Curtain Call

Curtain Call
Evelyn snapped her fingers—and the giant screen behind them burst to life. A photo lit up in high definition: Marc and Skylar backstage at an event, laughing, mid-hug, a casual kiss on her cheek frozen in full display.
Gasps slithered through the audience like a wave.
“There it is,” Evelyn sneered, stepping forward with venom in her voice. “What exactly is your relationship, Skylar? What did you offer him for this glowing endorsement? Are you cheating on your husband?”
Whispers ignited like wildfire.
“Did she really—?”
“Marc and Skylar?”
“Isn’t Marc one of the most respected designers in Europe?”
“Poor William Scott… he didn’t deserve this.”
Skylar stood still, her fingers clenching at her sides. The words didn’t sting anymore—not the gossip, not the accusations. She was used to the poison.
But dragging Marc through the muck? Using his name to spin this vile web?
That snapped something in her.
With a calmness that chilled the air, Skylar turned, heels echoing across the stage as she walked toward Evelyn—not storming, but pacing like the calm before a cyclone.
“Dear judges,” Evelyn began, twisting her voice into syrup. “I request you consider the moral fabric of a person like—”
Smack.
The room gasped in collective shock.
The slap rang out like thunder. Evelyn’s face jerked to the side, her hand flying to her cheek, mouth open in stunned silence. Her balance wavered. Her pride cracked.
Skylar didn’t blink.
“Enough,” she said, her voice low, lethal, but laced with fire. “You’ve stolen my designs. Tampered with my work. Tried to bury me beneath your lies. And I took it. I’ve taken all of it.”
She stepped closer.
“But accuse me of sleeping my way to credibility? Accuse me of dishonoring my friends—my family—to boost your chances?”
Her voice hardened, the fire now a blaze.
“That’s where you crossed the damn line, Evelyn. You don’t deserve to say his name." She turned to Marc, standing tall beside him. "And for the record—Marc and I? We’ve been friends for years. My family knows. My husband knows.”
She turned, locking eyes with William. "And guess what?" Her eyes flicked toward the crowd before locking on William. "He doesn't need a reminder of who I am."
William was already moving.
With deliberate, unhurried steps, he climbed onto the stage—his presence commanding, unwavering. He came to stand beside Skylar, his fingers brushing hers in quiet solidarity. No words. Just strength.
“She’s right,” William said, his voice like cut glass. His gaze locked on Evelyn, steely and unflinching. “These cheap stunts? Right out of your dirty little playbook. You tried to drag her name through filth because you couldn’t compete with her brilliance. But let me be crystal clear—I was there when those pictures were taken.”
His lip curled, face cold.
“I’ve got nothing to be jealous of, Evelyn. You know why? Because I’m married to her. And unlike you, I don’t get threatened by talent—I stand by it.”
Before the murmurs could rise again, Marc stepped forward. The restraint in his clenched jaw said he was done being polite.
“You want proof?” he said, eyes narrowed. “Then let’s show her what real credibility looks like.”
He nodded to the AV crew.
The screen flickered once, then lit up.
Footage rolled—a grand gala in Paris. Lights glittering like stars. The host's voice rang out-"And the International Design Excellence Award goes to... Lumina!"
A hush fell over the hall.
Skylar appeared onscreen—radiant in an emerald green gown, poised, graceful. She walked up to the stage, a vision of confidence. Applause thundered. The judges stood—and there was Marc, front and center, applauding her with pride. The video caught them sharing a warm hug, a smile, a moment of genuine joy.
No scandal. No whispers. Just legacy.
A wave of stunned murmurs rolled through the hall like a tidal crash. Cameras flashed. People leaned in, whispering her name like a legend reborn.
“She’s Lumina?”
“Oh my God, no wonder her designs hit different!”
“She’s been hiding this brilliance all this time?”
“Icon. Absolute icon.”
"This... this can't be," Evelyn muttered, her face pale, voice a broken echo of her usual snarl. She swayed slightly, as if the truth itself knocked the wind out of her.
Marc turned back, voice chilled. "What you just did, Miss Nelson, says more about your character than hers. All this stunt did was show the world how bitter and twisted you've become."
A judge leaned forward, mic on. “Frankly, those pictures showed nothing but friendship. You tried to twist it into something ugly—and it blew up in your face.”
Another judge stood, smoothing his blazer. “Let’s put the drama to bed and focus on what we’re here for: the designs.”
The host returned to center stage, still catching her breath from the chaos. "Ladies and gentlemen, our judges are ready to announce the final result."
