The day of the runway show dawned like a storm brewing on the horizon. Every nerve in my body was taut as a bowstring, but I forced myself to stay calm. This was it. The final challenge before the top ten would be announced. All of our work—every stitch, every sketch, every sleepless night—had led to this moment.
Maeve, Tatiana, and I headed to our designated studio to finalize the preparations. Tatiana was already grumbling about the pressure, and Maeve kept glancing at her phone as if Sylus would miraculously text her an escape plan. I just wanted to focus.
The moment I stepped inside, though, my blood froze.
"What the hell is this?" Maeve's voice cracked with disbelief. She was standing by the mannequin, her hand hovering over the torn remains of our dress. The bodice was shredded, the intricate lacework ripped apart, and the beading strewn across the floor like fallen stars.
"Our dress!" Tatiana shrieked, clutching her head. "Who would do this?"
