Elona’s POV
Tristan and I drove in silence to VFS. He was going to work today as he looked handsome in his suit...as always. The city was waking up, its pulse steady but muted. Traffic murmured around us, but my thoughts were louder. The familiar streets blurred past, each landmark drawing me deeper into the coil of unease tightening in my stomach.
Tristan’s hand rested on the steering wheel, his knuckles white from the grip he didn’t seem to notice. I glanced at him sideways, noting the tension in his jaw. He hadn’t spoken much since we left the house. Neither had I.
We pulled up outside the Velvet Fashion Studios. The building shimmered in the light, its sleek modern facade daring anyone to question what went on behind its doors. I sat still for a moment, heart pounding in my chest, and I took in a deep breath.
Tristan turned toward me, his voice low and rough. “You don’t have to do this today. You know that, right?”
I met his eyes. There was so much in them, concern, protectiveness, love. And underneath it all… fear. “I do,” I whispered. “If I back down now, they win.”
His hand found mine, warm and steady. “If anything happens...anything, you call me. I’ll be there in a heartbeat. I mean that.”
I leaned over, pressing a kiss to his lips. It was brief, but grounding. I pulled back a little, “I know. Thank you.”
With a deep breath, I took my gym bag that was by my feet and I stepped out of the car. The door closed with a soft, final click behind me.
The moment I walked into the studio, it was like entering another world. A heavy silence hung in the air, despite the background music playing on low volume. Girls stood in rows, clad in tight black leggings and crop tops, their heels clacking against the polished floors as they warmed up. Stretching, balancing and performing. And then there was her.
Madame Delance.
Standing like a hawk at the front of the room, the pointer stick in hand, her dark red lips pressed into a line. Her sharp eyes sliced through the studio like a knife. She was halfway through correcting a girl’s posture when she saw me.
“Elona Everett,” she called out, her voice smooth but edged like steel.
Heads turned. Whispers bloomed like weeds. “Look who’s back.”
“I didn’t think she had it in her.”
“I didn’t think she could handle it.”
I held my chin higher. Let them talk. I walked past them with purpose and placed my gym bag against the wall where I always had. My fingers trembled slightly, but I clenched them into fists, took a breath, and turned to face Madame Delance.
She gave me one curt nod. “My office. Now.”
The tension in the room didn’t shift. It tightened as I followed her down the hallway toward the office that had felt too cold, too clean, and too detached. The door clicked shut behind us. Madame Delance moved behind her desk but didn’t sit. She stood tall, her gaze fixed on mine.
“Elona,” she began, her tone gentler than I expected. “I need to know if you’re ready. I won’t jeopardize your recovery, not for this show or anyone else.”
“I’m ready,” I said clearly.
She studied me. “Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
Something passed through her eyes. Approval? Relief? It was hard to say. She nodded once and reached for a thick folder from the corner of her desk. She gestured to the chair. “Please, sit.” she placed the folder on the desk. I complied, smoothing the fabric of my leggings as I settled into the seat. “I want you to be the showstopper,” she said, flipping the folder open. “This isn’t just about walking the runway. It’s about transformation. Every model will wear butterfly wings, each representing strength, evolution, and endurance. But yours-” she paused, “-yours will be the centerpiece. You will close the show.”
She turned the folder to face me. My breath caught. The design was breathtaking. Massive butterfly wings in iridescent colors, deep teals, fiery purples, gold-threaded patterns that shimmered like sunlight on water. They were bold yet fragile. Fierce yet graceful. Like they were made just for me.
“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, brushing my fingers across the sketch.
Her gaze softened, just for a moment. “They should be. You’ve earned them.” She leaned forward slightly, her fingers steepled. “Elona, I must commend your courage for returning. It takes a certain fortitude to face an environment that hasn’t always been... welcoming.”
I met her gaze, steadying my voice. “I’m not here for their approval. I’m here because I have something to prove...to myself.”
A subtle nod acknowledged my statement. A rare silence fell between us. Then her expression changed again...hardened. She took a seat in her chair. “Admirable. I trust you understand,” she said carefully, “that Tristan Crane won’t be stepping into this studio again.”
I looked up, startled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s best for everyone if he keeps his distance. We don’t need another… confrontation. Especially not during training. You’re strong, Elona. You don’t need him fighting your battles.”
The words stung, but I understood the unspoken message: his presence caused waves here. And Madame Delance liked control. I nodded slowly. “Understood.” On the inside, something twisted. As much as I wanted to believe I could do this on my own, Tristan’s presence did ground me. Still… I would prove I could fly without being carried.
“Your relationship with Tristan Crane has become a topic of discussion, not just within these walls but beyond at Lucenti PR Group. His recent confrontation with Grace outside Lucenti PR has raised eyebrows.”
I felt a flush rise to my cheeks. “I wasn’t aware of that incident until after it happened.”
Her expression remained unreadable. “Be that as it may, the association has implications. Velvet Fashion Studios prides itself on professionalism. Personal entanglements, especially those that spill into public scenes, can tarnish reputations.”
I clenched my hands in my lap. “Tristan was defending me. Grace’s actions at the camp we attended together in high school were... harmful.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Regardless of intent, the outcome is what the public sees. A man of his stature confronting a young intern can be misconstrued. VFS doesn’t need it and Grace doesn’t need that out in the public either.”
I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. “I understand the optics. But I won’t apologize for someone standing up for me.”
Her gaze softened marginally. “It’s not about apologies, Elona. It’s about managing the delicate balance between personal and professional spheres. I need to ensure that your presence here doesn’t become a distraction...for you or for others. Especially VFS.”
I nodded slowly. “Understood.”
She leaned back, the leather of her chair creaking softly. “Now, regarding the showstopper piece. The wings are symbolic...a metamorphosis, a rebirth. I believe you embody that transformation.”
I glanced down once more at the folder, the vibrant design peeking out. “Thank you for entrusting me with it.”
She offered a rare, genuine smile. “You’ve earned it. But with great visibility comes scrutiny. Are you prepared for that?”
I met her eyes, determination flaring within me. “Yes.”
She stood, signaling the end of our meeting. “Very well. Rehearsals and costume fittings begin tomorrow at eight sharp. We also have photoshoots ahead. Be punctual.”
I rose from the chair. “I will be.”
As I turned to leave, her voice stopped me. “Elona?” I looked back at her. “Remember, strength isn’t just about standing tall. It’s about knowing when to bend without breaking. Also, keep Grace out of things, and whatever happened at that camp...let it go. Lucenti PR is a company that also works for VFS, and they try to put out any public fires, and that is Grace’s job.”
I offered a small smile, yet on the inside, I wanted to tell her the reason, but I think it’s best I don’t continue with the topic. I didn’t want to ruin Grace’s job either. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
As I stepped out of the office, I walked down the hallway and into the studio. I felt dozens of eyes watching me. But I still didn’t shrink. I stood tall. The whispers felt like wind. And I... I was ready to spread my wings.