In the photo, Khalil had his arm around Adriana’s shoulder, grinning widely as they strolled through a display of elegant, custom-made garments—every single one crafted just for him.
The Lawson Group was a major player in the fashion industry, and Adriana’s talent as a designer was extraordinary.
I used to tease and beg her, hoping she’d design just one suit for me.
She always said she was too busy.
That she couldn’t spare the time.
And yet she had designed hundreds for Khalil.
I remembered her earlier message about designing me a suit as a surprise—and that self-satisfied tone she used to announce it.
It all felt like a cruel joke.
My flight began boarding. I powered off my phone and stepped onto a plane bound for Australia.
—
At that same moment, Adriana had just finished helping Khalil pick out his outfits and arrived at the hotel where she’d arranged Allen’s birthday celebration.
She pictured him walking through the doors in the suit she had designed—handsome, glowing, and radiant.
But he never came.
Only her assistant showed up, flustered and pale.
“Miss Adriana... something is wrong. Mr. Hudson is gone.”
