BRUSHSTROKES OF REVENGE

Sunday dawned with a brilliance that seemed to set the entire city aglow. The air carried a quiet electricity, a sense of expectation that rippled through every corner of Greenland’s fashion world.

Today was the day—the day the entire industry had been waiting for. Maxine Magazine’s Annual Portfolio Showcase, the most prestigious event of the year, had finally arrived. For designers, this was not merely a competition; it was the gateway to the world. A single victory here could transform a name into a legacy, a brand into an empire.

The venue chosen for this year’s showcase was none other than the Knight Hotel’s Royal Pavilion, a place so opulent that even billionaires had to reserve it months in advance. The building itself was a masterpiece of modern architecture and timeless grandeur. Its crystal chandeliers hung like constellations from the vaulted ceiling, scattering light across the marble floors in a thousand shimmering fragments.

The enormous glass dome above the main hall caught the morning sunlight, refracting it into a cascade of diamonds that danced across the golden pillars wrapped in white orchids. Every table was adorned with fresh lilies, roses, and peonies flown in from overseas, their fragrance mingling with the faint scent of polished wood and champagne.

Outside, the scene was no less spectacular. Luxury cars lined the entrance in a procession of wealth and prestige—Rolls-Royces, Bentleys, Maybachs, Ferraris—each one gleaming under the sunlight as chauffeurs hurried to open doors for their elegantly dressed passengers.

The red carpet stretched across the marble steps, where journalists and photographers had already gathered in a frenzy. Camera flashes erupted like fireworks as they shouted over one another, calling out names and titles.

”Miss Carter! Over here!” ”Look this way!” ”One more photo!” The air buzzed with excitement, the sound of clicking shutters blending with the hum of conversation and the occasional gasp as another celebrity arrived.

Inside the Royal Pavilion, the atmosphere was even more intoxicating. The grand hall was filled with the most influential figures in the fashion world—celebrities, supermodels, luxury brand executives, international buyers, fashion critics, business tycoons, and socialites. Every seat was occupied, every conversation laced with anticipation. The air shimmered with perfume and ambition.

No one wanted to miss the birth of this year’s fashion queen. Because everyone knew that if Maxine Magazine praised a collection, the entire country—and soon the world—would follow.

While the Royal Pavilion buzzed with activity, Mindy Wilson’s estate was equally lively, though in a very different way. The morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the dining room, illuminating the elegant breakfast table where laughter and conversation filled the air.

Emma Wilson had arrived before sunrise, her energy as boundless as ever. She had missed the Bright Competition months ago and still regretted not being there to witness her granddaughter’s triumph.

This time, nothing would keep her away. To make the trip even more enjoyable, she had brought along her old friend, Hannah Knight. The two women hadn’t seen each other in years, but the moment they met, it was as if no time had passed at all. They chatted endlessly, their laughter echoing through the halls like the carefree giggles of schoolgirls.

At the table, Mindy and Layla sat side by side, quietly enjoying their breakfast until Emma’s sharp eyes caught sight of them. She frowned immediately. ”You two have lost weight,” she declared, her tone half scolding, half concerned.

Layla blinked, caught off guard. ”Grandma...”

Emma turned her attention to Mindy, pinching her granddaughter’s cheek lightly. ”You’ve become thinner,” she said accusingly.

Mindy smiled helplessly. ”I’ve been busy.”

”Busy?” Emma repeated, narrowing her eyes. ”Busy forgetting to eat?” She turned to Layla, who immediately raised her hands in surrender.

”I tried,” Layla said quickly. ”She doesn’t listen.”

Emma sighed dramatically, shaking her head. ”You girls... If you collapse before becoming successful, what exactly are you working so hard for?”

Mindy and Layla exchanged a glance before bursting into laughter. The sound was light and genuine, filling the room with warmth. Hannah watched them quietly, a soft smile curving her lips. ”This house,” she said gently, ”finally feels alive again.”

After breakfast, the household moved into a flurry of preparation. Dresses were steamed, accessories chosen, and makeup applied with meticulous care. By mid-morning, the cars were ready, and the group departed for the Royal Pavilion.

Meanwhile, at the venue, Wade Wilson had already arrived. Maxine Magazine had spared no expense in arranging luxurious preparation suites for each participating company. Each suite was a world of its own—spacious, elegantly furnished, and equipped with everything a designer could possibly need.

Inside, designers, models, makeup artists, photographers, and stylists worked tirelessly, their movements synchronized like a well-rehearsed orchestra. The day ahead would be exhausting, every minute carefully scheduled, every detail scrutinized.

In one of the suites, Missy Hawthorne stood before a row of professional models, her expression sharp and impatient.

Maya Vandevort and her design team moved frantically around her, checking every dress for the hundredth time. Steam irons hissed continuously, filling the air with the scent of freshly pressed fabric. Assistants rushed back and forth, carrying garment bags, makeup kits, and accessories. No one dared to relax. The tension was palpable, the pressure immense.

On another floor, Lucy Wale and Kelvin King had also arrived. Lucy sat at a large table, calmly reviewing the final looks in her portfolio, her pen moving swiftly as she made last-minute notes.

Kelvin stood beside her, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable. Unlike the others, he seemed completely at ease, as though the outcome of the competition didn’t concern him in the slightest. His calmness was unsettling, a quiet confidence that hinted at something more than simple composure.

