THREE
1378 Words
CHAPTER THREE
The room was decorated with lights which were bright and golden, shimmering off the diamond chandeliers of the luxury event hall. Cameras flashed, reporters whispered, and all eyes were on the woman in the black beaded silk gown. Reyna Styles, the fashion industry's newest star, moments away from accepting the prestigious International Fashion Design Award.
She held herself with poise and confidence threaded through every graceful step she took toward the stage; she was ethereal.
Her brand, Aurora Couture, was awarded with the top award for being the best of the year.
But before she could get backstage so she could receive her award, a waiter passed her a glass of champagne.
When she turned around, she saw it wasn't a waiter, it was someone else.
“Reyna?” His voice was smooth, husky, all too familiar.
She stared at the person.
“I almost couldn't recognize you, you look totally different now.” His voice held a subtle admiration as he scanned her.
Roman Knight is older now but unmistakable. The same confident blue eyes, the same flirtatious smile, looking fancy in his white suit. He seemed stunned, like he’d seen a ghost.
She didn’t flinch. Her smile was cold, refined. “I’m sorry,” she said, tone light but distant, “have we met?”
His brows drew together. “You don’t remember me?”
She tilted her head slightly, lips curling with a touch of irony. “I meet a lot of people on a daily basis, it's hard to remember all of them.”
Then, without waiting for his reply, she turned on her heels, walking toward the backstage as the announcer called her name, for her to receive her award.
He watched, frozen, the champagne glass still in his hand, his eyes lingering on the woman who had just walked away from him. She definitely wasn't the same girl from 5 years ago.
And for the first time ever, he had been left behind.
The applause thundered as Reyna made her way to the stage, but it felt muted in her ears, not because she wasn’t proud, but because part of her was still riding the wave of that encounter with Roman.
Roman Knight hadn't changed after all these years, he was still as arrogant and as attractive as always.
He was definitely shocked that she didn’t fall apart in his presence, that she acted like she had no memory of them.
He deserved it after what he had done to her.
This time she would be the one in control.
She reached the podium, her award gleaming in her hand: “Designer of the Year,” etched out in gold. Cameras flashed taking pictures of her as she lifted her award.
Everyone waited for her speech.
Reyna smiled.
“Thank you,” she began, her voice gentle and friendly. “When I was younger, I used to imagine what success would feel like. I thought it would be loud, full of approval, praise and validation from people.”
The crowd was calm as they listened to her.
“But I’ve learned that true success… it’s silent. It shows up when you choose yourself, again and again, especially when the world tells you not to. When the world makes you feel like you aren't good enough, but you prove you are even better.”
Roman was somewhere in the crowd. She didn’t look at him, she didn't want to.
“There were moments I wanted to disappear. Moments I did. But every stitch I sewed, every sketch I drew… was me choosing to stay.”
She held up the award slightly.
“This—” she smiled, “—this is not just for the girl who designs. It’s for the girl who survived every trial and tribulation to get here.”
The room went into a resounding applause, people cheering for her. A few people rose to their feet as they clapped.
Reyna let herself smile fully now, and for the first time that night, it reached her eyes, she was proud of herself and who she had become.
As she stepped off the stage, her assistants met her at the bottom of the stairs.
“Are you okay?” they whispered.
Reyna nodded. "Splendid," she replied.
She tucked the award under one arm and walked toward the exit, head high, heart steady.
Behind her, in the crowd, Roman was sitting down, his eyes still locked on the stage where she had stood.
She was now a powerful woman, no longer the ugly duckling who cowered.
“I have to find her,” he murmured to himself, already moving toward the exit of the ballroom.
Outside the venue, the night air was crisp, the lights of the city casting a glow over the street. He scanned the crowd and couldn't find her.
Then, he spotted her.
Reyna stood near the valet stand, her long coat draped over one arm, phone in hand as she waited. The silver heels she wore caught the light with every subtle shift in her stance. She looked calm, unbothered and radiant.
Roman didn’t hesitate to approach her.
He approached her like he owned the sidewalk, slowing just enough not to spook her, but fast enough to intercept before she could slip away again.
“Reyna,” he said, voice low but firm.
She didn’t even flinch, acting like she didn't hear him.
She slid her phone into her bag, turning around to meet his strong gaze.
“I thought I said I didn't know you,” she replied smoothly.
Roman smirked, hands in his pockets. “I know you Reyna, and I am sure as hell that you remember me.”
Reyna frowned, “I am used to people like you, perching all over celebrities and acting like you know them.”
Roman glared at her with fists clenched, she had insulted him.
A valet pulled up with a luxurious sleek black limousine. Reyna didn’t move.
She studied him for a second, like she was deciding if this conversation deserved any more of her time.
Her driver opened the door. Reyna stepped in without another word.
Roman watched the car pull away, hands still in his pockets, the glint of admiration clear in his eyes, yet he felt insulted.
Reyna was now completely the opposite of who she was 5 years ago, and he would definitely play along with the game she was trying to play. She could keep denying it, but there was no way she had forgotten what they had shared that night.
Inside the sleek, dimly lit car, Reyna leaned back against the leather seat, the city lights streaking past the tinted window. She crossed one leg over the other, heels still sharp, posture still and poised, but her fingers tightened slightly around the clutch bag on her lap.
Roman.
His voice still echoed in her mind, smooth, deep, too self-assured for someone who once shattered her, destroyed her life and left her heartbroken.
He hadn't changed much. He was older, polished, confident, maybe even more magnetic than before, but she had seen what lay beneath that charm. And this time, she was immune. Almost immune.
She exhaled, slow and measured.
“He's still so arrogant,” she sighed, staring out her car window.
She recalled how stunned he seemed when he saw her. She was no longer that girl that had been naïve, she was now a changed woman.
This woman, the woman now gracing magazine covers, running her own fashion house, commanding rooms and red carpets, had rebuilt herself from the ashes of that humiliation. Piece by piece and stitch by stitch.
Still, something about seeing him again stirred an old ache she thought she’d buried. Not longing, just a memory, a cold and depressing memory.
Her phone buzzed beside her. A congratulatory message from her sister. Another from a top designer in Milan. She was receiving praise, attention, and respect , the kind she used to crave from people like Roman back in college.
She smiled faintly, resting her head on the car's window.
Nothing would make her feel as worthless as she had that day in front of the whole school. She had overcome everything, including Roman Knight.
- Writer
