The palace library transformed into something far livelier than its usual quiet dignity. Scrolls, old account books, fabric samples, and loose sheets of parchment covered the long wooden table. Sunlight streamed in, catching dust in the air like tiny floating ideas waiting to land somewhere useful.
Anastasia stood at the center, hands resting on the table, eyes sharp with purpose.
"First," she said, "we rebuild the foundation. Not the image."
Mr. Harwin nodded approvingly. "I have already begun," he added. "I contacted a few of our old employees who live nearby. Tailors, cutters, one embroidery master. They were hesitant at first... but when they heard Miss Ella's name, they agreed to give it a try."
Cinderella's eyes softened. "They will join us?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied. "At least to start. Those who live farther away will take time. I will reach out to them gradually."
"That's enough," Anastasia said. "We don't need a crowd. We need the right people."
Drizella leaned over the table. "And what exactly are we creating first?"
Anastasia's lips curved slightly. "Something familiar... but smarter."
Everyone looked at her. She picked up a blank sheet and tapped it lightly.
"A gown," she said.
Roselin blinked. "That doesn't sound very revolutionary."
"With pockets," Anastasia added.
Silence.
"Pockets?" Drizella repeated, as if the word itself was suspicious.
"In a gown?" Cinderella asked, surprised.
Mr. Harwin adjusted his glasses. "I have... never seen such a design."
Anastasia smiled, almost amused by their reactions. "Exactly." She began to explain, her hands moving as if shaping the idea in the air.
"Think about it. Women carry things too. Handkerchiefs, small notes, personal items. Why must they always depend on someone else to hold them?"
Roselin's eyes lit up. "That makes sense..."
"It's practical," Anastasia continued. "And discreet. Hidden pockets stitched into the sides. No one sees them, but the wearer feels the difference."
Mr. Harwin slowly nodded. "This... could be useful."
"And new," Drizella added, now intrigued.
"New attracts attention," Anastasia said. "But usefulness keeps customers."
Roselin quickly grabbed a quill. "Describe it again," she said eagerly.
As Anastasia spoke, Roselin sketched-soft flowing lines, elegant structure, and subtle hidden spaces within the folds.
When she finished, she placed the sketch at the center. Everyone leaned in. For a moment, no one spoke.
"It looks... normal," Cinderella said softly.
"But it isn't," Drizella added, a smile forming.
Mr. Harwin studied it carefully. "This could work," he said. "It respects tradition... while quietly changing it."
Anastasia nodded. "That's the goal."
She paused, then added, almost casually,
"And we will prepare a second design."
Roselin looked up. "Another gown?"
"Yes," Anastasia said. "But this one... is our hidden weapon." Curiosity sharpened in the room.
"What kind of weapon?" Drizella asked.
Anastasia took a breath.
"A split skirt."
They blinked. "A... what?" Cinderella asked.
"It will look like a skirt," Anastasia explained, "but it will actually be divided into two sections for each leg."
Mr. Harwin frowned slightly. "Like... trousers?"
"Yes," Anastasia said, "but not tight like men's wear. Loose. Flowing. From the outside, it will appear like a regular skirt. Only the wearer will know."
Roselin's quill froze mid-air. "That sounds... bold."
"Scandalous," Drizella added, though her eyes sparkled.
"Risky," Cinderella whispered.
Mr. Harwin looked uncertain. "Will noble ladies accept such a change?"
"That's the question," Anastasia replied calmly. She leaned forward slightly. "They won't accept it... if we present it as a change."
Everyone paused.
"Then how?" Roselin asked.
Anastasia smiled, a spark of strategy dancing in her eyes. "We don't sell it as rebellion," she said. "We sell it as freedom."
The word lingered. Comfort. Movement.
Choice.
"I already have a plan to promote it," Anastasia added. "But I will reveal that later."
The room fell into thoughtful silence.
Then, slowly-
"I think..." Cinderella began, looking at the sketch again, "we should try."
Drizella nodded. "At worst, we fail. At best... we start something new."
Mr. Harwin straightened, determination returning. "Then we proceed."
Roselin placed the sketch carefully on the table, as if it were something precious. Not just a design. But a beginning.
Twenty days later, the quiet plan had turned into a living, breathing effort. The once-empty workspace now hummed with movement. Tailors bent over fabric with practiced precision. Threads shimmered under sunlight. Rolls of cloth stood stacked like silent soldiers waiting to be transformed. The old team had returned. Not all-but enough.
Familiar faces, aged slightly, yet carrying the same skill their father once trusted.
Designs were pinned across boards. Roselin's sketches had multiplied into variations. Pockets refined. Cuts adjusted. Measurements noted carefully.
