Chapter 63 The Threat

Chapter 63 The Threat
The day they left for Paris was gray and cold, snow threatening on the horizon. Hallie's mother pulled them both into a fierce embrace at the airport departure gate, her eyes bright with tears she refused to shed.
"You call when you land," she commanded. "And you come back for the next holiday. Both of you. I'll pay for the tickets myself if I have to."
"Mom—"
"I mean it, Hallie. This is your home. You always have a home here. Both of you."
Her father shook Seth's hand—then pulled him into a hug that seemed to surprise them both. "Take care of each other," he said gruffly. "That's all I ask."
Seth nodded, his voice thick. "I will. I promise."
They watched through the security checkpoint, waving until Hallie's parents were just two small figures in the crowd. Seth's hand found hers, warm and steady.
"Ready?" he asked.
Hallie thought about the collection waiting for her in Paris, the critiques and revisions and endless decisions. She thought about how far she had come, how much she had changed, how much she still had to learn.
"Ready," she said.

The first weeks back were brutal.
Hallie threw herself into her work with a desperation she hadn't felt since the early days of the internship. Madame Leclerc had given her notes—detailed, demanding, sometimes contradictory. She wanted more structure here, less structure there. Bolder colors, more muted tones. Hallie felt like she was being pulled in a dozen directions at once, her vision blurring at the edges.
"You're overthinking," Madame Leclerc said one afternoon, watching Hallie pin and unpin the same seam for the tenth time. "Step away. Come back tomorrow with fresh eyes."
"What if I ruin it?"
"Then you learn. That's what this is for."
But Hallie couldn't shake the fear. Each stitch felt like a gamble, each choice a potential disaster. The shadows hummed beneath her skin, offering help, but she pushed them back. This was her work. Her vision. She would find her own way.
The competition among the interns had reached a fever pitch.
Madame Leclerc had announced that Hallie's pieces would feature in the spring show—not all of them, perhaps, but enough to make her the unofficial frontrunner. And there was still space in the show for other collections, which meant everyone else was fighting for scraps.
The studio felt like a battlefield, filled with sly comments and cruel comebacks. Polite stares have been replaced by mean glares, and everyone was enveloped in a storm of feverish desperation to exceed. 
"It's exhausting," Hallie admitted to Seth one night, collapsing onto the couch beside him. "I feel like I can't trust anyone."
Seth put an arm around her, pulling her close. "Then don't. Trust yourself. That's enough."
She wanted to believe him.

Seth had his own battles.
Business school was demanding—group projects, case studies, exams that required months of preparation. He studied late into the night, hunched over his laptop, his brow furrowed in concentration. Hallie would wake at two or three in the morning to find him still at the desk, surrounded by energy drink cans and crumpled notes.
"You need to sleep," she said once, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind.
"Soon." He pressed a kiss to her wrist. "I just need to finish this section."
But the sections multiplied, and the exams loomed, and soon they were passing like ships in the night. Hallie left for the studio before sunrise, came home after dark. Seth was buried in textbooks and practice problems, his attention consumed by a different kind of battle.
They were living together, technically. But Hallie missed him.

The exams ended on a Friday.
Seth came home early, his face drawn with exhaustion but his eyes bright with relief. "I think I did okay," he said, collapsing onto the bed. "I definitely didn't fail."
"That's the bar?"
"Right now? Yes."
Hallie laughed, settling beside him. She had missed this—the easy intimacy, the way they fit together without trying. The past few weeks had been hard, but they had survived.
"Now we can actually see each other," she said. "No more excuses."
"Except your collection."
"Right. Except that."
Seth was quiet, staring at the ceiling. Hallie watched him—the tension in his jaw, the furrow between his brows, the way his hand kept clenching and unclenching on the blanket.
"Something's wrong," she said.
He turned to her, his expression smoothing into something neutral. "I'm just tired. Long week."
"It's more than that."
"Hallie—"
"You've been quiet for days. Quieter than usual. You keep looking at your phone like you're expecting bad news. And when I ask what's wrong, you deflect." She sat up, facing him. "I know you, Seth. Something is going on."
For a long moment, he didn't answer. Hallie watched the emotions flicker across his face—fear, anger, resignation, and underneath it all, something that looked like shame.
"My father contacted me."
The words landed like stones in still water. Hallie's heart clenched.
"What did he say?"
"He's not happy. About us." Seth's voice was flat, exhausted. "He wants me to end the relationship. Says being with you is a betrayal of everything the Slayers stand for."
"But the Slayers stopped chasing me. After I defeated Soren, after I helped them get home safely—they deemed me safe. They stopped hunting me."
"I know." Seth ran his hands through his hair. "My father doesn't care. To him, you're still a dark royal. An abomination." His voice cracked on the word. "I'm sorry. I know that's horrible. I just—I can't pretend it doesn't hurt."
Hallie reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "What is he going to do?"
"I don't know." Seth's grip tightened. "That's what scares me. He's not rational about this. He sees you as something to be cleansed, and he's always been willing to take matters into his own hands."
Hallie thought about Greg Sanders's blade, raised against her in his secluded house. Thought about the hatred in his eyes, the absolute certainty that he was right. He had tried to kill her once. What would stop him from trying again?
"You should have told me sooner."
"I didn't want to worry you. You've been so stressed about the collection—"
"I'm always going to be stressed about something. That doesn't mean you hide things from me." She squeezed his hand. "We're a team, Seth. That means we share the hard stuff too."
Seth looked at her, something fragile in his eyes. "You're not afraid?"
"Of your father? Yes." Hallie met his gaze steadily. "But I'm more afraid of losing you. So, we face this together."
He pulled her into his arms, held her tight against his chest. She could feel his heart pounding, could feel the fear coiled in his muscles.
"I'll protect you," he whispered into her hair. "Whatever it takes. I'll keep you safe."
"I know."
"I mean it, Hallie. I'll die before I let him hurt you."
Hallie closed her eyes, let herself sink into the warmth of him. The shadows hummed beneath her skin, quiet and watchful.
"I know," she said again. "But let's hope it doesn't come to that."
They held each other as the evening darkened outside the window, two people who had survived so much already, facing a new battle together. Greg Sanders was coming. But they would face him side by side.
That was the only promise that mattered.