Page 5 of The Friend Zone Experiment

Louise had wide eyes and freckles scattered across her light brown skin, which gave her an air of innocence. She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “What was it you said at last week’s one-to-one? Something about burnout and the importance of taking breaks…”

“Going to a museum is like a break,” said Renee.

Louise gave her a look. Renee said airily, “When’s the event?”

Louise shook her head, but she only said, “Tonight. I’ll send you a calendar invite with the details.”

“You’re a star,” said Renee.

She went into her office, buoyed up. She’d figured the evening would major on bingeing kdramas in her pyjamas while eating Ben & Jerry’s straight out of the tub. Instead, she was going to be out at the hottest exhibition in town, wearing something glamorous.

She knew what it should be, too—her treasured Dior trouser suit from the Raf Simons era, with its pared-back take on the classic hourglass-shaped Bar jacket. She’d bought it for an enormous sum from a dealer in pre-owned couture back in Singapore.

Renee saw herself in a high-ceilinged gallery, drinking champagne (well, probably prosecco) and pitching Virtu to a major retailer.

Take that, Jason.She didn’t need him or anyone else.

Once she was at her desk, the hours flew by. That was the great consolation of her work. Renee might not have a boyfriend anymore. She might not have many friends, or a family in any meaningful sense, or hobbies, or a social life that extended beyond networking events. But she had Virtu.

She had founded Virtu in her teens, starting out by selling bespoke cheongsam to monied women twice her age. She’d grown the brand over the years, designing her own prints based on Chinese brocades and Indonesian batik, producing dresses and suits modelled on traditional Asian attire—from cheongsam to salwar kameez, kimono to baju kebaya.

Dad had provided the capital, though he’d grumbled about it. No one would pay that much for a local brand, he said. They’d shell out for Louis Vuitton or Ralph Lauren, but not for anything made by someone called Renee Goh.

He’d scoffed when Renee reminded him of the existence of Jimmy Choo. But she’d refused to be put off. She had knownthere was a market for her work out there; she was only making clothes she wanted to wear herself. Over time she’d built a loyal following of women who recognised in her design aesthetic, with its mix of heritage and modernity, something they hadn’t known they’d been looking for.

Now, besides the two Virtu boutiques in Singapore, the brand was stocked in high-end department stores in Malaysia and Thailand. It hadn’t originally been her plan to tackle Europe so early on; the conquest of Asia would have occupied her for years. But since she was here now, the next goal was a London store.

They weren’t there quite yet. The majority of their revenue came from their established markets in Southeast Asia. It was for those customers that the new homewares line was intended. But cracking London was the next thing on Renee’s list, once she was able to raise the necessary funding.

It was possible her dedication to her business was a tad monomaniacal. Her therapist had had a lot to say about it. All Renee could say in her defence was that work was the only thing that had ever given her back what she put into it.

She spent the majority of her working time running the business rather than doing anything creative. A day free of meetings, like this one, was a luxury. She didn’t mean to waste it.

She was deep in the details of a cheongsam—1920s inspired, with broad sleeves past the elbows—when her personal phone rang.

Tearing herself reluctantly from her sketches, Renee stabbed at the screen with a finger, meaning to cancel the call. It was probably some telemarketer… unless it was Jason?

It was neither.

“Su Ren.” The voice on the line was male, resonant and authoritative, with a clipped Singaporean accent. It would have been immediately familiar to certain specific groups of people in Singapore and Malaysia: the business press, several politicians, a number of charities, and probably, most of the other people who regularly populated the pages ofTatler Asia.

Renee knew it well, too, of course. Her stomach clenched. “Dad. What’s up?”

She hadn’t spoken to her father in a while. She’d rung him in February to wish him a happy Chinese New Year. Dad had told her to come home and Renee had hung up. That was how their conversations usually went.

“Did something happen?” said Renee. “Is everyone OK?” She thought of her brothers, her mind skating uncomfortably over how she might feel if something bad happened to either of them. Her mind went on to her mom, and her nieces and nephews. A chill struck her heart.

Thank goodness. At least she wasn’t a completely terrible human being.

“What if they’re not OK?” said Dad. “There’s nothing you can do over there, isn’t it?”

Renee stayed silent, which was what she should have done in the first place. She should have learnt by now that there was nothing she could say or do that couldn’t somehow be weaponised by her family against her. That was why she’d stopped talking to them.

“I’m calling about business,” said her father. “I’m planning to step down.”

Renee froze. “What?”

Of all the things she’d have guessed Dad might say, that wasn’t on the list. Her father hadbeenthe family business, her whole life. Chahaya Group was synonymous with Goh Kheng Tat.

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