Mr. Harwin moved between groups, guiding, correcting, encouraging.
"We have finalized the fabrics," he announced. "Lightweight for movement, but structured enough to maintain elegance."
Cinderella nodded, though her smile was faint.
"Raw materials are accounted for," Drizella added. "Threads, dyes, trims... everything is ready."
Then silence fell. Because everyone knew what was coming next. Money. Cinderella lowered her gaze.
"I... didn't think this through," she admitted quietly. "I focused on people, designs, work... but not the most important part." Her voice trembled slightly. "We don't have enough to begin production."
The room softened. Drizella placed a hand on her shoulder. "You thought of everything else. That already matters."
Roselin nodded. "We'll find a way."

But Cinderella shook her head faintly, disappointment clouding her eyes. "I should have been more careful."
Anastasia, standing slightly apart, watched her. And smiled. Not mockingly.
Secretly. As if she had been waiting for this exact moment. Before she could speak, footsteps echoed. Adrien and Rowan entered. Casual. Unbothered. Suspiciously well-timed.
"We heard there is a small problem," Rowan said, glancing around.
Adrien stepped forward. "We will provide the money."
The words were simple. But they landed heavily. Cinderella looked up immediately. "No," she said. Firm. Everyone turned to her.
"I appreciate it," she continued, "but this is my responsibility. I will not build this business on someone else's support."
Adrien frowned slightly. "This is not charity."
"It still feels like it," she replied.
Rowan crossed his arms. "Stubborn."
"Determined," Drizella corrected.
The room filled with quiet tension as everyone tried to persuade her.
"It will help us start faster-"
"We can repay later-"
"This is practical-"
But Cinderella remained firm. "No."
Anastasia stepped forward. "We are not taking help," she said calmly. Everyone paused. She looked directly at Cinderella.
"We are offering something in return."
Cinderella blinked. "What?"
"Ownership," Anastasia replied. Silence.
"They are not giving us money," she explained. "They are investing in our business. That means they will own a share of it."
Mr. Harwin's eyes widened slightly. "A... partnership?"
"Yes," Anastasia said. "If we succeed, they gain. If we fail, they lose. Just like us."
She turned slightly, addressing everyone now. "This is not dependence. This is collaboration."
Cinderella hesitated. "But..."
Anastasia softened her tone. "We are not meant to do everything alone," she said gently. "Even the strongest structures need support." She smiled faintly. "And what is wrong with accepting help from people who genuinely wish to see us succeed? This business is your father's originally, then won't you take our help?"
The words settled deep. Slowly, the resistance in Cinderella's eyes melted.
She looked at Adrien. Then Rowan.
Then back at Anastasia.
"...Alright," she said softly. A quiet wave of relief spread across the room.
Rowan smirked. "Finally."
Adrien smiled. And just like that- The final barrier broke. With new energy, new hope, and shared stakes- They began production.
Their old house had found a new heartbeat. What once stood silent, wrapped in memories and dust, now pulsed with life again. It had taken endless persuasion-Lady Beatrice's firm refusals, her worry about "reputation" echoing like a stubborn wall-but persistence, like water, had worn her resistance down.
At last, she agreed. Reluctantly. Dramatically. But she agreed. And so, the house transformed.
Rooms that once held quiet evenings now held cutting tables. The dining space became a planning corner. Windows stayed open to let light pour in, dancing over fabrics that whispered of something new.
The air was alive. Scissors sliced rhythmically. Threads stretched and tightened. Needles moved like tireless storytellers stitching dreams into cloth.
The designs came together-some reborn from their father's legacy, refined and polished. Others entirely new, shaped by Anastasia's ideas that seemed strange at first, then brilliant upon second glance.
Cinderella stood at the center of it all.
Calm. Focused. She moved from one corner to another, checking measurements, guiding workers, adjusting details. She wasn't just leading-she was rebuilding.
Roselin sat with ledgers and coins, her sharp eyes ensuring every expense was tracked, every investment respected.
Anastasia, as always, drifted between spaces-not idle, but observant. Thinking. Suggesting. Tweaking ideas that turned good into better.
And Drizella- Drizella laughed. Encouraged. Pulled tired workers into brief moments of rest, reminding them why they had started. She became the invisible thread holding morale together.
Days blurred into nights. Time ran like a river in flood. And then-
They were ready. A small collection. Limited in number. But unmatched in quality. Each gown carried care. Each stitch carried intent. This was not just a business reopening. It was a beginning.
A quiet rebellion wrapped in elegance.
A step toward something larger-
Not just success. But freedom.
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