< 8 Chapter 8 - Rebirth as Lina Hart 8 Chapter 8 - Rebirth as Lina Hart The storm had washed her ashore, but Elias Byrne had pulled her back to life. 1 For days in his weather-beaten lighthouse on the eastern tip of Long Island, Caroline drifted in and out of fever. Her body trembled from infection and injury, but it was the silence-the devastating, unanswerable silence-that finally broke her. He'd chosen Iris. That fact repeated in her mind with mechanical cruelty. When Elias finally handed her a bowl of soup and asked, "What now?" she didn't answer. Instead, she stood on the beach that night, watching the moon-dappled waves erase her footprints. And she whispered, "She can have him." Then, louder: "The world can keep him." That's when she stopped being Caroline Monroe. - It was Elias who taught her how to disappear. He never asked for her story. Only her decision. "You want the world to think you died?" he said one morning, watching her fingers tremble as she tried to sew a ripped hem. She nodded. "There's nothing for me to return to." "I can help with that." And he did. Within a week, Elias had tapped into old military contacts. A forged passport arrived in a plain envelope. Name: *Lina Hart*. Age: 23. Nationality: U.S. He slid it across the table. "New name. New rules." 1/8 < 8 Chapter 8 - Rebirth as Lina Hart She traced the lettering with a fingertip. "Hart?" "Short. Clean. Untraceable. But still you." She met his eyes. "Thank you." Elias grunted. "Don't thank me yet. You're about to disappear." She sold what little she had left-her ruined shoes, the salt-stained pearls, even the emerald ring Mason had once given her. It fetched a surprising sum. "Let it fund something real," she muttered, pocketing the cash. The bus to Boston smelled of diesel and old coffee. Lina sat at the very back, hoodie drawn low, hands wrapped around a sketchbook she hadn't opened in years. Instead of wedding gowns, she drew armor. Not literal-nothing medieval. But gowns like storms, jackets like anchors, dresses like shields. She sketched until her pencil broke. Then she sharpened it again. Boston was unfamiliar but not unkind. A quiet attic above a Vietnamese print shop became her sanctuary. The landlord asked no questions and appreciated cash in advance. She bought a used sewing machine. A cutting table. Bolts of discount fabric in deep ocean shades. And she began to create. 10.12 2/8 < 8 Chapter 8 - Rebirth as Lina Hart Her first collection was rough-hand-stitched, imperfect, too emotional. But it said something. It whispered survival in every seam. She modeled the pieces herself in low-light photographs-deliberately backlit, face shadowed-and uploaded them to a barely-followed Instagram account under the name: **@LuxeReborn**. She tagged nothing. She waited for no approval. She just worked. A few local stylists noticed. Then an independent fashion blog reposted her coat made from repurposed yacht sails. "Edgy. Ghostlike. Possibly genius." The orders trickled in. Lina packed them by hand. Wrapped each item in sea-colored tissue. Tied every box with storm-gray string. People didn't just buy clothes. They bought resilience. By the second year, she had a team of three. Interns who respected silence and speed. She paid them better than anyone else would. And in return, they protected her. No photos of the designer. No names. Just whispered rumors of "the Siren," a phantom-creative who turned shipwrecks into statements. จาก 12 318 < 8 Chapter 8 - Rebirth as Lina Hart At night, Lina stood by her attic window, drinking tea laced with ginger and peppermint. She no longer dreamt of Mason. Or Iris. Only the woman she was still becoming. When Forbes emailed to request an interview, she replied with a quote: > "What's broken can be reborn-not to what it was, but into something stronger." She signed it: **- Lina Hart, Creative Director, Ardent Luxe** By the fifth year, she received an invitation: **Rutherford Holdings seeks collaboration with Ardent Luxe on a luxury sustainability line.** She stared at the letter for a long time. Not because she was afraid. But because fate had finally brought her full circle. She placed the letter on her drafting table. Smoothed it out. Then reached for her pencil. If they wanted her? They'd have to face her. 10:12 < 8 Chapter 8 - Rebirth as Lina Hart The jet that brought her back to New York was quiet. Private. Funded by the company she now partially owned. She wore charcoal trousers stitched from recycled sailcloth, a blazer lined in silk spun from ocean plastic, and heels carved from driftwood composite. No makeup. No jewelry. Only purpose. Rutherford Tower rose above the skyline like an arrogant memory. She stepped through the revolving doors at 9:03 a.m. The receptionist looked up, stunned. "Ma'am, do you-?" "I have a meeting on the 42nd floor. Boardroom B." She didn't need a badge. Her name-*Lina Hart*-was already on the list. Inside the boardroom, she greeted the executives with poise. Projected the profit charts with steady hands. Delivered her pitch in measured tones. Halfway through, the door opened. Late. And Mason Rutherford walked in. He froze mid-step. 10.12 < 8 Chapter 8 - Rebirth as Lina Hart Lina didn't flinch. She kept speaking. Didn't even glance his way. Her voice-cool, clear, deliberate-cut through the tension like fabric under shears. When she finished, she clicked off the screen. "Questions?" Silence. Then polite claps. But Mason just stared. Finally he spoke, hoarse. "Caroline?" She turned. Met his eyes. "No. That woman drowned five years ago." Then offered a polite smile. "I'm Lina Hart. Pleased to meet you." Outside the boardroom, he caught her in the mirrored hallway. "Wait. Please. I-" "You assumed I was dead," she said flatly. "You never looked." "I didn't know where to start-" "You didn't try," she said, voice firm. "That's the difference." He stared at her, grief flickering in his expression. "I'm sorry. I made a mistake." "Several." "Caroline-" She stepped back. "I don't answer to that name anymore." He reached out. "You came back." She shook her head. "I didn't come back for you." That night, as tabloids exploded with headlines- > **"Mason Rutherford Reunites With Dead Fiancée?"** > **"Who Is Lina Hart, the Fashion World's Phantom?"** -Lina calmly finished adjusting a hem on her newest piec A jacket. Woven from gray velvet, stiff at the collar, soft at the cuffs Strength with softness. Protection with grace, The mirror reflected her stillness. The storm had passed. And she was the one who'd survived.