BRUSHSTROKES OF REVENGE

Inside Rona Design’s private suite, the air was thick with the scent of perfume and steam from freshly pressed fabrics. Assistants moved briskly between racks of gowns, their voices hushed, their movements precise.

Missy Hawthorne stood near the window, her expression unreadable as she watched the morning light spill across the Royal Pavilion’s courtyard below. The day had finally arrived—the day that would decide everything. Yet beneath her calm exterior, something darker stirred.

Without a word, she turned and walked toward the restroom adjoining the suite. The moment the door closed behind her, she locked it and exhaled slowly, her reflection staring back at her from the mirror. Her hands moved with practiced ease as she reached into her handbag and retrieved a small, sleek phone—one that no one in her team, not even Raymond, knew existed. It was her secret line, used only for one purpose.

Her fingers danced across the screen as she typed a single message: Is everything ready? This time there must not be any mistakes.

Barely three seconds passed before the phone vibrated with a reply. Everything is in place. Just enjoy the show.

Missy’s lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile. She stared at the message for a moment longer, then deleted the entire conversation. With mechanical precision, she removed the SIM card, dropped it into the sink, and turned on the tap. The tiny chip swirled down the drain, vanishing without a trace.

She washed her hands, dried them carefully, and looked up at her reflection once more. Her smile was sweet, innocent, almost angelic—exactly the kind of smile that could convince the world she was incapable of deceit.

When she stepped out of the restroom, no one would ever guess that she had just set something in motion.

Across the hotel, inside LUXT Corporation’s preparation suite, the atmosphere was entirely different. The room buzzed with energy and focus. Steamers hissed softly as assistants pressed the final garments.

Designers moved between tables, checking every bead, every seam, every hemline. The air was filled with the faint scent of fabric and perfume, the quiet hum of anticipation. Despite the pressure, there was harmony—a rhythm that came from trust and teamwork.

Mindy Wilson stood near the center of the room, reviewing the final accessories laid out on a long table. Her eyes moved from one piece to another, her mind cataloging every detail. She was calm, composed, the picture of control. But when she glanced up, she noticed Wade and Gale standing near the corner, their expressions unusually serious.

”What happened?” she asked, walking toward them.

Gale straightened immediately, his voice tight. ”Miss Wilson... our models haven’t arrived.”

Mindy frowned. ”They should’ve been here almost an hour ago.”

”I know,” Gale said quickly. ”I’ve already contacted their manager. He said they left early this morning. They should already be at the hotel.”

”And now?”

”No one’s answering,” Gale admitted. ”Not the driver, not the assistants, not even the agency.”

The room fell silent. The sound of steamers and chatter faded as everyone turned toward them. Even Layla, who had been organizing jewelry, stopped mid-motion. Something about the situation felt wrong—too wrong to be coincidence.

At that moment, the door opened, and Matthias King entered with Dante. He took one look at the tense faces and immediately understood something was amiss. ”What’s going on?” he asked.

Wade answered before Mindy could. ”The models are missing.”

Matthias’s expression hardened. ”Missing?”

”They left early this morning,” Gale explained. ”But they never arrived. No one can reach them.”

Matthias’s gaze flicked to Mindy, who stood quietly, her brow furrowed. ”I’ll handle this,” he said firmly. ”You focus on the presentation—the Mood Board, the judges, everything else. Leave the models to us.”

Mindy hesitated for a moment, studying his face. There was no uncertainty in his tone, no hesitation in his eyes. She nodded once. ”Thank you.”

Without another word, she turned back to her work, her focus shifting to the Mood Board.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Wade lowered his voice. ”This isn’t traffic,” he said grimly. ”They disappeared.”

Matthias nodded. ”I was thinking the same.” He turned to Dante. ”Find them. And prepare backup models. Offer double the rate if you have to.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed. ”And if every agency’s already booked?”

”Then offer triple,” Matthias said coldly. ”I don’t care what it costs. Just make sure we have models ready before the show starts.”

Dante gave a sharp nod. ”Understood.” Within seconds, he was gone, his phone already pressed to his ear.

Wade exhaled slowly, glancing toward Mindy. ”She doesn’t need to know how bad this could get.”

Matthias’s gaze followed her across the room. ”She already knows,” he said quietly. ”She just won’t show it.”

At the far end of the suite, Emma Wilson and Hannah Knight stood before Mindy’s completed Mood Board. The enormous display stretched across the wall, a breathtaking collage of sketches, fabric swatches, color palettes, and historical references. Every element was meticulously arranged, each piece telling a story that flowed seamlessly into the next. It wasn’t just a presentation—it was art.

Hannah studied it for a long moment before turning to Emma with a small smile. ”You’ve lost,” she said softly.

Emma blinked. ”What?”

”Your granddaughter surpassed you,” Hannah said, her tone warm, not teasing.

Emma lifted her chin proudly. ”Of course she did. She inherited her talent from me.” Then, after a pause, her voice softened. ”And from Maria.”

A trace of nostalgia flickered in her eyes. ”If Maria were here, she’d be so proud.”

Mindy approached them quietly, her expression gentle. ”I could never surpass either of you,” she said. ”My talent exists because of both of you.”

Hannah reached out and patted her hand. ”No, child. Talent opens the door. Hard work keeps it open. And everyone here can see how hard you’ve worked.”

Before Mindy could respond, a voice suddenly broke the quiet.

”It’s not just hard work!” one of the junior designers blurted out. ”Miss Wilson—she’s a monster!”

The entire room froze. The young man’s eyes widened as he realized what he had just said aloud. ”I—I mean—” He stammered, his face turning pale. ”I didn’t mean monster! I meant—a monster in designing! Not an actual monster!”

