Chapter 245

ASHLEY

The conference room hums with creative tension like I’ve never seen. It feels almost tangible, like electricity crackling just beneath the surface. Ideas have a way of doing that, of thickening the air and making every breath feel like it carries a possibility of groundbreaking success which is what we’re gathered to make. Matteo stands at the head of the long table, sleeves rolled up, tablet in hand, guiding the session with impeccable precision. He has always known exactly how fragile and volatile creative minds can be when thrown together so, it’s cool watching him work his magic.

I lean back slightly in my chair, one ankle resting over my knee, fingers steepled beneath my chin as I watch the new talents Matteo brought in supposedly to save the future of Rollins Fashion. I watch all of them, especially the one fraudulently impersonating me as Noxx.

“Alright,” Matteo says, clapping sharp enough to refocus the room. “Remember, we stick to structure. I know you all have a LOT of ideas. I don’t want those scattered thoughts. I want clarity. I expect you to give us a fevered pitch like you’re already selling to the world.”

A few nods ripple across the table.

“You are to start by describing your design concept. Snappily tell us how you came by such design, and why you stuck with it. Then relate that to its relevance to the current fashion atmosphere. Finally, I want to see numbers, online stats to prove people actually vibe with it. You put up a good pitch and you just might convince us it belongs in the main collection.”

He gestures toward the first presenter.

The guy who practically vibrated out of his skin the day he asked for my autograph springs up like he’s been waiting his entire life for this exact moment. His grin is wide, infectious, and almost reckless.

“Hi! Okay—um, hi everyone,” he starts, then laughs at himself. “Right. I’m Eli Kauffman.”

Of course he is. Eli taps his tablet and the screen behind him lights up. The first design appears and I feel my brows lift before I can stop myself.

At first glance, the only word that best describes it for me is chaos. The silhouette is exaggerated, shoulders structured into sharp, almost architectural peaks, while the body cascades into layers of iridescent beadwork that catch the light in fractured reflections. From what we can all see, Eli explores with materials outside the traditional fabrics. The design will look constructed when worn, sculpted even. It’s…interesting.

“I call this piece ’Resonance,’” Eli says, his voice gaining strength as he goes on. “It’s inspired by soundwaves. The way music travels through air and hits the body. I wanted to create something that doesn’t just sit on the wearer but reacts to movement, to energy.”

He gestures animatedly, stepping closer to the screen.

“These beads aren’t just decorative. They’re placed to create micro-movements with every step. The garment literally shimmers differently depending on how you move. It’s unpredictable and can make the dress feel…alive.”

I exchange a glance with Matteo. He’s already typing notes. Eli swipes to the next slide and we see a model walking. The garment ripples like liquid light.

“In terms of relevance,” Eli continues, “we’re seeing a shift toward experiential fashion. People don’t just want to wear clothes anymore. They want to feel them. Interactive textures, unconventional materials, statement silhouettes. This fits right into that.”

He pauses just long enough to let it sink in.

“And for stats…” he adds, pulling up a graph. “I ran concept teasers on my socials. Close-ups, no full reveal. Engagement spiked by forty-two percent compared to my usual posts. Comments were mostly curiosity-driven. People trying to guess the material, asking for a reveal.”

He beams, clearly proud. “I think it has strong marketing potential. This is not just a look; it’s a conversation.”

Silence follows for a beat. All heads snap in mine and Matteo’s direction for our remarks. I lean forward slightly, tapping my pen against my notebook. Throwing in the model was a nice touch, I’ll give him that. It took the concept out of the theoretical realm and helped us all see the true art and his vision clearly.

“It’s bold,” I say finally, my eyes narrowed at the screen. “Borderline theatrical if I say so myself. I love the aspect of movement becoming a way to commune with the elements of nature and the dress.”

Eli’s grin widens like he’s just been handed validation on a silver platter.

“But…” I add, and his shoulders tense just a fraction, “the extremities are risky. The comfort and versatility of the styles are unpredictable at this point. I think the concept can work if we tone down the extremities.”

Matteo nods beside me. “Agreed. There’s something here in the kinetic detailing. We can explore that in a more wearable direction.”

Eli nods rapidly, like he’d agree to anything at this point. “Thank you,” he says, almost breathless as he sits down.

The next presenter rises more cautiously. She doesn’t command attention the way Eli does. She doesn’t try to. Her presence is quieter, almost introspective, like she’s more comfortable speaking to her work than performing for a room.

“Hi… I’m Amari,” she says softly.

Her slide appears and immediately, I notice the difference. Where Eli’s work is loud, hers is… restrained.

