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The gasps continue.
The gown was crafted from dreams themselves, cascading elegantly around her like waves of fire.
My breath catches in my throat. I can’t tear my eyes away from her—not just because she’s stunning, but because I’m so fucking proud.
Billie isn’t simply wearing fashion; she is fashion. She symbolizes everything Bellamore stands for—resilience, creativity, strength, and rebirth.
Time slows as she pauses briefly at the end of the runway. Her gaze lifts, finding mine effortlessly through the sea of faces. In that heartbeat, it’s like we’re alone, as if this entire moment is ours. Her eyes soften, the faintest smile curving her lips, as if to say,I did it.
She spins, swinging her hips as she walks away like she owns the stage. Fuck, she does.
Applause erupts, pulling my attention away as my heart continues racing. The entire crowd rises, acknowledging the queen she’s always been.
This isn’t just a walk down a runway; it’s Billie reclaiming herself, reclaiming her power and stepping fully into who she’s meant to be, who I always knew she could be. And I’m the luckiest man alive to witness it.
The stage lights lower, and then the house lights rise.
Harper moves to the edge of the stage with a microphone in her hand. “That concludes our show. The last dress is called Born from Ash and exemplifies the essence of Bellamore—unbreakable, born from the flames, triumphant and radiant—a true phoenix rising. Thank you so much for attending,” Harper says, and the room cheers again.
I push my emotions down, remembering what she said to me this morning.“You inspired me.”
It was for me as much as it was for her.
Right now, I have to see Billie. Nothing else matters.
I move backstage,finding her chatting with Harper. My eyes lock on her, and I pull her away, crashing my lips against hers.
“I’m so fucking proud of you,” I whisper between kisses, knowing I can’t get enough.
“It’s all because of you,” she says, tears streaming down her cheeks as she meets my eyes. “Because you saw what I was capable of when no one else did.”
It’s just us as we lose ourselves in one another.
“Wait,” she says, taking a step back. “That suit.”
“My girlfriend picked it out. Like it?” I ask, raising a brow.
She rubs her hand down my sleeve, and then her eyes widen when she sees the cuff links. “You?”
“I have all of your pieces, princess.” I shrug. “What can I say? I’m a fan.”
Her bottom lip quivers. “It’s always been you?”
“In more ways than one.”
“I hoped it was you. King of my heart.”
We laugh against each other’s mouths, and I think I hear Harper tell us to get a room.
I grab her cheeks, meeting her eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Please,” she says, and I take her hand, interlocking my fingers with hers.
“Stop!” I hear Harper scream at the top of her lungs. “No!”
I turn and look over my shoulder, alarmed by the panic in her tone.
The atmosphere shifts as Josh rushes backstage, his eyes wild and face flushed with rage. The energy crackles dangerously. Models scatter away from him, and even I recognize an approaching storm. My brows furrow, and then I notice the glint of a blade.