Chapter 761:
Alyssa shook her head, bewildered. “I don’t know. He only said a gentleman told him to deliver it.”
The lounge door burst open. Deandre strode in with a bouquet so grand that it looked like a stage prop. Dressed to impress, he grinned. “I came to see you, Rylie!”
The flowers brushed against Rylie’s cheek as he leaned close.
“Surprised?” Deandre teased with a smile.
Rylie arched a brow, her gaze flicking toward the USB drive as understanding dawned. She decided to play along. “Thanks, Deandre. When this ends, dinner’s on me. Seafood.”
He placed the bouquet on the table, still smiling. “I’ll be in the audience waiting for your win.”
When he left, Rylie pulled out the USB drive and handed it back to Alyssa. “Take this to PR. Have them prepare a statement. Release it only when I say.”
“Got it,” Alyssa replied.
Ten minutes before the show, Laurel escorted Paola and the company’s designers to their seats. Rylie, Melany, and their team followed and settled in as well.
The two groups exchanged glances across the aisle before looking away.
Seated among them, Celia glanced at Rylie, who remained perfectly composed.
She then leaned toward Laurel. “I heard Sweetberry goes right after you. Did you know?”
“Of course,” Laurel answered with a small smile. “I saw the lineup. The judges set it up. Why do you ask?”
Celia observed Laurel carefully, noting the calm mask that never cracked. Confidence radiated from her, as if stepping onto the international scene was already a certainty. With a soft voice, Celia said, “Nothing. But I do think Sweetberry is about to face public embarrassment. Miss Owen has only just officially returned to the Owen family. You wouldn’t want to shame her too harshly.”
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Laurel answered smoothly, “Of course not. She is family. As long as she admits her faults in front of me, I’ll forgive her.”
The countdown reached zero, and the stage lights turned to the entrance where the models stood ready.
At that moment, Ainsley inhaled deeply and moved forward. Her steps fell in rhythm with the music, steady and strong.
She wore a trench coat cut with sharp precision, dyed the bright green of new leaves and embroidered with threads fine as silk. With each stride, the fabric floated around her as if she carried spring itself across the stage.
The audience stared wide-eyed. Their voices rose in awe, echoing across the hall.
When Ainsley finished her walk, the lights brightened once more, signaling the start of the judges’ evaluation.
Raymond stood, microphone in hand. The buzz of excitement quieted into expectant silence. “I believe we can agree that the opening piece was a triumph,” he said. “Now, I’d like to hear from the designer. Who created it?”
Paola steadied herself, smoothing her dress before rising. With composed grace, she bowed to the judges and turned to the audience. “Good evening. My name is Paola Garrett. I am the designer of the Spring collection.”
Applause followed, along with praise. “Elegance has stunned us, and this young designer’s talent is even more impressive than expected.”
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