CHAPTER FOUR
969 Words
CHAPTER FOUR
The ballroom was reborn—not for a wedding this time, but for war. The Luxe House Collaboration Showdown had finally arrived. Press, influencers, A-list designers, critics, and cameras from every fashion capital in the world filled the venue, buzzing like bees around the two brands standing at the summit of the industry: Devy Luxe and Velvette House.
Stage lights were suspended like suns over the expansive runway, illuminating every inch of the marbled floor. The set design was minimal, futuristic, dramatic—exactly what the fashion world devoured.
And somewhere backstage, Amanda Andrew was holding her breath.
“Your mic is ready, Mandy,” Marisol whispered, tugging gently at Amanda’s black velvet sleeve. The outfit was understated but sharp, with an asymmetrical neckline and structured silhouette. Perfect for mystery. Powerful without revealing too much.
Amanda’s eyes fixed on the monitor screen backstage. It showed a live feed of the judges taking their seats, the audience applauding, and Damien Devy adjusting his suit as he strode toward the front row.
Six years.
Six years and he hadn’t changed.
Same elegance. Same terrifying calm.
She swallowed, steadying herself. “You sure the reveal can’t be avoided?”
Marisol shook her head. “It’s part of the new program. The judges demanded authenticity this year. They want the real minds behind the brands on stage. Both of them.”
Amanda stared hard at the monitor. “So he’ll know.”
Marisol placed a hand over hers. “Yes. But let them see who they tried to break.”
A staff member waved them over.
"You're on."
The sound of her heels striking the floor echoed in Amanda’s skull as she followed Marisol toward the wings of the stage.
She’d never intended to show her face again. Not like this. Not beside him. Not after that night.
But here she was. Amanda Andrew—the ghost of a broken bride, now a phoenix in stilettos.
They called Devy Luxe first.
Damien took the stage with a subtle nod to the crowd, the host praising his company’s innovation, legacy, and technological integration. He was calm, cool, composed—completely unaware of the hurricane about to hit him.
“And now,” the host continued with a grin, “the mysterious, elusive mind behind the bold, inclusive empire—Velvette House!”
Gasps filled the room as Amanda stepped onto the stage, the spotlight hitting her face.
She didn’t blink.
She walked with purpose, each step deliberate, graceful, loud. Like a woman returning to claim what she built. Damien turned his head casually—then froze.
Time slowed.
For a brief second, he forgot to breathe.
Amanda Andrew.
In the flesh.
Here.
Now.
Every nerve in his body seized.
The audience murmured, some stood, many whispering, others already recording.
“She was presumed retired...”
“Wasn’t that the girl from—?”
“Damien Devy’s ex-wife—!”
Amanda met the host at center stage. She accepted the mic with poise and smiled politely, not once looking Damien’s way.
“Velvette House,” the host began, still stunned, “has been at the top of trend reports for two years. But this is the first time the founder has appeared publicly. Miss Andrew—why now?”
Amanda raised the mic.
“Because I wanted my work to speak before I ever did.” Her voice was smooth. “Today, I’m not here for closure. I’m here to celebrate creativity. To own my name again.”
Damien stared at her, unmoving.
The audience erupted into applause.
A few more questions followed, mostly directed to both of them: their thoughts on fashion sustainability, AI integration, creative autonomy. Amanda answered eloquently, confident and crisp. Damien kept stealing glances—unreadable, but intense.
And finally, after the final round of questions, the host handed the mic back to Amanda. “Any last words before the competition line unveils?”
Amanda looked directly into the camera lens.
“Velvette House was born from silence. It was built by hands they didn’t watch, in rooms they never entered, with pain they couldn’t imagine. But today, I am no longer silent.”
Applause exploded.
She stepped back.
Damien’s jaw was tight, eyes shadowed. Then Amanda turned and walked off stage, applause following like a storm.
He didn’t wait.
He muttered something to Theo and strode after her.
Backstage, Amanda pulled off her mic and handed it to a tech assistant. She moved quickly toward the backroom, trying to catch her breath.
The room was small, dimly lit, a private lounge reserved for designers.
She had just poured herself a glass of water when Damien pushed the door open.
Amanda tensed, her back still to him.
“You knew,” he said, voice low.
She turned slowly. “About the reveal? Of course.”
“No,” he replied, stepping closer. “You knew I’d be there. And you still—”
“Still showed up?” Amanda finished for him. “Yes. Because I built Velvette House while you were too busy saving face.”
Damien studied her. “Six years. Not a word.”
She crossed her arms. “You didn’t look for one.”
He frowned. “You vanished.”
“You let me.”
Silence.
His throat bobbed as he took a step closer. “You weren’t supposed to disappear.”
Amanda laughed once, bitter. “Funny. You weren’t supposed to kiss Vivian.”
“I didn’t kiss her.”
“But no one saw you push her away.”
They stared at each other, tension radiating like fire.
Just then, t
he door burst open.
Theo rushed in, phone in hand, face pale. “Sir. Mandy—You both need to see this.”
Damien turned. “What is it?”
- Writer
