Chapter 149

Serena’s POV
I landed in San Francisco right on schedule, greeted by the warm California sunshine that instantly felt several degrees hotter than what I’d left behind in New York. The organizer’s staff was already waiting for me at the airport, whisking me away to my hotel with practiced efficiency.
“Miss Serena, if you need anything during the competition, please don’t hesitate to contact me. I’m here to assist with whatever you require,” the young woman said earnestly, handing me her business card.
I nodded politely, accepting the card. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
The hotel was luxurious – all gleaming marble and tasteful art pieces in the lobby. My suite overlooked the famous bay, where fog was just beginning to creep in over the water. San Francisco really was beautiful with its year-round spring-like climate, so different from the intensity of New York’s seasons.
As soon as I settled into my room, I called Ryan. He’d been texting me every hour since I boarded the plane, his protectiveness both amusing and touching.
“I’ve arrived safely,” I said when he answered on the first ring.
“How was the flight? Did they send someone to meet you? Is the hotel acceptable?” The rapid-fire questions made me smile.
“Everything’s perfect. Maya arranged two assistants who are practically hovering outside my door. She’s treating me like I’m made of glass.”
“Good. That’s exactly how you should be treated,” Ryan’s voice softened. “I miss you already. The bed feels empty without you.”
Heat bloomed in my cheeks. “It’s only been twelve hours since you saw me off at the airport.”
“Twelve hours too long,” he murmured. “Remember what I said – let the assistants handle everything. You focus on resting and the competition.”
“Yes, sir,” I teased, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. “I know how to take care of myself, you know. I was doing it quite successfully for years before you came back into my life.”
“And now you’ll never have to do it alone again,” he replied, his voice dropping to that husky tone that always made my knees weak. “Call me after the reception tonight. I don’t care what time it is here.”
We talked for another fifteen minutes, his voice wrapping around me like a caress before we reluctantly said goodbye. I flopped back onto the king-sized bed, hugging a pillow to my chest and smiling like a lovesick teenager. How had this happened to me? The ice queen of Dreamland Studio, reduced to grinning at hotel ceilings because of a man’s voice.
A knock at the door startled me from my reverie.
“Who is it?” I called, quickly smoothing my hair and straightening my blouse.
When I opened the door, another staff member from the organizing committee stood there, immaculately dressed.
“Miss Serena, tonight’s welcome reception will be held on the second floor at eight o’clock,” he informed me with a polite smile, extending an elegantly designed invitation.
I took the card, admiring the artistic calligraphy and thoughtful design. “Thank you, I’ll be there.”
With several hours to spare, I laid out my evening gown – a midnight blue piece that Maya had insisted I bring – and decided to take a long shower to wash away the travel fatigue.
The hot water eased my tense muscles, and I found myself drifting off during my post-shower rest.
I jolted awake to the realization that I was running late.
Glancing at the clock – 8:17 – I scrambled to get ready, applying my makeup with practiced speed while mentally kicking myself. Late to the very first event! What kind of impression would that make?
By the time I made it to the second floor ballroom, the reception was in full swing.
Soft jazz filtered through the air, mingling with the hum of conversation and the clink of champagne glasses.
A long table of elaborate hors d’oeuvres and desserts lined one wall, while well-dressed attendees clustered in small groups throughout the space.
I took a deep breath and stepped inside, immediately feeling eyes turning my way. A familiar voice called out almost instantly.
“Miss Serena, good evening!”
It was Mr. Xavier Brook, the head of the organizing committee – an enthusiastic man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair.
“Mr. Brook, good evening. I’m sorry I’m a bit late,” I apologized, smoothing down my gown.
He waved dismissively, smile never faltering. “Not at all! Your timing is perfect. This reception is just for everyone to mingle and get acquainted. We’re incredibly honored to have you as a judge – your reputation precedes you.”
I felt my cheeks warm at his flattery. “You’re too kind. I’m the one who’s honored to be invited.”
As we exchanged pleasantries, a sudden commotion near the entrance caught my attention. The crowd seemed to part like the Red Sea, and conversations dimmed as all eyes turned toward the doorway.
A man had entered – tall, commanding, dressed in what was clearly a bespoke suit that fit his broad shoulders to perfection. Every movement he made exuded power and confidence. Even from across the room, his presence was magnetic.
“Who’s that?” I whispered to Mr. Brook, intrigued despite myself.
Mr. Brook’s expression shifted to one of deference. “That’s the primary sponsor of our competition and the CEO of LUXE. Let me introduce you.”
As we approached the newcomer, I maintained my professional smile, though something about him seemed oddly familiar in a way I couldn’t quite place.
“Mr. Quinn,” Sin called out warmly. “May I introduce one of our esteemed judges? This is Miss Serena Quinn, the brilliant designer I mentioned. You’ve surely heard of her work.”
The man turned, and as our eyes met, I felt an inexplicable jolt of recognition.
His intense gaze locked with mine, and for a moment, the noise of the party seemed to fade away completely.