Layla burst into laughter so hard she nearly dropped the necklace she was holding. ”Monster Mindy!” she gasped between laughs. ”I love it!”

The room erupted. Even Emma laughed, while Hannah covered her mouth to hide her amusement. Wade nearly choked on his coffee.

Mindy looked horrified. ”Layla! Don’t encourage him!”

The poor junior designer looked ready to faint. ”I ruined my career,” he muttered miserably.

Mindy walked over, pretending to glare at everyone. ”Anyone who says that again,” she said sternly, ”is fired.”

The room immediately fell silent. ”Yes, Miss Wilson,” everyone chorused.

Two seconds later, Layla leaned closer and whispered, ”Monster Mindy.”

The entire room exploded again. Even Mindy couldn’t stop herself from laughing this time.

After several minutes, Layla clapped her hands, still grinning. ”Alright, enough. The hosting ceremony starts in fifteen minutes.”

Mindy turned to her team, her expression softening. ”Everyone, we’re going,” she said. ”This is probably the only peaceful hour we’ll have today. After the runway starts, we won’t even have time to breathe. So let’s enjoy it.”

The designers smiled, their earlier tension replaced by excitement. That was why they loved working under her. She demanded excellence, but she never forgot they were human.

Meanwhile, inside Rona Design’s suite, the atmosphere was far less pleasant. Missy stood before her Mood Board, her arms crossed, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. The display was immaculate—every sketch, every swatch, every note perfectly aligned.

Behind her, Maya Vandevort and her team worked tirelessly, making final adjustments. Steamers hissed, scissors snipped, and the faint hum of exhaustion filled the air.

Raymond ended a phone call and walked over. ”Everything ready?” he asked.

Missy nodded confidently. ”I’ve already spoken with the director. The Pavilion is filling up. We should head over.”

Before leaving, she turned to Maya, her tone cold. ”I don’t want a single mistake. I’ve marked everything. You’ll join after the Mood Board presentation.”

Maya nodded quietly. ”Yes, Miss Hawthorne.”

Missy gave one last approving glance at the board before leaving with Raymond, Emily, and Sheila. The door closed behind them with a soft click.

The moment they were gone, Rian threw down his clipboard. ”She didn’t create a single sketch!” he exploded. ”And she’s treating us like servants! ”.

Maya sighed, rubbing her temples. ”Let’s just finish today’s work. The sooner today ends, the sooner we’re free.”

One of the assistants laughed bitterly. ”Even if Mr. Knight offered me ten times my salary, I’d never work for Miss Hawthorne again.”

No one disagreed. They simply returned to their tasks, their movements mechanical, their enthusiasm long gone.

On another floor, inside Liora Fashion’s suite, the atmosphere was calm and efficient. Lucy Wale stood before a row of mannequins, inspecting each dress with a critical eye. The fabrics shimmered under the soft light, every seam flawless, every detail precise. When she finally stepped back, she smiled in satisfaction.

Kelvin King entered quietly, his presence commanding even in silence. ”Everything alright?” he asked.

Lucy nodded. ”Perfect,” she said. Then she turned to her team. ”Everyone, eat something now. You won’t get another chance today.”

The designers murmured their thanks and hurried to grab quick bites of food. Lucy picked up her phone and called two of her senior staff. ”Harry, Judy—you’ll accompany me during the Mood Board presentation.”

”Understood,” they replied in unison.

Kelvin watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. ”You’ve done well,” he said finally.

Lucy smiled faintly. ”We all have.”

By noon, the Royal Pavilion’s lobby was a sea of movement and color. Executives, celebrities, models, and luxury brand representatives mingled beneath the glittering chandeliers. Photographers darted through the crowd, their cameras flashing as they captured every moment. The air buzzed with conversation, laughter, and the faint clinking of champagne glasses.

Near the elevators, Mindy arrived with Layla, Emma, Hannah, and Wade. The group drew attention immediately—elegance and confidence radiating from every step. As they approached the elevator, the doors slid open to reveal Layton Knight and his assistant, Mike, already inside.

For a moment, no one spoke. The silence was thick, awkward, almost tangible.

Then Layla, unable to resist, smiled mischievously. ”Mr. Knight,” she said sweetly, ”where’s your sweetheart? You look lonely.”

Mindy’s lips twitched, though she said nothing.

Layton shot Layla a cold glance, but before he could respond, Hannah joined in, her tone deceptively innocent. ”You should stay beside Miss Hawthorne,” she said. ”She’ll probably need someone to cry on after today.”

Emma burst into laughter. ”Exactly! My poor Minny. No wonder she divorced him.”

Mike coughed discreetly, trying to hide his amusement.

Layton rubbed his forehead, exasperated. ”Grandma,” he said, ”you too?”

Hannah blinked at him innocently. ”What? Was I wrong? And stop glaring. Your face scares people.”

Emma nodded enthusiastically. ”It scared my granddaughter away.”

Layton looked utterly defeated. ”We’re not divorced,” he muttered under his breath.

Mindy finally spoke, her tone calm but firm. ”Not yet,” she said. ”But we will be.”

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime. Everyone stepped out, their laughter fading into the corridor. Layton remained inside, his gaze fixed on Mindy’s retreating figure.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, just as the doors began to close, his voice echoed quietly through the hallway. ”I... will never divorce you.”

The doors slid shut, leaving the others standing in stunned silence.

No one spoke. Even Layla, usually quick with a quip, said nothing. The air felt heavier somehow, charged with something unspoken. Mindy didn’t turn around. She simply continued walking, her posture straight, her expression unreadable.

Behind her, the elevator descended, carrying Layton away. But his words lingered, hanging in the air like a promise—or a warning.

And as the lights of the Royal Pavilion shimmered above them, the stage was set. The curtain had not yet risen, but the storm was already gathering.