Chapter 220: The Peak of Success
Victor’s warning came true soon enough. Three days after Evelyn was discharged, a gold-embossed invitation arrived at Nova Group.
"The Paris Global Fashion Summit?" Ryan frowned. "The host is the Pierre Group. An old French family that made their fortune during the war. They had deep ties to the Twin Snakes."
"They want me for the opening show." Evelyn played with the card, a cold smile on her lips. "It’s a setup."
"Decline it," Ryan said immediately. "You're still recovering, and it’s an obvious trap."
"No." Evelyn tossed the card onto the desk, a familiar fire in her eyes. "Before, I would have hidden. But if they want to see a Lawrence fail, I’ll show them a real show."
One week later. The Grand Palais, Paris.
The elite of the fashion world—buyers, critics, and icons—were all there. As Evelyn walked the red carpet on Ryan’s arm, the whispers began.
"Is that Evelyn? I heard she’s a widow with a bastard child, just using men to get ahead."
"Hush. I heard Mr. Pierre has a 'surprise' for her tonight."
Backstage, chaos erupted.
"What do you mean, no lights?" Sophie screamed at the stage manager. "The show starts in ten minutes, and the main spotlight is broken?"
"Technical failure," the French manager shrugged arrogantly. "If Ms. Evelyn finds it too dark, she can cancel. We don't mind."
"Don't panic," Evelyn said, stepping out of the dressing room in a sharp black suit. "If there’s no light, we’ll make our own." She turned to her team. "Tell the models to switch to the backup plan. Get the fluorescent paint."
The music started. In the front row, Mr. Pierre sipped wine, a mocking grin on his face. He wanted to see this woman from the New York slums embarrass herself on a Parisian stage.
The lights went out. The runway was pitch black. Just as the audience started to grumble, a faint, steady glow appeared at the end of the catwalk.
It wasn't a spotlight. It was the clothes.
Evelyn had used a new light-sensitive fabric combined with the chemical reactions she had seen while kidnapped. The first model walked out, her skirt glowing like burning embers in the dark—a symbol of pain and destruction.
The second model followed, deep blue lines flowing across the fabric like struggling breaths in the deep sea.
As the tempo increased, the lights multiplied. Finally, Evelyn walked out holding the hands of two child models—Elias and a little French girl. They wore white outfits with hidden iris patterns that glowed with a pure, piercing white light.
Evelyn stood at the center of the runway and picked up a microphone, looking directly at a pale-faced Mr. Pierre.
"Some say my designs are mediocre," she said, her voice echoing through the hall. "But I believe that those with eyes for beauty will see the soul within."
Suddenly, the house lights slammed on.
The dark runway was flooded with light, and the clothes transformed. The fluorescent glows became intricate embroidery. The ember-red turned into rich burgundy. The deep blue became elegant royal blue.
A two-in-one masterpiece. Light and shadow magic.
The room was dead silent for a heartbeat, and then a thunderous roar of applause broke out. All the doubt and conspiracy were crushed by sheer talent. Ryan stood below, looking up at his shining wife with nothing but pride.
At the after-party, Mr. Pierre pushed through the crowd with a stiff smile. "Ms. Lawrence, congratulations. Your design conquered Paris."
"Thank you." Evelyn didn't touch the wine. She picked up a glass of water. "I thought you’d be unhappy tonight, Mr. Pierre."
Pierre’s eye twitched. "Why? It’s an honor to witness genius. In fact, I’d love to discuss a partnership between Nova and Pierre Group."
Ryan stepped up behind Evelyn, his hand on the back of her chair. "A partnership? Like sharing our energy shipping routes?"
Pierre’s smile froze. "You joke, Mr. Lawrence. I just think a global brand needs global logistics. We have a century of experience."
"Really?" Evelyn looked up, her amber eyes mocking. "Does that include experience using logistics to launder money for terrorists?"
Pierre dropped his glass. It shattered on the floor. "What are you talking about!"
"You should explain that to the French police," Ryan said, pulling out his phone. It played a high-definition recording of Pierre talking to a henchman backstage earlier.
"The woman must be removed... contact our friends in Marseille..."
"You trapped me!" Pierre backed away in terror.
The doors burst open. SWAT teams swarmed in, guns leveled at Pierre. "Mr. Pierre, you are under arrest for funding terrorism, money laundering, and solicitation of murder!"
Flashbulbs went off like explosions. The high-and-mighty CEO was pinned to the floor in handcuffs.
Half an hour later, the "Golden Scissors"—the summit’s highest honor—was announced.
"Evelyn Lawrence!"
The applause lasted forever. Ryan walked her to the stage as she accepted the heavy trophy. Under the spotlight, she was the center of the world.