BRUSHSTROKES OF REVENGE

The morning light filtering through the tall glass windows of Rona Design’s headquarters did little to soften the tension inside the CEO’s office. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of expensive perfume and frustration. A young woman stood trembling before the massive mahogany desk, clutching a folder to her chest as if it were a shield. Maya Vandevort, Chief Designer of Rona Design, had faced many difficult clients in her career, but none as volatile as the woman sitting across from her. Four members of her design team stood beside her, each holding their own folders filled with sketches and drafts for the upcoming Maxine Portfolio. None of them dared to speak.

Behind the desk, Missy Hawthorne sat in her leather chair, her emerald eyes scanning the newest portfolio drafts with growing irritation. The silence in the room was suffocating. Every second that passed without a word felt like a countdown to disaster. The only sound was the faint rustle of paper as Missy flipped through the designs, her expression darkening with each page. Her fingers tightened around the folder until her knuckles turned white. Then, without warning, she slammed it shut with a sharp crack that made everyone flinch.

”This,” she hissed, her voice trembling with anger, ”is what you’re planning to submit for the Maxine Portfolio?” She stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. ”This is pathetic!”

Before anyone could respond, she hurled the folder across the room. The papers scattered in the air like a storm of white leaves before landing at Maya’s feet. ”This is already your fifth revision!” Missy shouted, her voice echoing off the walls. ”And every single one of them is trash!”

The designers froze, their heads bowed. No one dared to meet her eyes.

Missy’s fury only grew as she pointed toward the sketches littering the floor. ”Do you honestly think these can compete with Mindy Wilson’s designs? Tell me!” Her voice rose to a near scream. ”If you can’t create something worthy of standing against her, I’ll replace every single one of you!”

The room fell into a suffocating silence. The designers exchanged nervous glances, but none of them spoke. Finally, Maya bent down, gathering the scattered sketches with trembling hands. Her voice was soft but steady when she finally spoke. ”Miss Hawthorne, please give us one more chance. We won’t disappoint you. We’ll do our very best.”

Missy let out a cold, humorless laugh. Deep down, she knew the truth she refused to say aloud—there wasn’t a single designer in Rona Design capable of matching Mindy Wilson. No matter how much she screamed, no matter how many revisions she demanded, none of them could replicate the effortless brilliance that Mindy carried in her blood.

Maya Vandevort was excellent—Layton Knight himself had recruited her months ago, impressed by her creativity and rising reputation in Greenland’s fashion industry. She was talented, disciplined, and respected. But excellence wasn’t enough. Not against Maria Wilson’s daughter. Not against the woman who had turned the entire fashion world upside down during Bright’s competition.

Missy’s nails dug into her palms as she remembered that night. The humiliation. The exposure. The way Mindy had stood on that stage, calm and composed, while the truth about the stolen designs came crashing down. Ever since then, every one of Maria Wilson’s original designs had become untouchable. Missy couldn’t dare use another one. Not unless she wanted to destroy herself completely.

Maya’s designs were beautiful—sometimes even breathtaking—but they lacked something vital. They lacked soul. Missy could see it in every line, every curve, every carefully drawn silhouette. They were technically perfect, but they didn’t breathe. They didn’t live.

Her mind drifted back to the words Mindy had spoken during the competition, words that had haunted her ever since. ”Those designs... my mother threw them away. To her, they were nothing more than trash.”

Missy’s face twisted with bitterness. Those discarded sketches—those so-called ”trash”—had made her famous. They had earned her awards, magazine covers, and the respect of the entire industry. Yet to Maria Wilson, they had been worthless. What kind of woman had Maria been, to create such masterpieces and then toss them aside as if they were nothing? And now her daughter was even more terrifying. Mindy Wilson had inherited not only her mother’s genius but also her strength.

Missy took a deep breath, forcing her voice to steady. ”Final chance,” she said coldly. ”I don’t care how you do it. I don’t care how many sleepless nights it takes. Give me something that will make Rona Design number one again.”

Maya nodded quietly. ”Understood.” She gathered the last of the sketches from the floor, her team quickly helping her collect the rest. Without another word, they turned and left the office, the door closing softly behind them.

Outside, the tension finally broke. One of the younger designers, Rian, let out a frustrated sigh. ”She can’t draw a single decent sketch herself, and she’s calling your designs trash? What a joke. If Mr. Knight hadn’t hired us, I wouldn’t stay here another minute listening to her tantrums.”

Maya gave him a tired smile. ”Lower your voice. She’s frustrated. And... she’s right.”

The others turned to her in surprise. ”Right?” Bratt asked, frowning.

Maya looked down at the sketches in her hands. ”We can’t beat Miss Wilson with these. They’re good, but they’re not enough.”

Bratt folded his arms. ”Your designs are beautiful, Maya. But who wants to compete with Mindy Wilson? She’s a monster. Did everyone already forget her Genesis gown?”

The group fell silent. The memory of that gown—the masterpiece that had stunned the entire fashion world—still lingered in their minds. It had been more than a design; it had been art.

Maya smiled faintly. ”You’re right. Genesis was extraordinary. But giving up has never been my style.” She looked at her team, her eyes steady. ”Mr. Knight trusted us. So we’ll create something different. Something that belongs only to us.”

The others exchanged glances, then slowly nodded. Perhaps winning wasn’t impossible after all. They simply needed to stop chasing someone else’s shadow. Together, they walked back toward the design department, their steps lighter than before.

