
"Yes."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I'm single."
"That wasn't what I asked."
I almost laughed.
"You realize you're asking personal questions during a suit fitting, right?"
"Is there someone?"
"No."
The tension in his face disappeared.
Just slightly.
But I saw it.
And that bothered me.
Because it wasn't curiosity.
It was relief.
I crossed my arms.
"Mr. Moretti."
He looked at me.
"Are you jealous?"
Silence.
A dangerous silence.
Paulie suddenly found the floor fascinating.
Noah's eyes narrowed.
"You think I am?"
"I think you asked a question you didn't expect to care about the answer to."
He walked closer.
Not aggressively.
Not threatening.
But enough.
Enough that I felt the space disappear.
I held my ground.
"Step back."
He stopped.
Nobody spoke.
"Mr. Moretti."
My voice became firmer.
"Step back."
For several seconds, I wondered if he would listen.
Then he did.
One step.
The air returned.
"You're not afraid of me."
I picked up my chalk again.
"I am afraid of many things."
I looked at him.
"But a man standing too close while I work is one of them."
Something changed in his expression.
Respect.
Maybe.
Or interest.
I wasn't sure which was worse.
He picked up his jacket.
"I'll come back Thursday."
"Your suit will be ready."
He walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
"Lyra."
I hated how naturally my name sounded in his voice.
"Yes?"
His hand touched the gold lighter.
"Find someone who deserves you."
I frowned.
Before I could answer, he left.
I watched his black car disappear into the rain.
I thought the strange conversation was over.
I was wrong.
May you like
Because two nights later, at 2:13 in the morning...
I woke up because my apartment door was slowly opening from the inside.
