Chapter 358: Ready
Gerald walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out at the night view, his eyes dark and menacing.
Emily was smarter and more alert than he'd anticipated.
Which only made her more interesting.
He pulled out his phone, scrolling to Emily's photo.
"Emily..." Gerald murmured her name, a smile curling his lips.
He liked challenging prey.
The harder to obtain, the more thrilling the hunt.
Another phone on the desk lit up—a message from Kismet.
Gerald glanced at it but didn't reply. Instead, he called.
The line connected. Kismet's voice came through low and tense. "Mr. Rivera."
"Tomorrow's show—you're certain you can pull this off?" Gerald's tone was flat, as if discussing the weather.
Kismet hesitated for a beat, then answered through gritted teeth. "I've mapped every detail. Backstage, security, traffic flow, VIP entrance, even the emergency exits. Once the show descends into chaos, we'll have Charles exactly where we want him."
Gerald hummed softly in acknowledgment. "Your people reliable?"
"Completely." Kismet spoke quickly, as if afraid he might change his mind. "Mr. Rivera, I've waited too long for this. I won't fail."
Gerald set down his glass and moved to the window, looking down at Seraphim's glittering nightscape. The city lights spread out like a vast stage.
"Don't kill him. I want him alive. On his knees. Begging for forgiveness for everything he's done."
Kismet's breath caught. "Understood."
Gerald paused, as if remembering something, then let out a soft laugh. "One more thing."
"Yes, Mr. Rivera?"
"You are not to harm Emily in any way. If you do, I'll replace you."
Kismet's fingernails dug into her palm, the pain sharp. Still, she forced out a quiet response. "...Fine."
The call ended.
Gerald turned back to look at the other phone on the desk, the screen still displaying Emily's photo. His gaze deepened, like a long-suppressed desire finally finding its outlet.
He couldn't wait.
Couldn't wait to hold Charles's "weakness" in the palm of his hand. To watch him bow his head in submission. To hear him beg on his knees. To see that last flicker of pride in his eyes shatter completely.
That night, Emily returned to the hotel.
She'd just finished showering, her hair still damp, when the doorbell rang.
Kate poked her head in from outside. "Emily, someone delivered something for you."
"Who sent it?" Emily frowned.
Kate carried in an elegant gift box. "No name. The delivery guy was well-dressed, said it was for Ms. Johnson, then left immediately."
The box was deep blue with thin gold trim along the edges. The clasp was a small silver emblem, like a family crest—subtle, not ostentatious. Inside, scented paper gave off a cool, refined fragrance.
Emily's heart softened slightly.
Her first thought was Charles.
Though he kept his emotions controlled on the surface, deep down he knew how to charm her. Last night he'd been jealous and clingy; today he was sending a gown to win her over. That sounded like him.
Emily undid the clasp.
Inside lay a gown—misty silver satin with intricate hand embroidery cascading from the shoulder line down to the waist, like moonlight spilling across water. The cut was impossibly clean, no excess ornamentation, yet every detail fit her perfectly: cinched waist, exposed back, side slit. Sharp and elegant.
Emily ran her fingers over the stitching, genuine affection flickering in her eyes.
Kate gasped beside her. "It's perfect for you! Did Charles send this?"
Emily said nothing, only hummed softly in agreement.
She picked up the card tucked inside—no signature, just one line:
For your spotlight.
Emily smiled faintly, and the unease in her chest eased a little.
She pulled out her phone and texted Charles:
"Got the gown. I love it. You're pretty good at this."
A few minutes passed. No reply.
Emily assumed he was busy and didn't think much of it.
She carefully re-covered the gown and told Kate, "I'm wearing this tomorrow."
Kate nodded eagerly. "Absolutely! You're going to steal the show!"
But Emily glanced once more at the silver emblem under the light, a vague sense of familiarity tugging at her.
She felt a flicker of doubt but quickly pushed it aside.
The next day, the Arcturus Runway show arrived as scheduled.
Backstage was a whirlwind of chaos. Models, makeup artists, assistants, media, brand reps—all rushing about. The air was thick with perfume, hairspray, and a tense, electric energy.
When Emily slipped into the misty silver gown, the entire dressing room fell silent.
In the mirror, her shoulders were pale and striking, her collarbones sharp. Her hair was swept up, with just a few loose strands framing her face. The exposed back of the gown revealed her spine like a blade hidden in silk—elegant, yet lethal.
Kate stared, finally managing to choke out, "Emily... if you go out there like this, something's going to happen."
Emily glanced up, her lips lightly colored but commanding the room. "What's going to happen? I'll steal the spotlight?"
Kate swallowed hard. "No, I mean... you're going to drive people insane."
Emily gave a soft snort and picked up her clutch. "Let's go."
The moment she stepped into the venue, the noise seemed to drop in volume, as if someone had hit mute.
Countless eyes turned toward her—awed, scrutinizing, curious, envious, admiring, even shaken.
She walked at a measured pace, yet every step felt like it was illuminated by a spotlight. The misty silver hem swayed gently with her movement, embroidered beads catching the light like scattered stars.
Someone whispered:
"Jane... that's Jane?"
"She's even more stunning than her photos."
"That presence is terrifying."
"She's a designer? She looks like she owns this show."
Emily took her seat in the VIP section with perfect composure, as if all those stares were her due.
Across the room, Gerald had arrived.
He wore a tailored black suit, a matching silver emblem pinned to his lapel. The moment he saw Emily, his eyes lit up—like a hunter watching prey walk straight into his trap.
He raised a glass of champagne toward her from across the crowd, his smile warm and refined, as if he hadn't orchestrated surveillance last night and a scheme today.
Emily met his gaze for a second, then calmly looked away, as if she hadn't seen him at all.
But her fingers tightened slightly on her clutch.
That emblem. She finally remembered where she'd seen it.
On the clasp of the gift box.
Her stomach sank. The gown... wasn't from Charles.
And if not him, then the sender was obvious.
Emily kept her expression neutral, pulled out her phone, and sent Charles a second message:
"Did you send me a gown last night?"
She looked up as the runway lights blazed to life, music thundering through the venue. The first model stepped onto the stage.
The show had begun.
But at the same time, Emily's sixth sense was screaming warnings.