“Move it more to the left! Left! Not right!”

 

 

“Andante! Andante!”

 

 

“We need more pink in here. Where’s the other crew I called for?!”

 

 

People were moving from different directions, and some were running due to some errands or demands from managers, an intern who was rushing to deliver another dose of morning caffeine, photographers roaming around to capture every detail of the preparation of one of the most prestigious fashion event of the decade, as well as some models with their makeup artists who are subjected to last minute fittings before the show starts tonight.

 

 

“Signora, caffè”

 

 

Nodding, the person behind the anticipated event didn’t bother to say any word. Too occupied with matching outfits for the French model in front of her.

 

 

“Gray peacoat with boots that go up to the knees and a gray wool rollneck with the hood of the peacoat over it. Sound good? Dress up. Vite.”

 

 

The female model immediately nods, scrambling to walk faster as the last order is spoken in French. It was an honor to work with the woman who was now busy flipping pages of the other designs that would be showcased on tonight’s runway at Palazzo Reale’s Sala Delle Cariatidi.

 

 

“Has she always been like this?” she asks her makeup artist. Curiosity got the best of her.

 

 

“Who?”

 

 

“Her.” She dare not say the name, afraid someone might hear her. It was also her first time on a major runway. She didn’t want to ruin it and be barred for the rest of her life.

 

 

The other person follows her line of sight. She sighs and gives a sad smile.

 

 

“Workaholic? Yes. But being this uptight? Nope.”

 

 

“Oh, really? What happened?”

 

 

“Shh.”

 

 

She realizes her mistake. Lowering her voice, she asks again, “What do you mean by that?”

 

 

“Let’s just say she used to give everyone a smile that reached her eyes. Ever heard of an eyesmile, Miss? She gave the prettiest one anyone has ever seen in their life.”

 

 

She gasps at the revelation.

 

 

Her?

 

 

An eyesmile?

 

 

Wendy can’t even comprehend or imagine how the woman could do those. She’s breathtakingly beautiful, but her cold attitude engulfed her like thick ice. Sure the woman is intelligent like hell when it comes to her job. After all, she invented pop culture and was deemed as one of the greatest in the league of fashion.

 

 

The mysterious woman was her inspiration in venturing into the world of modeling with a dream to establish a brand as well. It just didn’t occur to her that beyond the hundreds of magazine covers and interviews is that the designer is a woman of few words and often too bossy.

 

 

“Miss Son? Signora Young wants to see the outfit now.”

 

 

Wendy stood up at once. Her growing interest and respect for the woman only gave her more nervousness for tonight’s show. Pushing back other thoughts, she goes to where she is needed.

 

 

“Now, won’t you look at that? It turned out better than I imagined.”

 

 

“I … Yes, Miss Young.”

 

 

The woman had a small smile. Even without any other cheerful expression, her face still looked beautiful as ever.

 

 

“Good, I expect nothing but only perfection later. Go along, darling. I’ll be going now.”

 

 

Leaving the crowded and loud room, the intense atmosphere somehow lightens when the boss isn’t around anymore. She saw how some of the other staff took a deep breath, a sigh of relief when their line of sight followed the disappearing figure.

 

Tiffany Young, what a woman that she is.

 

 

___________________________________________

 

 

Flashing lights almost blinded the out of her eyes.

 

 

It could’ve been worse, but she is having the time of her life after completing ten fashion shows this year. From New York, London, Paris, then back here in Milan, putting the heart of fashion in this place for enthusiasts, buyers, and media.

 

 

“Miss Young, what is the current inspiration for this season’s theme?” one of the journalists in front of her asks. He wore an ID bearing Time Magazine’s name.

 

 

Just one of the many people in the room for a short press conference.

 

 

“I’ve been busy going around Europe, taking time to internalize what could possibly be a good detail for the Spring-Summer Haute Couture …” she starts off, drinking the champagne and flashing them a smile.

 

 

A crowd pleaser.

 

 

The crowd quickly gets swooned with everything she says, a trick she learned from a person she’d rather forget about. The original charismatic speaker she met a couple of years ago on the other side of the world.

 

 

“So I thought, why not the role of women and their creativity? Something that goes with the idea of symbolic figures like the goddesses, Athena, Aphrodite, or even Hera.”

 

 

“Do you think you successfully achieved that idea?”

 

 

She chuckles. “Of course! The number of people here should be enough proof of that. You see, women should be seen almost like goddesses with their own strengths. It’s what makes them different from everyone else—bringing that element in this collection where they can be easily seen.”

 

 

“There’s been a lot of new brands lately. What does Amare think of it?”

 

 

“The question is, what do you think? Amare doesn’t lose its value with time. Think of it like fine wine. The mere fact that we’re all in this event, generating at least 15 million Euros per night since the start of the fashion week, says a lot about Amare.”

 

 

Countless questions were thrown left and right. Her co-designer and manager answered some of them. It was mainly about the fashion show, Amare’s reputation, and how they recruit models.

 

 

So far, so good.

 

 

The conference is drawing to its end. Not until one of the last questions caught her attention did the woman speak with no filters. It made her uncomfortable in her chair; a concerned look given by her co-designer and anger was evident on her manager’s face.

 

 

“Miss Young, you’re currently the hottest trend. Is there any special person in your life?”

 

 

Inhale. Exhale.

 

 

“There is no one,” she responds in a monotonous tone.

 

 

More reporters started asking about her personal life, and her love life came knocking in thanks to that question. She politely declined to answer some questions, while for some, she responded too y.

 

 

Heechul, her manager, stood up. “If there’s no more question, we would like to con-”

 

 

“But Miss Young, can you give us a statement regarding those rumors about your affair with a well-known unnamed politician during your stay in South Korea?”

 

 

What the actual .

 

 

Just when they thought the night was going well. She suddenly felt like vomiting from the sudden question that Heechul had to help her maintain her balance. Searching the crowd who asked, she sees a man holding a recorder.