Stepping into Beth's studio, I hear Karla's carefree laughter coming from the left side. I go toward the sound but am immobilized by Anat's hug from behind.
"Gotcha!" she declares triumphantly.
I face her. "Guess what?"
"What?" Her eyes widen in anticipation.
"I think... I sold a software worth one point five million."
"Oh my god! Wait... you think?" Anat's joyous expression instantly turns to confusion.
"Well, it's a bit hazy, but the money's in the bank, so–"
"I hear money," Karla joins in, with James next to him.
"Yes! Girl boss sold a software!" Anat's high-pitched voice draws in the rest of the crew as Beth, Valerie, and Valentina gather around.
"Why is everyone here?" I ask Anat above the chattering. She circles her index finger in the air, her eyes bulging at me. I scan the room, and as soon as my eyes land on the mannequins, I understand. Beth has dressed them with my completed clothes. Silk, linen, and cotton dresses of various lengths and styles in solid neutrals, plus red and black, atop twenty-five mannequins in different poses stand in a line against the studio's four walls. My feet mechanically carry me around the square shaped room as my eyes examine one dress at a time.
"They're so..." I don't want to say the rest.
"Elegant," James finishes.
"Creative," Karla says.
"Old money vibe. A wardrobe fit for a queen," Anat adds.
The words I'm thinking of are 'mature,' and another troubling one: 'not me.'
"I'm taking the black A-line cotton dress," Anat says, standing next to the knee-length cotton dress with the pleated skirt and pleated short sleeves.
"I want this one." Karla goes to the opposite wall, to the strapless red silk gown with a high slit that stops at the hip on the right leg.
"This one's my favorite." James points to the beige linen one-shoulder dress with a tiered ruffle skirt and matching tiers on one shoulder.
"You wearing woman's clothes now?" Anat's snappy tone at Karla starts their usual almost sibling rivalry fight.
"Yeah, so? Clothes are for everyone. Besides, I suck more dicks than you, I can wear a dress," Karla's sassy voice vibrates in the background.
I stroll around, taking in each outfit while leaving their fights behind. Then Anat declares to the group that we need to celebrate my success, and the cheers and excitement are contagious throughout the room. My mind is adrift as my heartbeat quickens with each piece I study.
Something feels off. If these dresses weren't meant for me, would I be more excited about them? I love clothes, so what is this... dreadful feeling in the pit of my stomach?
"What is it?" Beth asks.
"Oh... they're... perfect. I mean the details, the design, they're..."
"Not you," she finishes, and the unease in my stomach deepens.
Beth wraps her arms around me and walks me through the door leading to her smaller office. She closes and locks it behind us. Sitting in the only chair, a tall stool, in front of her drawing table, I feel a bit better. The black-and-white lines of a half-finished sketch of a dress, designed to fit and flare around my body, promise her next vision in this line of custom clothing made just for me.
Beth leans on the table and takes my hand. "When I was twenty, I met this... amazing woman. She was twenty years older, wealthy, educated, and... I was obsessed with everything about her. Worse for me, she was equally obsessed. It started with her offering to help my career. And she did. A lot of my success today is because of her."
Beth pauses, searching my eyes. "Then it inched toward her wanting and needing more of my time, which was fine. I loved every second of it. But then it became... more... and more... and more...." The sadness in her tone matches the expression on her face. Beth sighs as she rubs my hand.
Her assuring touch calms my heart. "What happened?" I ask after a long silence.
"What do you think happened?"
I search her eyes, and the knots in my stomach return.
A knock on the door is accompanied by Karla's voice, "Don't be hiding Ace all to yourself! Unless you're telling her I'm taking the red gown."
Beth and I exchange amused smiles. She lets go of my hand and bore into my eyes. "You wear the clothes. Don't let them wear you."
Before I can respond, she goes to unlock the door.
###
Mohamad is finally calm enough to look at it again. Jason's email sits unread. Two attachments.
Dr. Wong – Project Eve Presentation. Confidential: For 314 Eyes Only.
His gaze stills. The designation belongs to him alone. The shadow authority. When decisions exceed the board. When outcomes require absolute discretion. When variables cannot be shared.
He glances at Jason. Jason gives a single nod. Mohamad opens the encrypted file.
Halvorsen's report. Not a summary. Not a ranking. A full genomic pairing analysis. His DNA. Hers. Comprehensive modeling. Polygenic convergence. Disease probability matrices. Artificial gestation survivability projections.
He scrolls. Predicted offspring phenotypes. Facial reconstructions. Developmental variance curves. Cognitive probability ranges. Immune resilience projections.
Then—Comparative index. Their projected child… against the remaining 1,424 simulated combinations.
His fingers still on the trackpad. This. This is what he wanted.
No — more than that. Halvorsen anticipated him. Ran the pairing. Built the model. Completed the analysis before he asked.
Halvorsen knew.
Mohamad's jaw tightens. But he also ran her against the others. The thought cuts clean. Mohamad closes his eyes. The anger surges instantly — sharp, violent, familiar. He holds it there. Contains it. Forces it down. Breath slow. Controlled.
This is why he never removed Halvorsen from Dorm 314. Brilliant. Thorough. Infuriatingly thorough.
Halvorsen doesn't guess. He completes. Mohamad inhales once. Then again. Slower.
Technically — this is his mistake. He didn't specify constraints. He didn't restrict candidate pools. He didn't isolate her genome. He didn't state exclusivity. He didn't say: only her. His fingers curl slightly against the desk. He should have.
Mohamad exhales slowly. Control returns in layers. Anger compresses. Replaced by calculation.They ran her against 285 men. Irrelevant. The outcome is already determined.