Elona’s POV
The studio felt colder today, not from the air-conditioning, but from the silence that lingered between the models. I stepped inside, the hush was thick like powdery dust, and I sensed eyes on me. Curious, calculating, and definitely resentful. After the fallout with Calla, where her jealousy had exploded, nothing seemed the same. The energy was tense, like everyone was waiting for the next spark.
I caught my reflection in the mirrored wall, black leggings, cropped top, safe, professional, and just enough to blend in. But safety wasn’t what I needed. I had to prove I belonged despite the tension. Madame Delance had texted me when I was in the car, before Tristan dropped me off, she wanted to see me in her office.
A moment later, I found myself entering Madame Delance’s office. She was seated behind her desk, and she gestured for me to sit.
I folded into the chair, my knees brushing against the edge. She remained seated behind the desk, poised and elegant, the way a queen might be in a throne room.
“Elona,” she began gently, and I caught a flicker of sincerity. “About what happened with Calla... I saw it. I’m sorry she took it out on you.”
My throat tightened. “Thank you... I don’t think she meant it. It just caught me off guard.”
She nodded. “Jealousy is the currency here, but I want you to know... if you’re doubting yourself, questioning your place, then tell me now. This business... It’s merciless.”
I swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing down. “I’m not backing down. I want this. I want it so badly that jealousy won’t scare me away.” I was still determined.
She studied me for a long moment. “Good. If you’re going to be in the center of the show, if you’re going to be my star, you’ll have every other girl watching your every move. They won’t hesitate to step over you, even on the day of the show. Remember that.”
I nodded, throat dry. “I will.” I have to try my best not to be bothered by them on the day of the show.
Her gaze softened, just a fraction. “Then I expect you to hold your head high. Believe in yourself.” She stood up. “Come. We have fittings to do,” she said as she walked around the desk and towards the door. I stood up and followed after her.
Back in the studio, the other models looked sharper than ever, hair slicked, faces calm, posture icicle-straight. No one spoke nor looked at me. That was fine by me because I didn’t want their attention on me. I found the measuring bench near the costume racks.
A few girls caught my eye and offered polite nods, but I couldn’t return the smiles. I couldn’t trust them, not after Calla’s outburst and the warning that Madame Delance gave me about them. The tailors and assistants measured my waist, chest, and inseam inch by precise inch while I focused on my breathing. I felt like armor had been tightened around my ribs.
At one point, I glanced at Calla across the room. She avoided eye contact, working on her own costume, pressed into her own solitude. We shared no words. I didn’t need to say anything. The tension spoke for both of us. When measurements were done, I drifted to the clothing racks lining the walls. Velvet fabrics, shimmering sequins, and structured tailoring it was all to prepare us for the Velvet Secret Fashion Show. My chest swelled both with pride and intimidation. This was the moment I had trained for...but fear still lingered like an unwelcome guest.
My fingers brushed over something black and silky. I pulled it free. It was an elegant long dress, mid-calf length, simple but stunning. Clean lines, tailored bodice, and a soft flare. It was exactly what I imagined wearing at Tristan’s show, the one he was going to perform at. Heat rose in my cheeks, both at the dream and the impossibility.
A familiar voice sounded behind me. “That one caught your eye?”
I looked over my shoulder. Madame Delance stepped up beside me with her arms crossed. “It’s yours. For the formal portfolio shoot next week... I had meant to show it to you,” she said.
My heart hammered. “Madame Delance, I... I don’t want to take it if its meant to be for the show or photoshoots.”
She smiled thinly. “I chose it for you. For your arch. Trust me. You’ll look radiant.”
I swallowed past the lump. “Thank you.”
Her gaze drifted down the rack. “But I have something else in mind for your main performance, something that will stun, something unexpected.” Her index finger traced the costumes on the rack.
My pulse fluttered. “I look forward to seeing it.”
She placed a firm hand on my shoulder. “Good. Because you’re going to need all your confidence. Keep your eyes sharp, your step strong. And... watch your back.” she whispered that last part.
I managed a small nod before she moved off. I lingered with the dress in my hands, tracing its lines. I pictured Tristan’s face when I stepped out in it, proud, surprised, and maybe even protective. That thought gave me courage.
The fittings were done, Madame Delance called an end to the session. The girls began talking again, quiet whispers while I packed the dress carefully into a garment bag. I stayed back, folding it gently, breathing in its scent. It smelled of luxury and possibility. My gaze centered on the dress. I felt a strange closeness to it, as though it held the promise of a new beginning, but I also felt the eyes again, the other girls watching. Their thoughts hidden, their judgments unreadable. I couldn’t afford to slip up or to be seen as vulnerable. I had to be the steel blade that stood in the spotlight. With that, I zipped up the bag and headed for the exit.