The Reveal

The lights dimmed, and I sat at the edge of my seat, watching Isla's model glide onto the runway. The dress Isla had created was bold—structured shoulders, a dramatic high slit, and shimmering silver fabric that hugged the model's frame. The audience reacted with scattered murmurs of approval, but all I could see were the flaws.

The hemline wavered, the sequins were unevenly sewn, and the fit around the hips bunched slightly. My eyes tingled, and, once again, the numbers floated into view—measurements, angles, and proportions glaring at me like a flashing red sign. The mistakes leaped out at me, impossible to ignore.

I tore my gaze away, glancing at Tatiana standing beside me. She was poised and ready, her face an unreadable mask of confidence. Her outfit was flawless, and I couldn't deny the satisfaction bubbling inside me at the thought of how it would light up the stage.

The announcer's voice boomed, pulling me from my thoughts.