Mia Kane glanced at the customer feedback. Everyone was saying that for such expensive clothes, she had used cheap material that caused skin rashes and sores—poisonous fabric.

Those customers had already gone to the police, and she was sure the entire studio would soon be under investigation.

Mia Kane looked at the items; they really did have the studio’s tags and logo.

But the fabric was visibly terrible.

"Who’s in charge of the online side?"

Owen Sinclair asked, his expression grim.

Rosalyn Shield quickly spoke up. "The tech department handles the online store, but the clothes are shipped from the factory. If there’s a problem, it has to be the factory’s fault."

"It doesn’t matter whose fault it is right now; the studio is inextricably linked to this. Owen, could you please make a trip to the factory and see what’s going on?"

"Alright."

That afternoon, the authorities arrived to conduct a full investigation. The studio was sealed, and nothing could be removed, as everything was now potential evidence.

There was nothing Mia Kane could do but wait for news from Owen Sinclair, hoping he could find the true culprit.

The studio was definitely going to take a major hit this time, but it couldn’t be helped.

’If you decide to start a business, you have to accept the risks.’

But she refused to take the blame for something she didn’t do.

The situation was blowing up online, and customers had already started canceling their orders.

Mia Kane had no choice but to approve the cancellations without penalty. If she tried to charge a fee now, the studio would never recover.

Mia Kane was overwhelmed trying to manage the fallout. Shayla Quinn, being a reporter, knew the media’s convoluted games.

"It’s obvious someone is paying for trending topics to smear you. Mia, why don’t you call Adrian Preston for help? You’re divorced, sure, but you were married once. He’s a stand-up guy; he’d never just stand by and watch."

Mia Kane kept her head down, focused on her work. "No," she said without looking up.

"Why not?"

"If I run to him for help every time I hit a rough patch, what’s the difference between being divorced and not? We’re not bound to rise and fall together anymore. I can’t be a burden to him. What if he gets remarried? How would his new wife feel? An ex-wife is best off being no different from a dead one, understand?"

"But isn’t this a special case? Surely things won’t get any worse than this, right?"

Mia Kane laughed. "I wouldn’t be so sure."

She had made far too many enemies lately.

But it didn’t matter. She had no regrets. ’If the only way to protect myself is to swallow my pride every time, life would be too suffocating.’

Mia Kane fully cooperated with the investigation, which confirmed the problem was at the factory. The worst she could be accused of was a lack of oversight.

She proactively compensated the affected customers for their losses and even visited them personally, doing her best to manage the aftermath properly.

Even when she was met with slammed doors and screamed at until she was red in the face, she didn’t lose heart.

Thankfully, these were clothes worn on the body, not skincare products applied to the face. As long as no one’s face was ruined, everything was still manageable.

With financial compensation and personal apologies, Mia Kane handled the situation well, and the matter finally subsided.

As for those who were still attacking her online, Mia Kane didn’t let them off the hook.

She posted the online purchase records. Some of the people clamoring online—claiming the "poisonous fabric" gave them skin sores and made it hard to breathe—had never actually bought any clothes from her, as a closer look revealed. They had bought counterfeits and were just trying to stir up trouble.

Mia Kane sent cease and desist letters to every single one of them.

With the matter finally resolved, the studio could reopen. But its vitality had been sapped, and many employees had resigned.

Mia Kane had never had so much free time. There wasn’t a single order.

Over the next few days, even more people left.

There was no future at the studio, only the prospect of being relentlessly berated.

In the end, only three of them remained—just like when they started.

The few others had all called in sick and were "working from home."

"Owen, maybe you should find something else, too. This place is just holding you back. I’m not a good business partner; I’m just dragging you down."

"Don’t talk about dragging me down. How many years have we known each other? We’ve always been in the same boat. Why would we be scared of a little hardship like this?"

"I have connections, too. I’ll go rustle up some resources. We’ll find a way."

Owen Sinclair refused to leave, so she turned to Rosalyn Shield.

"And you?"

"I’m not leaving, either. I was here when the company was founded, I’ve seen it through all the hard times. As long as President Kane is here, I won’t leave."

Hearing this, Mia Kane felt her nose tingle, deeply touched.

’True colors are revealed in times of hardship.’ That saying was certainly true.

Owen Sinclair started actively working his connections, while Rosalyn Shield went out to hand out flyers.

Mia Kane didn’t stay idle, either. She sought out her old clients, asking if she could design for them—even for free. All she asked was that they accept her designs and wear them out shopping or to galas. That way, more people would see her work. She refused to believe that, over time, not a single person would take notice.

It felt like Mia Kane had more doors slammed in her face during this period than in her entire life combined.

She was met with one rejection after another, but it only strengthened her resolve.

She even chased a client all the way to the airport.

"Mrs. Joyce, I designed this cheongsam especially for you—it’s one of a kind. I heard you were going abroad for a diplomatic function. This kind of distinctive Chinese attire is perfect for a gala, and the sapphire blue is so flattering on you..."

She trailed behind the hurried Mrs. Joyce, talking until her throat was parched.

Even when she designed a piece and delivered it by hand, no one wanted it.

Mrs. Joyce said hurriedly, "Alright, alright."

Mrs. Joyce took the gift bag.

Mia Kane let out a sigh of relief as she watched Mrs. Joyce leave with her bodyguards.

Once they were a good distance away, she turned to leave, only to see a janitor walk out holding the very same gift bag.

"This dress is actually quite nice..."

Mia Kane froze, then rushed forward and snatched the bag away.

Her meticulously designed dress, with hand-stitching that she’d worked on until her eyes ached... only to be accepted for show and then tossed in the trash the moment she was out of sight.

"Oh, you like it, young lady? I probably can’t fit into it, so you can have it if you want. I just found it. Rich people, I swear. Tossing out such a nice dress without a second thought."

The janitor was a kind woman with a warm smile.

Mia Kane pulled herself together.

"Thank you for offering it to me. Let me take your measurements, and I’ll design a piece just for you that fits perfectly."

"You’re a tailor?" The janitor’s eyes lit up.

Mia Kane smiled. In essence, she was just a tailor.

"Mhm, I’m a tailor. I’m not open for business right now anyway, so let me make something for you."

"Are you an apprentice, dear? That’s alright, I’ll be your first customer! If it’s good, I’ll pay you for it."

The woman’s warm words moved Mia Kane, sweeping away the gloom that had settled over her all morning.

Mia Kane led her to a corner and patiently began taking her measurements. Seeing how pretty and kind the young woman was, the janitor started asking if she had a boyfriend.

It was a common trait for people her age to enjoy playing matchmaker.

Mia Kane just smiled, about to politely decline, when a sharp sting pricked her eyes.

In the distance, surrounded by a throng of bodyguards, she saw Adrian Preston appear with a blonde, blue-eyed foreign woman on his arm.

The woman was laughing and chatting with him, even leaning in to whisper in his ear.

Adrian Preston didn’t stop her, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

Mia Kane wanted to run, but just then, their eyes met. He stopped walking.

Mia Kane’s face burned.

Here she was, an absolute mess. A supposedly world-class designer whose free work was tossed in the trash, now reduced to taking measurements for a janitor.

And there he was... still so high above it all, passing judgment on her pathetic state.

His expression was the same as ever, but to her, it felt loaded with a hidden meaning, as if to say—

’Is this the pathetic life you lead without me, Mia Kane?’