Safe With You

Runway Hearts

~Alyssa~

The studio smells like silk, steam, and nerves.

I take one last step back from the mirror, squinting at my reflection. The gown fits like a dream — a deep champagne gold that shimmers when I move, draped to perfection. It’s the most precise work I’ve ever done. Every fold and pleat has a purpose — and tonight, that purpose is concealment.

From the outside, it’s effortless elegance.

From the inside, it’s engineering. Seven months pregnant, and no one would ever know.

I smooth a hand over my middle, feeling the faintest flutter beneath the fabric. “You behave tonight, little one,” I whisper. “Mama’s got a show to run.”

The door bursts open, nearly making me stab myself with a pin. Elle sweeps in — clipboard under one arm, headset crooked, the personification of caffeine and chaos.

“Five minutes until madness!” she announces. “Dior’s people are panicking about the lighting, one of the models is crying over her eyeliner, and—” She stops dead, staring. “Oh my God. You look… unreal.”

I smile, tucking a loose strand of red-black hair behind my ear. “That’s the idea.”

Elle circles me like I’m a new species. “You’d never know you’ve been living on tea, stress, and chocolate fingers for three months straight.”

I laugh softly. “It’s all about the draping.”

“It’s all about the sorcery,” she mutters. “If I tried to wear that, I’d look like a wilted napkin.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You love it,” she shoots back, smirking.

“I tolerate it.”

“Same thing.”

Despite myself, I grin. “How’s the seating chart?”

“Nightmare,” she says cheerfully. “But Dior’s PR team loves you, the press list is full, and—” She wiggles her eyebrows. “—your boyfriend’s family has arrived.”

My stomach flutters — nerves, excitement, and something deeper. “Good. I’ve got a surprise for Lillian. I want them all here for it.”

Elle leans against the table, watching me fasten my earrings. “You sure you’re ready for this, boss?”

I meet her gaze in the mirror. “More than ever."

~ Greyson ~

The venue hums with luxury and energy — crystal chandeliers, velvet seating, the scent of expensive perfume everywhere.

Everywhere except where Winston’s spilled his champagne.

“I’m blending in,” he insists, dabbing at his shirt.

Mum sighs. “You’re blending in like a toddler at a wedding.”

Lillian laughs nervously beside me. She’s been fidgeting since we sat down — legs crossed, uncrossed, crossed again. “Do you think she’ll like it? My design, I mean.”

“She’ll love it,” I assure her.

Tray and Kelsi arrive a few minutes later, Bailey dragging his feet behind them in his perfectly tailored miniature tux.

He groans, tugging at his tie. “Aunt Lyssa, do you hate me? Because this suit makes me think you do.”

Kelsi laughs. “Bailey—”

“I can’t breathe! The tie’s attacking me!”

Tray chuckles, adjusting it for him. “You’ll survive. You look sharp.”

“I’d rather look comfortable.”

Markus, sitting nearby, snorts into his drink. “That kid’s got priorities.”

I grin, shaking my head. “He’s nine going on forty.”

Mum beams, soaking in the chaos. “It’s a proper family night, isn’t it?”

And somehow, she’s right. For the first time, everything feels… settled. Whole.

~ Lillian ~

Backstage is mayhem. Controlled, glitter-coated mayhem.

Everywhere I look — racks of gowns, stylists with pins in their mouths, models yelling for double-sided tape.

And in the middle of it all stands Alyssa. Calm. Composed. A goddess in heels.

She turns when she sees me, her expression softening. “You ready, Lills?”

My throat goes dry. “I think so?”

“You’ll be amazing.”

“Easy for you to say,” I mutter, smoothing my hands down my skirt.

She grins. “I fainted my first runway.”

My eyes widen. “Seriously?”

“No,” she admits with a laugh. “But if I had, I’d still have looked fabulous doing it.”

I laugh despite myself, nerves easing a little.

Then she gently touches the edge of my gown — my gown, the one she made from my sketchbook. “You remember how you drew this?”

“Yeah. I thought it’d stay in that notebook forever.”

“Well,” she says softly, “dreams have legs now. Go give yours a walk.”

~ Greyson ~

The lights dim, and the music begins — a low, pulsing beat that builds into something symphonic.

The first model strides out, confidence and fabric flowing as one. Then another. Then another.

Every piece screams Alyssa’s touch — structure and softness, power and grace stitched together.

And then — Lillian.

The crowd collectively exhales.