The design is deceptively simple. A flowing, layered dress in muted tones, the fabric almost whisper-thin, draping like water over the body. But the detailing is where it shines. Subtle hand-stitched lines that mimic natural erosion patterns. Edges that look intentionally unfinished, like time itself has worn them down.

“I titled this ’After the Storm,’” she says, her voice steady despite the softness. “It’s about what remains; not the chaos but the quiet after.”

I feel myself leaning in without realizing it.

“The fabric choice is intentional,” she continues. “Lightweight silks blended with organic cotton. It creates movement without weight. The wearer feels almost… unburdened.”

She glances briefly at the screen, then back at us.

“In terms of relevance, there’s a growing demand for emotional storytelling in fashion. Pieces that feel personal and grounded. Not everything has to be loud to stand out.”

Matteo’s typing slows. He’s listening.

“So, this taps into that. It’s minimalism, but with depth. Think of it as imperfection as a design language.”

Her stats slide comes up. “I don’t have viral numbers,” she admits firmly. “But the engagement I do get is intentional. People save my posts. They come back to them. The retention is high.”

Interesting. Very interesting. I rest my elbow on the table, pressing my fingers lightly against my lips as my mind starts working. The restraint in the designs speak to me, reminds me of my earlier works. While mine had been forced by the board, hers are more intentional and natural.

The layering and texture astound me. The emotional narrative will be a hot selling angle for our marketers. There’s something here I can use, something that can soften the sharper edges of what I already have in mind and balance it.

When she finishes, the room is quieter than before.

“Good,” Matteo says simply. “There’s restraint here but somehow, the simplicity shines through, makes every piece feel like a rare find.”

I nod. “You understand how to make people feel special even when wearing a simple and comfortable clothing. That’s harder than most people realize.”

Her cheeks flush slightly, but she smiles. “Thank you.”

Quietly, she resumes her seat and scribbles on her iPad.

“Next,” Matteo says.

The air in the room shifts, at least to me because now it’s her turn.

Nova or rather… Noxx. I settle back in my chair, deliberately casual, though every nerve in my body sharpens. This is it. It’s one thing to steal my identity and claim designs you know nothing about their inspiration. I’m eager to see how far she can go without falling apart and getting caught up in her lies once and for all.

Nova rises with that same composed confidence she’s carried since day one. No fidgeting. Her steadiness and calm infuriate me. I’m dying to see her a break a sweat once, or choke on her words out of nerves or embarrassment given the gravity of the lie she’s living.

I hope today can be that day. The corner of my lip stretches in a subconscious smirk. It disappears when Nova’s eyes flick to mine.

Just for a second, I see the flicker of nerves flit through her eyes. So, you do feel it. I think to myself. This is the first I’ve ever seen her crack under pressure and it’s so satisfying to watch. Of course, my plan worked. I had personally convinced Matteo to make all the talents follow the structure to present their designs so Nova will feel stuck.

She’s got too much pride and ego for a pathological liar and I aim to clip her wings really soon.

She turns to the screen and begins without preamble. When the first design appears, my breath catches. It’s mine, one of my earliest posts as Noxx which went viral and drew thousands of eyeballs to my account.

I frown deeply. The only way she could still have access to these designs, enough to display them without leaking the fact that she’s locked out of Noxx’s account would be because she had maybe downloaded the images before I denied her access. I bite my lower lip in anger. It would have been a sight to watch her squirm and struggle to display her so-called designs because she had lost access to my account.

I snap out of my thoughts and focus on my design. She might be able to get away with explaining the structure but the philosophy behind it? The way the lines curve in deliberate asymmetry, the tension between rigidity and flow?

“I call this ’Disruption,’” Nova’s smooth voice cuts through. My jaw nearly drops. Fuck No. That title hits too close to home. It’s too perfect because I could easily have called it the same thing!

And as she continues speaking, it gets worse.

“Fashion has always thrived on repetition, on cycles. Trends return after being slightly altered. But what if instead of revisiting the past, we distort it?”

My fingers tighten slightly against the armrest. That’s very close to where my head was at when I was sketching this. This can’t be happening. She’s a fraud. It makes absolutely no sense for her to understand not just the design but the vision behind it.

“The silhouette borrows from traditional tailoring,” she goes on, “but it’s intentionally broken. The seams are deliberately misaligned. The structure meaningfully interrupted. It forces the eye to question what it’s seeing.”

My pulse starts to pound. How? How the hell…?

She moves to the next slide and it’s another one of my designs as Noxx. Another one that feels like it was pulled straight out of my head.

“If people are craving individuality,” she says, “then predictability is the enemy.”

That line. I’ve written that line before but never publicly shared it. I have never even used it in an interview. It’s an old saying that stuck with me and though I think about it all day, I barely say it. I surge to my feet before I even realize it.

