Chapter 5 .

I yawned deeply, exhaustion finally hitting me like a wave. My muscles ached from being hunched over the dress for hours, my fingertips sore from pinning and adjusting. I glanced down at the gown and still couldn't believe I'd pulled it off.

I rubbed my eyes and straightened my shoulders as the door to the conference room swung open. A tall assistant I didn't recognize stepped out, giving me a curt nod.

"Ms. Vale, you're up. Please bring in your presentation."

My stomach plummeted.

I gripped the mannequin tighter and rolled it forward, my legs feeling like lead as I entered the room. The moment I crossed the threshold, I froze. My breath caught painfully in my chest.

It wasn't just Elliot.

Seated at the conference table was Isabella Langford herself.

The Isabella Langford.

She was even more stunning in person, her luminous skin glowing under the soft lighting, her dark hair pulled into an effortless bun.

She wore a tailored white pantsuit, the kind of outfit that managed to look impossibly simple yet devastatingly chic. Beside her sat two other people I didn't recognize, but judging by their poised appearances and watchful gazes, I immediately knew they were important design consultants, investors, or industry titans, perhaps.

And then there was Elliot. At the head of the table, his sharp gaze was fixed on me as though he were reading every thought in my head.

I wanted to run. Right then and there. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole, because this wasn't just a presentation anymore this was a trial by fire.

"Ms. Vale," Elliot said smoothly, breaking the silence. "Please proceed."

My throat felt tight, but I forced my feet to move. I rolled the mannequin to the center of the room, its delicate wheels gliding over the polished floor. The dress looked beautiful under the soft lights, its silk almost glowing.

I turned to face the panel, Isabella's eyes locked onto me, curious but unreadable, and began.

. . .

ELLIOT

From the moment Aria Vale stepped through the door, I knew she was different. It wasn't just her appearance, although she had the kind of understated presence that demanded attention without trying.

No, it was something more subtle. Something deeper. The way she carried herself, a quiet determination masked by nervous energy, made her intriguing.

She hesitated briefly in the doorway, gripping the edge of the mannequin as though it were her anchor. For a fraction of a second, I thought she might falter, but then she squared her shoulders and stepped forward, wheeling her creation into the room with deliberate care.

My eyes flicked to the dress, and for the first time in hours, I allowed myself a genuine reaction, a slight lift of my brow, an almost imperceptible nod.

It was... good. Better than good, actually.

The silk chiffon caught the light in just the right way, flowing like liquid over the mannequin's form. The lace detailing was intricate but restrained, and the floral appliqués along the hem added a touch of whimsy without tipping into excess.

It was elegant, modern, and bold in its simplicity, a design that struck the delicate balance between innovation and wearability.

I let my gaze return to Aria. She stood there, taking in the room, the panel of industry giants, Isabella Langford herself, with wide eyes that quickly narrowed into focus. She was nervous, yes, but there was something else behind her gaze.

A fire.

I leaned back in my chair, steepling my fingers as I watched her.

"Ms. Vale," I said, my voice cutting through the silence. "Please proceed."

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, but she didn't shrink away. She stepped forward, positioning the dress at the center of the room, and began her presentation.

"I wanted to create something that embodied ethereal elegance while maintaining a modern boldness," she said, her voice steady despite the nerves I could see in the slight tremor of her hands. "Something striking yet timeless, original yet wearable."

Her words were carefully chosen, deliberate. She wasn't fumbling through her explanation or overloading it with unnecessary jargon.

My gaze lingered on her as she gestured toward the asymmetrical neckline. That was the risk, the gamble she'd taken in this design, and she knew it. Most designers would have played it safe, opting for something more traditional.

"The neckline is designed to make a statement," she explained. "Ms. Langford's style is effortlessly bold. She takes risks in fashion that always pay off. I wanted to create something memorable, a gown that would set a trend rather than follow one."

I glanced at Isabella. She was leaning forward slightly now, her dark eyes fixed on the dress with genuine interest.

Interesting.

Isabella wasn't one to be easily impressed, yet here she was, captivated by a design created in just twelve hours by an unknown applicant.

Aria continued, outlining her budget breakdown and material choices with the same level of precision. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. She knew her work and believed in it.

When Aria finished her presentation and stepped back with quiet composure, I let the silence stretch just a moment longer. She stood there, her hands clasped tightly behind her back, betraying the nerves she was trying so hard to hide.

I allowed my gaze to flick toward Isabella, who was studying the dress with an intensity I'd seen before only when she truly cared about the outcome. She had leaned slightly forward during Aria's explanation, her fingers laced together as she absorbed every word.

I finally broke the silence. "Thank you, Ms. Vale. You may both step outside while we deliberate."

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to ask a question, but she simply nodded.

The other woman, the redhead who had presented earlier, stood as Aria exited. I glanced at both of them as they walked out.

The redhead carried herself with undeniable confidence, but Aria... Aria's posture was stiffer, her movements more measured. She wasn't trying to project certainty, but there was a determination in her steps, even as I could see the tension in her shoulders.

As the door closed behind them, I looked back at Isabella.

"Well?" I asked, gesturing toward the two gowns. "What did you think?"

Isabella didn't answer immediately. Instead, she stood, smoothed the lapel of her tailored suit, and walked toward the dresses.