Milan Week
244 Words
*RILEY HARRINGTON'S POV*
Milan Fashion Week was chaos in the best way.
Backstage at Voss was a controlled storm.
Lena found me 20 minutes before Showtime. “You’re up first. Opening look. Don’t mess it up.”
“I’m not planning to,” I said.
“Good.” She handed me the dress. It was crimson silk, cut to the hip, with a back that dipped to my waist. “This is Voss’s statement piece. If you walk this right, they’ll be talking about you tomorrow.”
I slipped into it.
For the first time, I wasn’t dressing to please a man. I was dressing to prove something to myself.
“Music in 60 seconds,” the stage manager called.
I took a breath.
The lights came up.
The music hit.
And I walked.
The runway felt longer than it had in any test walk. Cameras flashed like lightning, and for a second I thought my legs might give out. But the moment my heel hit the mark, the noise faded. It was just me, the silk against my skin, and the beat in my chest.
I kept my chin up, shoulders back, eyes forward. No flinching. No second-guessing.
This wasn’t Riley the assistant.
This was me claiming the space I’d fought for.
When I reached the end, I paused, turned, and let the dress catch the light.
The room exhaled.
And I knew—no matter what happened after this, they’d seen me.
- Writer
