From my position backstage, I could only see fragments. The flash of burgundy as Abby hit the runway. The ripple of emerald as Margaux followed. The crowd was a blur of faces and phones, everyone capturing, everyone judging.
I counted silently. Twelve beats between models. Hold at the end for three. Turn. Return.
Each dress that appeared and disappeared was a small death. Had I made the right choices? Were the proportions correct? Did the beading catch the light the way it was supposed to?
The collection unfolded like a story. Dark tones gave way to jewel tones, then to metallics, building toward the crescendo. The crowd's murmur shifted—appreciative now, impressed. I heard scattered applause as the silver gown appeared, the one with the hand-pleated skirt that had taken weeks to perfect.
And then it was time.
Naomi stepped to the edge of the curtain, shoulders back, chin lifted. She caught my eye and winked.
"Go get them," I whispered.
She walked.
The reaction was immediate and visceral. A collective intake of breath as she emerged, followed by the rapid-fire click of cameras. The champagne silk moved like liquid gold under thelights. Her hair was a crown of glory and her presence was magnetic, undeniable.
She reached the end of the runway and paused. Held. Let them look.
The applause started before she even turned.
My cue. I smoothed my dress—black, simple, designed to fade into the background beside my creations—and stepped out to meet her.
The lights were blinding. The noise was enormous. For a moment, I couldn't see anything but white glare and shadow.
Then my vision adjusted.
The front row materialized first. Sebastian, leaning forward with pride written across his face. Aria beside him, already whispering to someone about specific dresses. Xavier and Kim, applauding wildly. My mother, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. My grandmother, sitting ramrod straight, her expression unreadable as always—but she was here. She'd flown across an ocean to be here.
I scanned further back, acknowledging the crowd, and my gaze snagged on a familiar face.
Matteo.
He was several rows back, clapping with everyone else, but his eyes were fixed on me. Beside him sat a young woman who had to be his sister—same dark hair, same warm coloring, same bone structure. She was grinning and saying something to him, but he wasn't listening.
He was watching me.
I lifted my hand in a small wave. He raised his in return, that quiet smile spreading across his face.
And then I looked away, forcing myself to break the connection. Then I took Naomi's hand and raised it high.
The applause swelled like a wave, cresting and breaking. Cameras flashed, creating stars behind my eyelids. My modelsfiled out behind us, a parade of silk and crystal and months of sleepless work made tangible and real.
I let myself feel it. Just for a moment. The triumph. The relief. The vindication that tasted sweeter than I’d imagined.
Look what this little girl did.
Backstage dissolved into celebration.
Models hugged me, squealing with excitement. My team hugged me, some of them crying. Someone produced champagne from nowhere, and suddenly everyone was toasting and laughing and the crushing tension of the past weeks evaporated.
But the real chaos started when my family arrived.
"Isabelle!" Aria pushed through the crowd and threw her arms around me. "That was magnificent. Truly. I need at least two of those dresses."
"Which ones?"
"The last one. Obviously. And the silver with the pleated skirt." She turned to Sebastian, who had appeared beside her. "You're buying them for me."
