Stella ‘s POV
"Why are you sitting here?" Chloe's voice was sharp, "This seat at Frank's show is always empty, don't you know?"
The murmurs around grew louder: "Hah! Doesn't Stella attend many shows? Doesn't she understand this rule!" "This is going to be interesting!"
These people, just waiting to see me make a fool of myself.
Chloe quickly waved over the show's manager, a tall blond man with blue eyes. When he saw me, his expression instantly lit up.
"My God! Miss Winston, you're finally here!" he exclaimed in a mix of French and English, "If you hadn't shown up, this seat would have been empty again this year! Frank knew you were averse to the cold, so he specially designed this year's show indoors, do you like it?"
*Hmm, seeing their shocked expressions is so satisfying.* The venue fell silent. Everyone's expressions froze, especially the group that had mocked me earlier, their smiles awkwardly frozen.
"I like it. I'm sorry for the rushed outing today, I didn't bring flowers as a gift." I responded calmly, as if everything was perfectly normal.
The manager's smile grew even brighter, "Miss Winston, Frank will surely say, your presence is the best gift!"
Chloe's expression changed from shock to embarrassment, "You, how..."
"I forgot to tell you, my invitation wasn't from Adam, it was from Frank." I said calmly, adjusting my skirt. In fact, Frank had been sending me invitations every year, I just hadn't had the time before.
People around were whispering: "Did I mishear?" "What's going on?" "Is that seat really reserved for her?"
*Seeing their expressions, it's worth the price of admission.* As the lights dimmed, the show began, and I could almost feel Chloe's eyes watching me from the corner, filled with incredulity and envy.
Two hours later, Frank took the stage to give a speech. In his thirties, with deep features, he wore a well-tailored black suit, his green eyes sparkling under the lights. Today, he had an unusually pronounced smile on his face.
The last time I saw him was in Paris, about two years ago? He seemed to be in good spirits.
I noticed that from the moment he stepped on stage, his gaze hardly left the area where I was seated. Many people noticed this detail, sparking more speculation and whispers.
After a brief thank you, Frank began to answer questions from the press.
"Mr. Frank, we have a question. In the past four years and six private shows, you always left the best seat empty, why is there a lady seated there today?" a bespectacled female journalist asked.
Frank smiled as he replied, "Isn't this quite obvious? This seat is reserved for her. In the past, it was left empty because this lady declined to attend the show, always busy or unable to travel abroad, so I arranged this show in her hometown, and she no longer had a reason to stand me up."
With his last sentence, he clearly directed it towards me, with a tone of intimacy and complaint. I felt a flush on my face. He really held a grudge, and I had only missed a few times.
The journalists seemed to have found a big story, camera flashes incessantly capturing me in the center seat. The whispers from the audience grew louder:
"Who is that woman? Refusing Frank six times, is she crazy?" "Isn't that Stella? I thought she relied on Adam, but it turns out she got the invitation from Frank?" "When did Stella meet Frank?"
*Although I don't quite like being the center of attention, seeing Chloe's twisted face, I find it quite satisfying.* I maintained a nonchalant attitude, as if all of this was just another day. When asked why I had declined the invitations multiple times, I simply responded, "I was genuinely busy."
It wasn't an excuse, I was just truly overwhelmed.
"Mr. Frank, your center seat has been vacant for Miss Winston for four years, what makes her stand out? I've been following you since your first show eight years ago, but as far as I know, Miss Winston and you have no connection." Another journalist pressed.
Frank's expression turned serious and earnest, "Four years ago, I was embroiled in a plagiarism scandal, and no one believed me. It was her who got a lawyer to prove my innocence, and it was Miss Winston who orchestrated the 'Polar Night' show for me. She is my benefactor, my muse, deserving of the throne at the cost of my honor."
This answer caused a stir throughout the venue.
He didn't need to exaggerate like that. I just felt he was wronged, did a little favor, that's all. As for the 'Polar Night' show, I only made a few suggestions, he executed the rest himself.
I could feel everyone's gaze changing—from doubt, mockery to shock, curiosity, and even admiration. And Chloe looked like she had swallowed a fly, her face contorted to the extreme.
The last journalist posed a tricky question, "Is Miss Winston someone you like? Are you pursuing her?"
The entire venue fell silent, everyone perked up to hear the answer. These journalists dared to ask anything.
Looking at me, Frank's green eyes shimmered with complex emotions, but in the end, he just smiled gently, "No. I'm too old, not worthy of her."
Frank's declaration left the venue in complete silence. Even the most aggressive reporters kept their distance, though I could see them whispering among themselves, occasionally glancing in my direction.
I adjusted my evening bag, preparing to make a graceful exit before the crowd recovered and the questions began anew. Frank, however, had other plans.
"Stella, are you leaving already?" he asked, his French accent more pronounced than usual.
"Surely you're not going to refuse dinner with me as well? After declining my invitations for four years?"
I sighed inwardly. Dozens of eyes were watching our every interaction, and refusing him now would seem callous, especially after his public declaration of our "special relationship."
Why does it always end up like this? I just came to see a fashion show.
"Fine," I conceded. "I'll treat you."
Frank's face lit up with boyish delight. "Excellent! I know just the place."
As we headed toward the exit, I could feel Chloe's burning gaze following us. Her earlier smugness had evaporated, replaced by barely concealed jealousy.
Frank skillfully guided me through a side door, away from the clamoring crowd.
Once outside, he burst into laughter. "Did you see their faces? Like fish gasping for air!"
"Frank," I chided, though I couldn't completely suppress my smile. "That was completely unnecessary. Did you have to be so dramatic about it?"
"I heard some people weren't being very nice to you," he replied, his green eyes twinkling with mischief. "How was my performance? Did I help you save reputation?"
He's so over-the-top, but he did give me a beautiful comeback.
"You're impossible," I sighed, pulling out my phone. "I need to call Joseph to let him know I won't be home for dinner."
"So, did I do well?" Frank persisted, looking for praise like an eager puppy.
I shook my head, unable to maintain my stern expression. "Frank, you really don't act like a thirty-five-year-old man sometimes."
"As long as it helped you look good," he shrugged, completely unrepentant. "Were you happy with the result?"
Despite myself, I smiled. "Yes, I was happy. Thank you."
When we pulled up to the hotel entrance, I froze. There, waiting in the circular driveway, was Adam in his wheelchair. His expression was unreadable as always, but the rigid set of his shoulders betrayed his tension. Taylor stood nearby as well.
How did he know I would be here? I hesitated, unsure whether to approach him or pretend I hadn't seen him.