Back in the CEO’s office, Missy collapsed into her chair, pressing her fingers against her temples. Her head throbbed. No matter how she looked at it, none of the designs could rival Mindy’s. Another defeat would destroy the reputation she had spent years building. She couldn’t afford that. Not again.

She picked up her phone and dialed a familiar number. ”Mom,” she said as soon as the line connected.

Emily Hawthorne’s voice came through almost instantly. ”How are the drafts?”

Missy rubbed her forehead. ”Those useless people can’t design anything! Not one single design can compare to Maria’s!”

Emily frowned. ”Didn’t Layton hire the best designers for you? How can they still be lacking?”

”They’re good,” Missy admitted reluctantly. ”But they’re nowhere near Mindy. Or Maria.”

Emily was silent for a moment before speaking in a calm, measured tone. ”You don’t have to surpass them. Use the designs your team creates. We absolutely cannot afford another scandal. If anything happens again, your father will lose his temper.” She paused, her voice turning colder. ”As for Mindy, we’ll deal with her another way. Our old methods won’t work anymore. She isn’t the timid girl we used to manipulate.”

Missy sighed heavily. ”I know. She’s ruining everything.”

Emily’s eyes darkened.

”Some obstacles...”

”have to disappear.”

But now isn’t the time. We need to lie low. Your father is still furious after the Bright Competition.”

Missy clenched her jaw. ”Fine,” she muttered. ”I’ll wait.”

She ended the call, but the hatred burning inside her didn’t fade. It only grew stronger.

While Rona Design simmered in tension and resentment, the atmosphere inside LUXT Corporation was the complete opposite. The design studio buzzed with energy and excitement. Designers moved between tables, discussing fabrics and color palettes. Assistants organized embroidery samples, while mood boards filled the walls with sketches, textures, and inspiration. The air was alive with creativity.

At the center of it all, Mindy Wilson sat at her desk, reviewing the final concepts for LUXT’s Maxine Portfolio. Her expression was calm, her focus unwavering. Around her, the team worked in quiet harmony, each person contributing to the collective vision.

A young designer approached hesitantly, clutching a folder to his chest. ”Good morning, Miss Wilson,” he said nervously.

Mindy looked up, her smile warm and reassuring. ”Good morning, Gale. What is it?”

Gale Willow swallowed hard before placing the folder on her desk. ”All of us... we worked together after office hours,” he said, glancing at the others standing behind him. ”We came up with several ideas. Earlier, you dedicated your competition collection to your grandmother, so we thought maybe these concepts would match your direction.”

The rest of the team stood silently, watching her with anxious eyes. Mindy opened the folder and began to review the sketches. The room fell completely silent. Every designer held their breath as she turned each page, her expression unreadable. Minutes passed. The tension grew unbearable.

Finally, Mindy closed the folder and looked up. ”They’re wonderful,” she said simply.

The team blinked in disbelief.

”In fact,” she continued, ”they’re even stronger than our original concepts. Let’s use these.”

For a moment, no one moved. Then the entire team exhaled in relief. Gale laughed nervously. ”We thought you wouldn’t like them.”

Mindy smiled, her eyes soft. ”Why wouldn’t I? Even if they weren’t perfect, they still represent your effort. Every idea, every sketch, every late night—it all has value. No sincere effort is ever wasted.”

The tension in the room melted away. Someone laughed quietly, and soon the entire studio was filled with renewed energy. That was why everyone loved working under Mindy Wilson. She never made them feel small. She made them want to be better.

While LUXT thrived under her leadership, another kind of meeting was taking place across the city at Zeus Vision. The atmosphere there was colder, sharper, the air heavy with the scent of steel and ambition. Inside the executive conference room, Matthias King sat at the head of the table, his silver mask catching the light. His expression was unreadable as Dante entered, carrying a tablet.

”I found what you asked for,” Dante said, placing the device in front of him.

Matthias looked up. ”Speak.”

”Lucy Wale,” Dante began. ”Chief Designer of King Group. It appears Kelvin approached her several months ago. They’ve grown quite close.” He swiped to another file. ”Our investigation also suggests that Kelvin has been secretly collaborating with Liora Fashion for quite some time.”

Matthias’s eyes narrowed as he reviewed the reports. ”So this wasn’t an impulsive decision,” he said quietly. ”He’s been preparing for months.”

Dante nodded. ”There’s one strange thing, though. I investigated Kelvin and Missy Hawthorne. There’s absolutely nothing connecting them. No meetings, no messages, no financial records, no photographs. It’s too clean. As if someone deliberately erased every trace.”

Matthias closed the tablet slowly, his expression hardening. ”If there truly is a connection, it will surface eventually. No one hides everything forever. People always make mistakes.”

He looked up at Dante. ”Keep watching Kelvin. And hire someone.”

Dante raised an eyebrow. ”For what?”

”Protecting Mindy,” Matthias said. ”And Layla. Quietly.”

Dante looked surprised. ”Secret protection?”

Matthias nodded without hesitation. ”Yes.”

Dante hesitated before replying. ”There are already two people protecting Miss Wilson.”

Matthias’s gaze sharpened. ”Whose people?”

”Layton Knight’s,” Dante said.

The room fell silent. Matthias leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, almost imperceptibly, his fingers tightened around the edge of the tablet.

The silence stretched, heavy and unspoken. Outside, the city moved on, unaware of the quiet storm brewing behind closed doors.