"I will give your proposal the thought it deserves," Isabella stated with practiced politeness.

She exited the Bulgari meeting and rushed to her next appointment with the renowned brand Cartier.

"Miss Scott, we have a significant interest in the Dewy Hibiscus collection," Adrian Cole, the Cartier representative, declared. He was a sharp, middle-aged man who favored directness. "Our offer is five million for a full buyout of the derivative design rights."

Five million.

Isabella would have laughed if not for the bitter taste flooding her mouth. The figure was insultingly low.

"You must be mistaken, Mr. Cole," she replied, her voice steady. "You are vastly underestimating the market potential of Dewy Hibiscus. Its value far surpasses five million."

Adrian gave a condescending chuckle. "Miss Scott, your talent is undeniable. But you lack understanding of this industry's ruthlessness. Five million is our top offer."

Isabella stood without another word.

"Miss Scott, wait," Adrian called out as she moved toward the door. "We can negotiate. Let's discuss this further."

She paused but didn't turn.

"Six million is our absolute final offer," he stated firmly.

Isabella drew a slow breath. "I understand. Further discussion is pointless, Mr. Cole. Good day."

The following days were a blur of meetings with other jewelry houses, each one ending in frustration.

Some brands presented contracts laden with restrictive clauses, severely limiting her creative control or offering inadequate compensation.

Others were mired in internal corporate politics, creating too much uncertainty for a successful collaboration, especially for a launch as important as Dewy Hibiscus.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on her, both physically and mentally, but she had to continue.

She pushed open the front door of Hawthorne Residence, the familiar scent of sandalwood washing over her. A fraction of her tension eased.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Blackwood," Henry greeted respectfully, taking her purse and the stack of documents she carried.

Isabella could only offer a tired hum in response, swapping her heels for slippers and massaging her throbbing temples.

"Liam is already asleep," Henry added softly, noting her weary expression.

She nodded and moved toward the living room.

"Mr. Blackwood is in his study," Henry said, as if reading her thoughts.

Isabella hesitated for only a second before changing direction and heading for the study.

She needed to speak with Ethan.

She gave a soft knock on the door.

"Enter," his deep voice responded.

Isabella found him behind his large desk, absorbed in paperwork.

His gaze lifted to her, calm and unreadable.

"Do you need something?"

She took another deep breath and stepped closer.

"Thank you."