Chapter 50 The verdict of the stars
The grand hall of the glass estate hummed with a tension so thick it felt like static electricity against my skin. The air was a cocktail of expensive floral arrangements, hairspray, and the sharp, metallic tang of adrenaline. I stood backstage, surrounded by models who looked like willow trees draped in avant-garde fabrics, but my mind was a million miles away.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, and the esteemed visionaries of the Paris Institute," the announcer’s voice boomed, rich and resonant. "Tonight, we do not just witness fashion. We witness the birth of legends."
The judges sat in a row of illuminated white desks at the edge of the catwalk. There was André Leclair, a man whose critiques could end a career with a single arched eyebrow, and Sofia Rossi, the creative director of a house that had dressed queens.
One by one, the designs paraded out. Some were architectural marvels in monochrome; others were explosive bursts of neon and plastic. My heart was a drum in my chest.
"Entry Number Twelve: The Crimson Moon, by Elena M."
The music shifted—a haunting, rhythmic cello melody that pulsed like a heartbeat. I didn't have a model. I had decided, with a final nod from Madame Chen, that I would wear the soul I had sewn. I stepped onto the catwalk.
The lights hit the crimson silk, and for a second, I was blinded. Then, I saw them. Hundreds of faces, but only one mattered. Victor was at the very front, his hands resting on the arms of his chair, his gaze fixed on me with a pride so fierce it felt like a shield.
I walked. I didn't think about the steps; I thought about the fire. I thought about the basement, the midnight sketches, and the girl who had almost let her light go out. As I reached the end of the runway, I did a slow, deliberate turn. The silk flared around me, a shimmering river of red that seemed to catch every light in the room.
"Look at the bias cut on that bodice," I heard Sofia Rossi whisper to Leclair. "The hand-stitching... it’s not just a dress. It’s a story."
Leclair leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "It has the scent of the streets and the polish of the palace. Remarkable."
The wait for the results felt like an eternity. Vane stood near the back of the hall, his eyes scanning the room, while Victor stayed by the stage. When the judges finally returned to their seats, a heavy silence fell.
"The talent tonight has been extraordinary," André Leclair announced, holding a silver envelope. "But two designs stood above the rest. One for its technical mastery, and the other for its raw, emotional honesty."
My hands shook so hard I had to hide them in the folds of my skirt.
"The winner of the Grand Showcase is Cane Thorne," Leclair announced. A wave of applause broke out for a designer who had presented a brilliant, structural piece in gold. "However..."
The room went quiet again.
"The Paris Institute of Fashion does not only look for the finished product. We look for the future. For the most promising talent and the winner of the Full International Scholarship, we have chosen our Second Place runner-up. Elena M."
I stopped breathing. The world tilted. I saw Maya’s face in my mind, my mother’s knitting needles, the silver car—everything that had led to this moment.
"Please come forward," Sofia Rossi smiled. "The scholarship will officially commence at the start of the next academic year, as this year’s term is already underway. We will begin the paperwork and the visa process immediately after the ceremony."
I floated toward the stage. As the silver trophy was placed in my hands, I looked at Victor. He wasn't smiling; he was looking at me with a profound, quiet gravity, as if he had always known this was the only possible ending.
The lobby was a blur of congratulations and flashing cameras, but I managed to break away into a quiet corner with Vane and Victor. The adrenaline was starting to fade, replaced by a staggering realization: I was going to Paris.
I pulled out my phone, my fingers trembling as I dialed Maya. She answered on the first ring.
"El? Elena? What happened?"
"Maya..." I burst into tears, the sobs racking my body as I slumped against a marble pillar. "I won. I mean, I got second, but I won the scholarship! I’m going to Paris, Maya! I’m going to Paris!"
"I knew it!" Maya screamed so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear. I could hear her sobbing on the other end, too. "I knew you were a star! Mom! Mom, she did it! Our girl is going to France!"
I hung up, wiped my eyes, and turned to Victor. Vane stepped back, giving us a moment of privacy amidst the chaos.
"Victor," I whispered, stepping down to his chair hoing on my knees. "Thank you. Not just for the fabrics or the seamstress... but for making me believe I was worth the trouble. You saw a designer when I only saw a nurse."
Victor reached out, taking my hand and pulling it to his heart. "You shouldn't thank me, Elena. You think I did this for you? I did it for myself."
I frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"
"I was a man waiting for the lights to go out," he said, his voice a low, gravelly confession. "I was bitter, broken, and content to rot in that basement. Then you walked in with your bright colors and your stubborn heart. You made me believe in life again. You gave me something to look up to in the middle of my own storm. Seeing you on that stage tonight... it gave me back my own soul."
He looked at the scholarship trophy in my hand. "Next year, you’ll be on the Champs-Élysées. And I’ll be the man who can say he knew the legend before she had her first show."
"We’ll both be there," I promised. "You’ll be walking by then. I’ll make sure of it."
Vane stepped back into the circle, looking remarkably pleased with himself. "The paperwork is being prepared for Monday morning. But for now, the organizers have invited the winners to the after-party at the rooftop lounge. There will be music, people who want to hire you, and a lot of very expensive champagne."
He looked at Victor pointedly. "Though, for you, Mr. Blackwood, it will be strictly sparkling water. Your doctor—and your nurse—would have my head if I let you touch the bar."
Victor chuckled, his eyes bright with a rare, relaxed joy. "A small price to pay for the best view in the city. What do you say, Elena? Shall we go show them how a designer and her 'Grinch' celebrate a victory?"
I looked at the crimson silk of my dress, the trophy in my hand, and the man who had changed the trajectory of my universe.
"Let’s go," I said, a wide, radiant smile breaking across my face. "I think I’m ready for the party."