The spotlight hits her gown — a masterpiece of midnight silk and delicate shimmer. She’s poised, radiant, utterly fearless.

Mum’s eyes fill instantly. “That’s my baby.”

Winston’s whispering, “She’s nailing it. Look at that walk!”

Tray whistles softly. “She’s a natural.”

And me? I can barely speak. Watching her out there, wearing something she created with her own imagination — it hits me right in the chest.

When she turns at the end of the runway, she catches my eye and smiles. For a heartbeat, I forget to breathe.

~ Tray ~

“Wow,” I mutter, leaning toward Kelsi. “You think Alyssa’s proud?”

“She’s glowing,” Kelsi whispers back. “Look at her. I don’t think she’s blinked once.”

I follow her gaze. Alyssa’s standing just offstage, watching Lillian with a quiet, fierce pride. Elle’s beside her, headset on, looking both smug and terrified.

I can’t help but grin. Alyssa deserves this — the lights, the applause, the world seeing her as the powerhouse she is.

Bailey, of course, chooses that moment to tug on my sleeve. “Dad, can I take this jacket off now? I’m melting.”

“After the show, mate.”

He sighs dramatically. “I’m starting to think being fashionable is dangerous.”

Kelsi snorts. “Welcome to adulthood, sweetheart.”

~ Alyssa ~

The final model disappears into the wings. The music fades.

I step out into the light.

For a moment, the applause hits like thunder. Flashes, cheers, my name echoing across the hall.

“Thank you,” I begin, voice steady despite the racing of my heart. “Tonight isn’t just about fabric or form. It’s about imagination. About courage. And about the people who remind us to dream boldly.”

I glance toward Lillian — sitting front row, still glowing.

“This season’s collaboration was inspired by a young designer whose sketchbook captured exactly that spirit. So, it’s time the world knows her name.”

The lights shift. A single spotlight hits Lillian.

“Lillian Riley,” I say, smiling, “the creative inspiration behind AQ x Dior’s Prom Season Collection.”

Gasps. Applause. And Lillian? Frozen. Completely blindsided.

Greyson’s already up, laughing as he takes her hand and pulls her toward the runway.

Poppy and Quinn dart ahead, tugging her along with squeals of delight.

The crowd roars. Cameras flash.

When she reaches me, I pull her into a hug. “You did this,” I whisper.

Her voice shakes. “You made it real.”

Together, we turn to face the crowd. The applause grows louder, a wave of sound that feels endless.

And for once, I let myself stand in it.

In the joy, the light, the pride — in the life I built from the wreckage.

~ Greyson ~

I can’t take my eyes off her.

Alyssa — radiant in that golden gown, standing hand in hand with my sister, tears glimmering in her eyes as the world applauds her brilliance.

Mum’s crying again, Winston’s filming like a lunatic, and Markus is whispering, “Do we start clapping harder or is that overkill?”

Tray grins. “Mate, this is one of those overkill moments.”

Bailey groans. “If I clap any more, my hands are gonna fall off.”

But we all do anyway.

Because it’s impossible not to.

This — this moment — is everything she deserves.

When she meets my gaze across the runway, the noise around us fades. Just her and me, a silent promise between us.

We made it.

~ Elle (backstage, after the show) ~

Backstage is chaos — glitter, cameras, champagne, and screaming. Beautiful chaos.

Alyssa’s surrounded by people — press, designers, stylists. Everyone wants a word, a photo, a handshake.

Lillian’s still teary, clinging to her bouquet. Greyson’s hovering nearby, hopelessly besotted.

I smirk. “Told you you’d break the internet.”

Alyssa laughs, brushing hair out of her face. “Let’s hope for the right reasons this time.”

“Oh, absolutely,” I grin. “Between the Dior collab, Lillian’s debut, and you looking like you walked out of a dream — you’ve just made fashion history, boss.”

Alyssa blinks, a little overwhelmed. “I couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

“True,” I say smugly. “But I’m still taking credit for making sure you didn’t faint from overwork.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you love me.”

“Remind me why again?”

“Because I bring tea, sarcasm, and balance to your chaos.”

She groans, laughing anyway. “Go get me another tea before I change my mind.”

I grin. “On it, boss.”

As I walk off, I glance back once.

She’s standing beside Greyson, their fingers brushing, their smiles soft and private amid the noise.

She deserves this — the success, the love, the peace.

And for once, I think she finally believes that too.