The chair scrapes the floor slightly behind me. Matteo nudges my arm subtly and that’s when the room comes back into focus. I blink my eyes. Everyone is looking at me. Shit. Why the heck am I standing during Nova’s presentation? It’s so awkward.

I force myself back into my seat, my throat tightening as I clear it. Nova doesn’t pause. She keeps going and finishes flawlessly like I didn’t just steal her audience’s attention for five seconds.

And when she’s done, a resounding applause follows from her audience who are also fans of Noxx’s work. I never saw a fuller smile. Grinning, she glances at me and this time…she smirks.

Something cold settles in my chest. Matteo starts to chirp in his remarks but I barely hear it. When it’s my turn to comment, the words die in my throat. I tug at my neckline as though a tie is strangling me even though I never wear ties. Clearing my throat, I do the best I can and give her a clipped remark.

“It’s… strong,” I manage. “Conceptually aligned with where we’re heading.”

Aligned, not identical. I stand abruptly before I can say anything else.

“I need to make a quick call. I’ll be back.” I mutter, already heading for the door while Matteo carries on.

The hallway feels too narrow as I struggle to pull off my usual, confident stride. By the time I reach the break room, my legs feel… weird, like they don’t quite belong to me.

I grab the first can of water I see, crack it open, and take a long, desperate gulp. The cold liquid slides down my throat, but it does nothing to steady the storm roaring inside me.

What the hell just happened? I brace my hands against the counter, staring at my reflection in the metal surface.

How could she…how? She’s definitely not in my head so how is she doing it? Why am I the one falling apart when I set the trap for her? Her presentation was so good I am actually starting to doubt my own credibility as Noxx. How exactly do I prove that she’s the fake Noxx if she’s too good at playing Noxx?

The door opens behind me. I don’t need to turn to know it’s her. Nova walks in like she owns the place.

Her confidence level is nearly arrogant. After what she just displayed at the meeting, it feels like she stepped into my mind and rearranged the furniture. I chug some more water to steady myself.

Standing next to me, she reaches for a bottle of water, her movements unhurried and deliberate. Our bodies are uncomfortably close now. Then she looks at me but not in any way flirtatious. It’s not shy either.

When I lock eyes with her, the look she gives me is daring. I force myself to straighten my back and stay calm. I have no idea what her motives her but I have to play it cool for now.

“You did really well in there.” I tell her quietly.

Her lips curve in a smile. “Thank you, Ashley.”

She twists the cap open, takes a sip. “For a moment, I thought you didn’t like it. You barely said anything about my work, unlike your remarks on Eli and Amari’s designs.”

“I…lacked the right words to express my awe.” Later, I’ll punch a wall for how unnecessarily poetic my reply is but for now, I’m too focused trying to study her.

A beat passes between us.

“Where’d you learn to sketch like that?” I ask finally.

She shrugs lightly. “I didn’t I’ve always had a natural flair for it. Been doing it for years.”

“How many?”

She glances at me when the question comes too quickly. “Going on sixteen years now.”

The number lands like a punch. I started sketching my designs in middle school around the same time. I know we were classmates back then but does she truly remember me? Has she been watching my work for that long? How come I don’t remember us being friends or even close enough for me to share my passions with her?

I nod slowly. “You’ve got something really special.”

She holds my gaze a second longer than necessary. “Thanks.”

“Why Noxx and not Nova?”

For the second time today, I watch her crack yet again. Her smile dims. She gulps and looks away. “Anonymity I guess.” Then proceeds to drink some more water.

Someone taps the door. I look and find Matteo poking his head in.

“Hey, you coming? It seems a little unfair to miss the presentations of the remaining artists so we’re actually waiting for you.”

“I’m right behind you.” I nod at him as he leaves.

Grabbing my bottle of water, I turn toward the door, then pause. Maybe I can pull off one last move with the mysterious Nova.

“Hey, you should try posting more of your designs to build traction. We’ll be watching the numbers to see how people interact with it. Don’t forget to tag Rollins Fashion.”

It’s definitely a trap. If she can’t access her account, she can’t make new posts and if she is unable to post, she has to explain that to us. But when I look back at her, her expression doesn’t change.

“I will.” She replies confidently.

Everything in me stills. With a forced smile, I give her a thumbs up, then walk out.

The moment I’m out of her sight, my mind starts spiraling. She gives me chills. The confidence that radiates from her eyes gives me concern. There are depths to her eyes that hold secrets. There’s something in the way she looks at me, like she knows my next move before I think it.

I thought I had a good handle on this but after our interaction, I feel less like the puppeteer and more like the puppet.

I take one last glance at the break room and wonder to myself. Who the hell are you, Nova Simmons? What do you really want from me and how far are you willing to go?