Doppelgänger

Doppelgänger
Evelyn's jealousy burned hot as she saw Skylar’s designs—each one a reminder of what she could never truly create. The insecurity gnawed at her, bitter and relentless. She had come too far to lose now. If she couldn’t win fairly, she’d make sure Skylar didn’t win at all.
With practiced precision, she carried out her plan, careful to erase every trace, every clue that could point back to her. Satisfied, she slipped out of the backstage shadows.
Just as the host began climbing the stage steps, Evelyn returned to her seat beside Zack, her silk gown whispering as she smoothed it down with elegant fingers. Her expression was calm—too calm. The faint smile on her lips was almost invisible, but beneath it simmered the thrill of sabotage.
Zack leaned closer, whispering, “Where were you?”
Evelyn didn’t meet his eyes. “I went to… check on something.”
Zack frowned. “You disappeared just before the screening round. What were you checking?”
She tilted her head, watching the stage. “Skylar. I was curious.”
A beat passed.
“She has hidden talent,” Evelyn said coolly. “I went to look at her designs.”
Zack blinked, his tone laced with disbelief. “Hidden talent? You mean… she’s that good? Nah, I don’t buy it.”
Evelyn’s gaze lingered on the stage, her voice dropping. “All I’ll say is—she’s not ordinary.”
Zack’s brow knit, a flicker of unease in his eyes. “Wait… you don’t think—? She can’t be Lumina’s competitor. That’s insane.”
Slowly, Evelyn turned to him, the corners of her lips curving into a sharper, colder smile.
“I doubt she can beat Lumina,” Zack muttered, shifting in his seat.
Evelyn tilted her head, eyes glinting with a hint too much amusement. “So, what to do?”
Zack’s breath hitched. He turned to her slowly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing. “W-What did you… what do you mean?”
She didn’t look at him. Just leaned back, lips curling into a smirk, eyes fixed on the stage like a hunter watching prey.
“Relax,” she murmured, voice laced with something far too calm. “I took care of it.”
Zack swallowed hard. He opened his mouth, but the event began and he had to shut it.
The host’s voice rang through the hall, commanding attention as all eyes turned to the stage. The lights dimmed, then danced across the seated crowd while the names of the judges were announced one by one.
With each introduction, the hall filled with applause and murmurs of admiration.
“And now, presenting one of our esteemed international judges—fashion legend, award-winning designer, and former head juror of Paris Haute Expo—please welcome Marc Fournier!”
The applause was deafening.
But all Evelyn heard was the blood rushing in her ears.
Her head whipped toward the stage as Marc stepped forward, tall and elegant in a charcoal suit, his silver-streaked hair catching the light. His sharp eyes scanned the crowd with the precision of a hawk.
Her stomach twisted.
No. Her eyes locked onto the stage, wide with disbelief.
Marc. From France. The awards. Paris.
Lumina’s name had once ruled that world. Every time she won, Marc was there—interviews, magazine covers, collaborations. But not once did the world see her face. Lumina stayed a mystery, always behind the mask.
“If anyone in this entire hall knows Lumina’s designs…” she whispered to herself, “it’s him.”
A chill slithered down her spine. She felt it crawl beneath her skin, cold and merciless.
And for the briefest second, fear flickered in her chest.
“If Skylar is Lumina… he’ll recognize her. He’ll know.”
No. She shook the thought out of her head. Too wild. Too ridiculous.
“No,” she muttered aloud this time, biting her lip. “She can’t be Lumina. If she were… would she really be working silently in the shadows at Gracia? Taking insults. Letting people walk over her?”
She scoffed to herself.
“No… she’s just Skylar.”
But as Marc smiled politely and took his seat, Evelyn’s hands tightened around the silk of her dress. She wasn’t so sure anymore.
Not anymore.
The competition unfolded one after another, as designers from renowned companies stepped onto the stage, proudly representing their brands. Some earned nods of approval from the judges, others drew admiration from the audience—but none had yet stirred the magic needed to claim victory.
An hour slipped by, and though the event moved steadily forward, the air still waited to be set ablaze.
The host returned to center stage with a dazzling smile, his voice booming through the mic.
“And now… presenting the next showcase in this prestigious battle of brilliance—Nelson Group, represented by none other than Evelyn Nelson!”
The hall buzzed with thunderous applause. This was the moment the fashion world had been holding its breath for. After all, Nelson Group had boldly claimed to have the elusive Lumina on board. Whispers of her genius had already woven through the crowd—every design lover, every critic, every eye in the room was brimming with anticipation, eager to witness her magic unfold.
