Chapter 96: The Official Reign of Miss X
“You need to show them you are not in distress,” Alina said. “They want to see you crumbling. So you do the opposite. You appear somewhere unexpected. You take back control of the narrative. You show them you’re thriving. You show them that the break-up with Adrian, and with Liam, was your choice, not theirs.”
I considered her words, a spark of an idea taking root. “I think I know just the place. I will be at the grand opening of the new exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. My rivals, my mother, and Adrian will surely be there.”
“Perfect,” Alina said, a glint in her eye. “And you won’t just attend. You will own the room. You will be undeniable. You will be Miss X.”
I looked at her, then at Celia, a slow smile spreading across my face. The weight of the world had not disappeared, but it had shifted.
It was no longer a burden I was carrying alone. It was a shared weight, a shared purpose.
My reign as Miss X was not a destination.
It was a journey.
And for the first time, I felt like I was ready to take the first step.
A chime from my phone on the counter startled me, making me drop the spatula. It was an incoming video call.
The name on the screen made my blood run cold: Chairwoman De Leon. She was the head of the committee that oversaw the entire Miss X program, a woman whose influence was as vast as it was terrifying.
She rarely called anyone, let alone directly. This was a summons, not a friendly check-in.
I felt a pang of fear, but Alina’s earlier words echoed in my mind. Show them you’re not in distress.
I squared my shoulders and answered the call.
De Leon’s face, etched with sharp lines of authority and a perpetually unamused expression, filled the screen.
She was alone in a sleek, modern office, a testament to her power.
“I have received multiple reports, Miss X, regarding last night’s… incident,” she said, her voice a low, steady hum that commanded attention. “The security reports, the noise complaints. It’s all very unseemly.”
“My apologies, Chairwoman. It was an unprovoked attack by my rivals,” I said, my voice betraying none of the panic I felt. “Alina and Malcolm Voss can corroborate the events. I merely defended myself by not engaging.”
De Leon’s gaze flickered to Alina, who was standing beside me. Alina gave a slight, respectful nod. “Indeed. We were there to help.”
“Help is a subjective term, Miss Voss,” De Leon said, her gaze returning to me. “What I see is a Miss X who is no longer in control of her image. A Miss X who has been publicly humiliated by her rivals. A Miss X who has broken off her engagement with Mr. Carlisle.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “The engagement was a mutual decision. As for my rivals, they are a nuisance, but they do not control me. My public humiliation is a narrative they wish to create, not a reality.”
A faint, humorless smile touched the Chairwoman’s lips. “Your rivals are not a nuisance, Miss X. They are competitors. And you appear to be losing. Your power is contingent on perception. And the perception is that you are weak, you are broken, and you are no longer worthy of your title.”
The words were a direct hit, aimed straight at the core of my identity. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, but I held my ground. “I am not weak. I have endured more than they have. I am not broken. And my worthiness is not determined by them.”
“Then prove it,” De Leon said, her voice sharpening. “The Board is watching. Your sponsors are watching. If you do not re-establish dominance, if you do not quell this rebellion, they will find someone who can.”
The threat was clear. It was an ultimatum. I was one step away from losing everything. But in that moment, the fear turned into a white-hot resolve.
I thought of my mother and Beatrix’s silent betrayal, of Adrian’s sudden absence, and of Soraya’s sneering face.
They wanted to see me fall.
And I would not give them the satisfaction.
“I will,” I said, my voice firm. “I will prove my worth. You will not have to look for another Miss X. My reign has only just begun.”
De Leon stared at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she gave a single, curt nod and the call ended.
The phone clattered onto the counter as I slumped against the cabinets. “They want to replace me,” I whispered, the reality of it a crushing weight.
“No, they don’t,” Alina said, her voice calm and absolute. “Not yet. They want to scare you. They want to make sure you’re still a prize worth backing. They’re testing your resolve.”
“She’s right,” Celia added, her voice soft. “She was trying to see if you would crumble. And you didn’t. That’s a victory in itself.”
I looked at them, my two unlikely allies. Alina, the strategist, the pragmatist. Celia, the heart, the emotional anchor.
They were my new fortress.
“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath and pushing myself away from the counter. “Then we have to win. We have to make a statement so bold, so undeniable, that no one, not even the Chairwoman, can question my authority.”
“The Met Gala is perfect,” Alina said, her eyes gleaming. “It’s the perfect stage. Everyone who is anyone will be there. Soraya. Jada Liu. Savannah King. Tiana Gray. And Adrian.”
“And my mother and Beatrix,” I added, a knot forming in my stomach. The idea of facing them all at once was terrifying, but exhilarating.
“We need a plan,” I said. “A strategy. This can’t just be me showing up and looking pretty. This has to be an act of war.”
Celia, who had been listening intently, spoke up. “We need to do something that they won’t expect. You always wear black, or something sleek and structured. You need to do something different.”
“She’s right,” Alina agreed. “You need to shock them. You need to be a vision of strength, but with a twist. We need a dress, something… unconventional. Something that says ‘I am my own person, and I will not be defined by your expectations.’”
“I have an idea,” I said, a dangerous glint in my eye. “I will not be wearing a gown. I will be wearing a custom-made suit. A stark white one. To contrast the black and red they will surely be wearing.”
Alina’s face broke into a grin.