A senior judge stepped forward, envelope in hand, expression serious but satisfied.
"Round one was competitive. Many houses impressed. But round two? Only one designer told a story-through resilience, through creativity, through sheer guts. He paused. “Her final piece tied seamlessly to her first-round collection, proving originality and cohesion. The winner is... Gracia's Skylar Green."
The hall erupted. Applause thundered like a rising storm. Cheers, whistles, even a standing ovation. Skylar blinked, stunned-then looked at William. His smile said everything. He grabbed her hand, raised it high, and they stepped forward together.
As the trophy was placed in her hands, Skylar turned—and her gaze found Evelyn trying to slink offstage like a shadow.
"Wait," Skylar called, voice like velvet over steel. "Evelyn, going so soon? But I've got a surprise for you too."
Evelyn froze.
Evelyn’s heels halted mid-step, her posture stiffening as Skylar’s voice rang out behind her like a quiet warning.
“There’s still one surprise left.”
Evelyn turned slowly, eyes narrowing. She tried to keep her expression composed, but a tremor flickered beneath her cool mask. “What… surprise?”
The crowd was still buzzing from the Lumina revelation, but the tension snapped taut again.
Evelyn’s voice broke slightly as she added, “W-What exactly do you want to do?”
Skylar stepped closer—poised, graceful, lethal. She leaned in just enough for only Evelyn to hear.
“You enjoy showing things on the big screen, don’t you?” she whispered, voice dripping venom. “Then let me return the favor—with a little video of my own.”
And with a sharp snap of her fingers, the lights dimmed once more.
The screen behind them flickered to life. A quiet gasp rolled through the crowd.
There she was—Evelyn Nelson—caught on backstage footage from the preliminary round.
Hunched over Skylar’s open design book. Snapping photos with her phone. Recreating sketches hastily on tracing paper.
Stealing. Caught red-handed.
Skylar looked at Evelyn’s ashen face and remembered.
Right after the first round, as she walked toward the green room, Nora had called.
“Jack contacted. William wants hacker Virus to recover the backstage footage. Urgently.”
“I knew it,” Skylar had said, coldly. “I’ll do it myself.”
With her laptop out and hands steady, Skylar had accessed the corrupted hotel files.
Virus wasn’t just a myth in the hacking world—she was it.
And now, the recovered footage blazed across the screen, larger than life. Proof. Undeniable. Devastating.
A beat of silence.
Then—uproar.
The truth hit like a thunderclap. Evelyn had cheated. Sabotaged. And now, the world saw it.
Reporters lunged for the front, snapping photos and shouting questions.
“Miss Nelson, care to comment on intellectual theft?”
“Is this how Nelson Design made it to round two?”
Evelyn’s knees buckled, and she collapsed to the stage floor, eyes wide, mascara streaking as her world unraveled.
“You already won!” she cried out, voice hoarse, shivering. “The trophy, the contract, the bet… the shares! Why this? Why do you want to finish me completely, Skylar?!”
Skylar knelt down, smiling sweetly as her voice lowered into Evelyn’s ear.
“Finish you?” she whispered.
“Darling... this was just the beginning.”
And with that, Skylar turned to the roaring applause and snapped her fingers again.
The screen behind them lit up again. Silence gripped the hall.
Evelyn Nelson appeared.
Footage. Clear. Timestamped during the final prep.
She slipped into Skylar’s dressing room, cautious, scanned the space, and spotted a pair of scissors.
Her hand moved fast.
Click.
She picked them up, stepped to the mannequin where Skylar’s finale outfit hung like a dream woven in thread, and with surgical precision, made several cuts, slashing randomly at seams, hems, and fabric panels.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
Wild. Deliberate. Desperate.
The camera caught her smirking, slipping the scissors back onto the table like nothing happened, and gliding out before anyone noticed.
Gasps rose like a wave crashing through the hall.
“She really cut it?”
“She could’ve ruined the whole round!”
“This is vicious—premeditated sabotage.”
Evelyn's expression twisted from denial to dread, her lip trembling as her crimes played out in high definition.
Skylar’s voice rang out, calm but biting.
"Every stitch in that dress told a story—my story. And you tried to shred it because you couldn't write your own."
Evelyn tried to speak, but no sound came.
And then—Skylar wasn’t done.
She stepped forward, eyes flashing, and grabbed Evelyn’s arm sharply, forcing her to face the next screen as the final video began to roll—the Grand Riviera Hotel, Room 711—a video shot by Skylar herself, exposing Evelyn’s affair with Zack.