Spotlights hit the ramp as the models strutted out in perfect synchronization. The massive screen behind them flickered, then burst to life—an animated montage of sketches, swatches, fabric inspiration boards, and digital mockups.
The moment Evelyn’s designs filled the screen, the audience let out a collective gasp.
Whispers swept through the hall like a rising tide. Gasps. Admiring murmurs. Even one of the judges leaned forward, brows raised, his interest visibly piqued.
The designs were breathtaking—elegant silhouettes, intricate patterns, and bold statements that radiated haute couture. They flowed like a story told in silk and shimmer, each piece strung together like pearls on a single, masterful thread—an unmistakable hallmark of Lumina’s signature style. The resemblance was so uncanny, a hush fell over the hall as the word “Lumina” floated in speculative whispers from row to row.
When Evelyn was bathing in the glory of admiration Skylar's face froze for a moment.
Her eyes locked onto the screen.
Her own sketches—her motifs, her signature style—twisted, repackaged, but unmistakably hers.
A soft curse escaped William’s lips as he leaned in, tension tightening his features.
“She’s got your exact concept... down to the damn stitch.”
Skylar didn’t blink, her expression unreadable. “Looks like someone’s been snooping where they shouldn’t.”
He turned to her, voice low and tight. “You’re saying she stole them?”
“She didn’t just steal,” Skylar murmured, her voice ice-cold. “She paraded them like they were hers. That’s worse.”
William scanned the crowd. Their faces were lit with admiration. Phones were out, flashes already popping. Judges whispered among themselves.
“Damn it, Skylar—what are you going to do now? This was your entire collection! You were going to unveil it!” William hissed, panic edging his voice.
She turned to him slowly, a strange calm glinting in her eyes, as if the storm had only made her steadier. A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips.
“I’m still going to unveil it.”
He blinked, caught between disbelief and awe. “You’re what?”
“I’ll present my real design.”
William stared at her like she’d completely lost her mind. “Even after this circus? After what she pulled?”
“She may have stolen the sketch,” Skylar said, rising from her seat with quiet fire burning in her voice, “but I still own the soul of it. And no one can steal that.”
Her heels clicked confidently against the marble floor as she moved toward the backstage entrance, leaving William staring after her.
“Damn,” he muttered, watching her walk away, “she’s about to blow the roof off this place.”
From her seat, Evelyn’s eyes caught Skylar’s silhouette disappearing behind the curtains. A slow, triumphant smile tugged at her lips.
So, she ran. Just as expected.
According to the rules, whoever presented the design first held the rightful claim. And Skylar? Even if she dared to return to the stage, bringing the same design now would be professional suicide—it would scream plagiarism and get her blacklisted forever. Without concrete proof, no one would believe her.
Evelyn leaned back, satisfaction glinting in her eyes.
“Now what will you do, Skylar?” she mused silently, a devilish curl to her thoughts.
"Finally, revenge tastes just right.
The lights shifted once more as the host returned to center stage, microphone in hand, a spark of excitement in his voice.
“What an exquisite display by Nelson Group!” he beamed, drawing applause that rippled through the hall. “Ladies and gentlemen, that was creativity meeting legacy—give it up for Evelyn Nelson!”
The crowd erupted in cheers, some still whispering about the dazzling designs they’d just seen.
“And now,” the host continued, the spotlight swiveling to the other end of the stage, “as we move toward the grand finale of Round One, let’s welcome a rising star from Gracia Fashion House—the bold, the brilliant, Skylar Green!”
Another wave of applause followed, eager and curious, the audience craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the next contender.
But the stage… remained empty.
A flicker of confusion crossed the host’s face. “Miss Skylar Green…?”
Silence.
He cleared his throat, trying again, voice echoing louder, “Skylar Green, please take the stage!”
Still, no one appeared.
Whispers began to stir like wildfire, the applause fading into uneasy murmurs. People glanced around, wondering, questioning. Judges exchanged looks. Even William stood from his seat, eyes narrowed toward the backstage curtains.
And in the shadows, Evelyn's lips curved into a slow, venom-laced smile.
“Well,” she whispered under her breath, just loud enough for Zack to hear, “guess the pressure was too much. Ran off like a scared little rabbit.”
Her laugh was light, almost melodic—but behind it, pure malice simmered.