Regina Velasco never wasted an opportunity. Where others saw chaos, she saw a stage, and Elena’s scandal was the perfect performance. The morning after the tabloids doubled down on the rumors, Regina summoned a press conference at the ballroom of her family’s hotel. Draped in crimson silk, she stood beneath glittering chandeliers, her diamonds catching every flash of the cameras.
“I have always admired Elena Marquez,” she announced, her voice smooth as poured honey. “Her artistry is unparalleled. Yet it pains me to see the reputation of such brilliance tarnished by… distractions.”
The word distractions landed like a dagger. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd. Regina let the silence linger before continuing, her smile a predator’s disguise. “As a loyal supporter of couture, I believe it is my duty to uphold the standards of our industry. That is why, for my gala, I will entrust my gown to Valerio Atelier.”
The name struck Elena’s heart like a blow. Valerio—the rival she had surpassed years ago—was notorious for riding the coattails of scandal. By publicly rejecting Marquez Couture, Regina had dealt a wound deeper than any gossip column could.
That evening, Elena sat in her office, staring at the headlines that bloomed across every screen:
You Pick, You React
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“Velasco Abandons Marquez Amid Affair Allegations.”
“Valerio Scores Coup with Society’s Darling.”
“Is Elena Marquez Finished?”
Her chest ached, the weight of years of sacrifice unraveling in a single day. Outside, she could hear the hushed voices of her staff, their fear tangible. Orders had already been canceled. Clients followed Regina like sheep, and her silence was being interpreted as guilt.
Daniel entered quietly, placing a tray with untouched tea on her desk. She didn’t look up.
“She’s destroying me,” Elena whispered, her voice hoarse.
Daniel’s jaw tightened. “She’s using this to break you, to take what you’ve built. If you stay silent, she’ll succeed.”
Elena lifted her gaze to his. For once, the fire that had carried her through every battle felt dimmed. “And what am I supposed to do, Daniel? March into a ballroom and beg for their approval?”
He stepped closer, his voice low but fierce. “No. You remind them who you are. Not a victim of rumors. Not Regina’s puppet. You’re Elena Marquez. You’ve fought harder than anyone to stand where you are. Don’t let her write your ending.”
Her breath trembled. In Daniel’s eyes, she saw not pity, but belief—a faith so unyielding it stirred something deep within her. Slowly, Elena straightened her shoulders. The queen of couture was not gone. She had only been cornered. And cornered lions still had claws.
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