Chapter 197 Please Stay Your Steps
Chapter 197 Please Stay Your Steps
Joseph's POV
My brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, my gaze locked tight on Richard. "Who is that?"
"That's S.Y!" Richard dropped his voice, but couldn't hide the excitement burning underneath it. "S.Y, the world-renowned top international designer! The mysterious founder behind FL, the global ultra-luxury brand!"
The moment those words landed, my fingers froze around my pen, knuckles draining white in an instant.
"Are you sure?" My voice came out low, carrying a quiet, dangerous edge.
"Absolutely no mistake!" Richard slapped the table with conviction, practically bouncing in his seat. "Three years ago at Paris Haute Couture Week, I was lucky enough to see one of S.Y's embroidery sketches. The way the needle moved, the masterful control of negative space, there's no one else in the world who works like that. The willow leaves on that dress just now, both the technique and the spirit behind it, are identical to S.Y's work!"
The more Richard talked, the more baffled he looked. He reached up and tugged at his beard, shaking his head like he couldn't quite believe reality. "But how? Someone who sits at the very top of the fashion world, why would they lower themselves to enter a competition at this level, playing the role of some junior assistant? Are industry giants doing undercover fieldwork now?"
I said nothing.
I leaned back against the leather chair, my gaze cutting through the crowd and fixing on that slight figure in the waiting area, draped in a jacket, expression cool and distant.
FL's founder.
Top designer S.Y.
My chest rose and fell slowly. My mind flashed back to Sophia at yesterday's press conference, the way she moved, sharp and decisive, and then to the quiet, untouchable composure she carried on stage just now.
No wonder she walked alone into a multi-million-dollar trap without flinching. No wonder she looked at Monze Group's plagiarism with nothing but contempt. No wonder FL issued that sudden global ban on Vivian without a word of warning.
She was the one holding the reins at FL all along.
Something surged through me, a wave of shock, and beneath it, something that felt unmistakably like pride, spreading through every part of me.
The Spencer family's daughter, lost for over twenty years, she hadn't grown into some fragile, sheltered flower. Behind everyone's backs, in complete silence, she had grown into something towering. Something powerful enough to shake the entire fashion world.
Sophia. How much more are you still hiding from us?
My mind drifted to this morning, I had asked the butler to deliver a gift to Sophia ahead of our meeting. A limited-edition FL haute couture crown, set with pink diamonds. At the time, I thought only something at that level of luxury would be fitting for the eldest daughter of the Spencer family.
Now I realized I had taken something she designed herself and brought it to her doorstep like I was doing her a favor.
That was essentially showing off in front of the very person who invented the craft.
As her older brother, I had walked right into a rather embarrassing situation.
And yet, strangely, being put in my place like this felt surprisingly good.
The coldness in my eyes softened, replaced by something warmer, a deep, unguarded pride.
---
Sophia's POV
On stage, I had finished my presentation. My expression was calm, one hand holding my jacket closed, and I was about to turn and walk back into the backstage corridor.
"Lady Sophia, please wait."
The man's low, resonant voice came through the microphone and rolled across the entire venue, carrying a weight that left no room for argument.
My steps paused.
I turned. My cool gaze crossed half the arena and landed squarely on Joseph, seated at the center of the judging panel.
Joseph stood. His long fingers rested on the microphone on the table. The overhead light fell across the sharp lines of his face, radiating the kind of presence that made people instinctively look away. "Let me introduce myself properly. I'm Joseph Spencer."
He paused, his dark eyes fixed directly on me, and when he spoke again, every word landed with quiet force. "And I'm the one who came here specifically for you."
The entire venue seemed to freeze, and then erupted.
Joseph Spencer. The CEO who could flip entire industries with a single decision. The man who held absolute control over Spencer Group. He never even bothered with financial press interviews, and now he was publicly singling out a junior assistant, openly stating he had come to judge just for her?
This was more shocking than a meteor strike. The live stream comments collapsed into chaos. The press on the floor surged forward, cameras locking onto us from every angle.
Only I understood what he actually meant.
Specifically for me. So this brother of mine wanted to see for himself what his newly found little sister was made of.
And this very public declaration was his way of backing me up, without any attempt to hide it.
My expression didn't change. There was no trace of flattered surprise in my eyes, just a slight tilt of my head in acknowledgment.
Joseph watched me, completely unmoved by the moment, and the admiration in his eyes was almost impossible to contain.
"This piece is flawless," he said, his voice steady and unhurried. "In how it interprets the theme of spring, and in how it pushes the technique of double-sided embroidery to its absolute limit."
He didn't hold back. "You didn't chase color or crowd the design. Instead, you used the most minimal cuts and the most refined craftsmanship to breathe life into the fabric. What you showed up there is the kind of soul that only a designer at the very top of this field possesses."
His fingers pressed the scoring button without a moment's hesitation.
"This is the first perfect score I've given today, and the first in this entire competition."
On the large screen, the number glowing red in Joseph's scoring column read: 10.
The room erupted again. Joseph was known for being ruthless. He hadn't even given passing scores to the established designers who came before her, and now he was giving a perfect ten to someone's assistant?
Beside him, Richard had already lost all composure. He lunged at his scoring button, voice cracking with excitement. "Absolutely perfect! This is the most stunning work I've seen in three years! That control of negative space, it's not design, it's art! Full marks! It has to be full marks!"
The other judges snapped out of their shock and followed. Forget the work itself, which was beyond criticism, Joseph and Richard's reactions alone said everything that needed to be said.
A rapid sequence of clear electronic tones rang out across the venue.
On the screen, the scoring row lit up one by one, a clean, unbroken line of 10s.
A perfect score across the board.
For the first time since the competition began, for the first time in the history of the event, every single judge had given a perfect score.
The convention center came completely undone.
Applause, cheering, and whistles crashed together like a wave, threatening to lift the roof clean off. The crowd was going wild, for the spectacle, for the craft, for the sheer undeniable force of what they had just witnessed.
Backstage, in the waiting area.
Lisa stared at that row of blazing perfect scores on the screen, and tears spilled down her face before she could stop them.