The ballroom was already full when Elena Marquez arrived. Every chair taken, every camera lens polished and ready. Whispers fluttered like moths through the air—She won’t come… She’s ruined… Regina has crushed her.
But then the doors opened, and silence fell.
Elena entered not as the defeated woman the press had painted, but as the queen she had always been. She wore a gown of her own making, midnight silk that shimmered with defiance, its bold neckline and sharp lines a declaration of strength. Every stitch seemed to say: I am still here.
Daniel walked just a step behind her, carrying nothing but quiet resolve. Their eyes met briefly before she mounted the stage. He gave the smallest of nods, as if to say: You can do this.
Elena stepped behind the podium. The flashes nearly blinded her, but she did not flinch.
“For weeks,” she began, her voice steady, “I have been the subject of rumors. Whispers have been spun into headlines, photographs twisted into stories. They would have you believe that my work—my life’s work—is diminished because of who may or may not stand beside me.”
Her gaze swept across the crowd, steady, unyielding.
You Pick, You React
|
|
“I will say this only once. I am Elena Marquez. I have built an empire not by chasing scandals, but by honoring my craft. Every gown that has graced your galas, every stitch admired on red carpets, was born of discipline, sacrifice, and love for this art. That is what defines me—not rumors. Not envy. Not Regina Velasco.”
A ripple moved through the room at the name. Elena pressed forward, her voice rising like a blade unsheathed.
“Those who question my professionalism are free to take their business elsewhere. But those who know my work—who have worn it, who have felt it transform them—know the truth. I am not a designer for the gossip pages. I am a designer for women who wish to feel extraordinary.”
The silence that followed was electric. For a heartbeat, it seemed the whole world held its breath. Then, applause burst forth—scattered at first, then swelling like a tide. Even some reporters lowered their cameras to clap. From the edge of the room, Daniel’s chest swelled with pride. She had not only defended herself—she had reclaimed the narrative. Later, as Elena stepped away from the podium, she caught his eyes. There, in the midst of the chaos, she allowed herself the smallest smile. A smile that was not for the cameras, not for the press—only for him.
The queen had returned, and she was no longer afraid.
Next ChapterPrevious Chapter
BLAZING COLLECTION ❤
No comments:
Post a Comment