According to the schedule, the event would begin with a welcome speech from Leon Sterling, the CEO of Maxine Magazine. Afterward, he would introduce the judging panel—a lineup of some of the most respected names in the fashion industry. Zylo Mark, the Editor-in-Chief of Maxine Magazine, was infamous for his brutal honesty and impossible standards. Matthew Clark, Maxine’s Creative Director, was a visionary whose influence extended far beyond the pages of the magazine.

Sophia Laurent, the Photography Director, was celebrated for her award-winning editorial campaigns that had defined luxury branding for a decade. Professor Adrian Beaumont, one of the world’s leading fashion historians, specialized in couture heritage and garment craftsmanship.

And finally, Isabella Moreau, the representative from Maison Élégance, one of Europe’s oldest couture houses, whose approval could open doors to Paris Fashion Week itself.

Together, they would judge each portfolio based on originality, storytelling, construction, technical execution, editorial appeal, commercial luxury potential, and overall collection impact. The stakes were monumental.

The winning company would receive the cover of Maxine Magazine, international exhibition rights, luxury brand collaborations, a direct invitation to Paris Fashion Week, a fifty-million-dollar contract, and global media coverage. It was every designer’s dream—a single victory that could define a lifetime.

Down in the hotel lobby, Matthias King stood near the elevators with Dante and Zac. The three men were dressed impeccably, their presence commanding attention even in a room filled with power and prestige. Yet they weren’t discussing business. They were waiting.

A familiar voice broke the silence. ”Big Brother.”

Kelvin approached, Lucy elegantly holding his arm. His smile was playful, his tone light. ”Were you waiting for someone?”

Matthias didn’t bother hiding his irritation. ”Mind your own business.”

Kelvin chuckled softly. ”You don’t have to be so defensive. The event hasn’t even started.”

Lucy immediately sensed the tension between the brothers. She gently tugged Kelvin’s sleeve. ”We should go,” she said quietly. ”The models are waiting.”

Kelvin nodded, but before leaving, he turned back to Matthias with a smirk. ”I’ll see you later, Big Brother. Please give Miss Wilson my regards.”

Matthias’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. Kelvin simply laughed and walked away, Lucy offering a polite nod as they disappeared into the crowd.

Zac exhaled slowly. ”He seems unusually happy.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed. ”And that’s exactly what worries me.”

Moments later, a sleek black luxury sedan pulled up outside the hotel entrance. The door opened, and Mindy stepped out first. She wore an elegant cream pantsuit that accentuated her slender figure, paired with minimal jewelry that gleamed subtly under the sunlight.

Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her calm confidence drew every eye in the vicinity. Behind her, Emma Wilson and Hannah Knight followed, both dressed with timeless grace, while Layla trailed slightly behind, carrying a small clutch and wearing a soft smile.

The moment Matthias saw her, his cold expression softened almost imperceptibly. There was something about her presence—composed, radiant, untouchable—that disarmed him every time. Mindy noticed him almost immediately and offered a polite smile. ”Mr. King,” she greeted.

He inclined his head slightly. ”Miss Wilson.”

She turned to the two elderly women beside her. ”This is my grandmother, Emma Wilson, and this is Mrs. Hannah Knight.”

Matthias greeted them respectfully. ”It’s an honor to meet you both.”

Emma smiled warmly. ”So you’re Matthias. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Dante and Zac also greeted the women politely before the group began walking toward the private elevators. The atmosphere was cordial, almost serene—until the elevator doors opened on the next floor.

Standing there was Layton Knight.

He froze for a moment, his eyes widening in surprise. ”Grandma?” he said, his voice a mixture of confusion and disbelief. ”What are you doing here?”

Before Hannah could answer, another figure appeared beside him. Missy Hawthorne. Her smile was flawless, her posture perfect, but her fingers tightened slightly around the fabric of her dress. ”Grandma,” she said sweetly, ”I didn’t know you were coming.”

Hannah’s expression remained calm, but her tone was cool. ”I’m here to support Mindy.”

Missy’s smile faltered, the color draining from her face. ”But... Knight Group is competing against LUXT today.”

Emma let out a soft, sarcastic laugh. ”Unlike someone, we support talent. And unlike your mother, our smiles are genuine.”

The words hit like a slap. Missy’s face turned pale, her eyes reddening as she instinctively reached for Layton’s arm. ”I’m sorry,” she said quickly, her voice trembling. ”I didn’t mean anything by it. Sister, I only wanted to greet everyone...” A perfectly timed tear rolled down her cheek, glistening under the hallway lights.

Mindy didn’t even glance at her. ”Let’s go, Grandma,” she said calmly. ”We shouldn’t waste time listening to foolish people. It affects one’s judgment.”

Missy’s shoulders trembled. ”Sister,” she whispered, her voice breaking, ”why are you always so harsh to me?”

Layton frowned, his tone sharp. ”Mindy. She didn’t say anything. There was no need to insult her.”

Mindy stopped walking. Slowly, she turned her head toward him. Her eyes were completely emotionless, her expression unreadable. For a moment, the silence between them was deafening. Then she scoffed softly, a sound that carried more weight than any argument. It was the sound of indifference, of someone who no longer cared enough to fight.

Hannah watched the exchange quietly, a trace of disappointment flickering in her eyes. She sighed softly but said nothing. Emma placed a gentle hand on Mindy’s arm, and together, the four women continued down the corridor toward LUXT’s preparation suite.

Layton and Missy remained standing where they were, the silence between them heavy and awkward. Missy dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, her expression pitiful. Layton didn’t look at her. His gaze remained fixed on the direction Mindy had gone, his thoughts a tangled mess.