Chapter 1
SASHA
The backstage buzzed with nervous chatter, the whir of sewing machines, and frantic footsteps as designers and models scrambled to pull their outfits together. My heart raced in rhythm with the chaos, and I clutched a garment bag like it was my lifeline. Because right now, it was.
This was my first big fashion event, and I was trying too hard to look like I wasn’t on the verge of a meltdown.
But it wasn’t working. It wasn’t just the nerves. I was a full-blown hurricane of jitters. My hands shook so badly, I nearly dropped my garment bag for a third time today.
“Okay, Sasha,” I whispered to myself, peering into the tote bag at my feet that had other fashion necessities in case of an emergency. “Deep breaths. You’ve got this. It’s just fabric. Pretty fabric. Fabric you spent hours sewing, cutting, and praying over.”
“Did you say something?” One of the other designers asked, popping her head around the corner.
We were asked to gather here to finish our designs, but I stayed up all night to work on mine, so I was in no rush like the others. The first stage of this competition involved us creating a new piece based on a given theme. If I passed this stage, I’d qualify for the summer camp and possibly an internship with The Norbe, a new fashion design agency that catered to my interests.
“Nothing,” I chirped, flashing her a big, polite grin.
Sunshine, I reminded myself. My boyfriend would say the same. Channel sunshine, even if your insides are a storm.
“Just ignore this weird lady,” I told her.
She backed off with a frown, probably thinking I was insane. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it. This was my first event as a designer, not a volunteer or an observer.
My piece was supposed to go down the runway in a few hours, but I was picturing every possible disaster. What if the seams tore? What if I tripped while modeling my design? What if—
“Incoming,” someone screamed. “Out of the way.”
But I reacted too late. Someone’s elbow jabbed my side as they sprinted past me, and the garment bag went flying.
In my haste to grab it, I accidentally kicked the tote bag at my feet, and the contents spilled across the floor. Pins, scissors, fabric swatches, my phone, and other things went in different directions.
“Oh, come on,” I mumbled.
Securing the garment bag first, I dropped to my knees to gather the supply, barely noticing anything else until a pair of black boots stepped into my view.
“Careful,” a deep voice said, startling me.
When I looked up, I froze. The guy crouching down to help me was tall with short, straight light brown hair. His eyes were a startling shade of hazel that locked onto mine like he was trying to read my soul.
Something shifted in my chest.
“You okay?” he asked.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I—uh—yeah,” I stammered. That stirring in my chest again. “I’m fine. Just clumsy.”
He didn’t laugh or tease me like I expected. Instead, his lips curved in a small, reassuring smile as he joined me to gather my things. He moved with a quiet confidence, like he was completely unfazed by the chaos around us.
“You’re missing a swatch,” he said, holding up a small square of teal fabric. “This looks pretty important.”
“Oh, it is,” I told him. “Thank you.”
My fingers brushed his as I moved to grab it from him, and a spark of something I couldn’t quite name now shot up my arm. I pulled back too quickly, landing on my ass.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Definitely.” I cleared my throat, speaking softly, “Sure.”
Something was off about him. I didn’t like the way my timer stirred, like it was expected to do when my mate was around. I had a boyfriend. I no longer needed a mate.
Beckett and I began dating in my gap year. I took a year off to decide if fashion was really it for me. The break led me to him. My timer never reacted to his presence, but my wolf, Talia, had come to love him in those two years as much as I did. It would be hard to meet my mate now.
“No problem,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary. “Be more careful.”
Without another word, he stood and walked away. Was I rude? I shot to my feet, hoping to catch up with him to apologize, but he was gone as quickly as he had appeared. I stared after him, my heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the upcoming fashion show.
Garment and tote bag momentarily forgotten, I rubbed a hand over my chest. I felt warm there. What the hell?
This was my chance at securing a great internship. I shouldn’t let a sexy stranger distract me from my goal.
You have time, Talia, my wolf reminded me. I like him.
No, you don’t. We like Beckett. We love Beckett. And we don’t have time.
Talia chuckled and cut off the mindlink.
Graduation was in two years. It wasn’t too late to start planning for my future now. The fashion world was too big for me to leave this up to fate. I packed up the rest of my things, smiling as my phone lit up with a text from my boyfriend. Beckett couldn’t make it, but he had texted his good wishes. None of my friends were attending the show, which was fine. I didn’t want anyone to witness my failure. Besides, the flights to New York were expensive.
“Darlings,” someone called out. “Are we ready?”
My head rounded up, and I slid the phone into my tote without responding to any of Beckett’s texts. A stunning lady stood in front of the room. She clapped, silencing the chaos like she held some kind of magical command.
“Hello, darlings,” she said, flashing a dazzling smile. She had waist-length black hair, silver stilettos, and the kind of height that made you pay attention. A model, maybe. “I’m Liora Dane, your host and one of the judges for today’s show. It’s lovely to see so much talent packed in one room.”
A round of nervous laughter rippled through the space. I stood taller, hugging my garment bag a little tighter.
“Some instructions were sent alongside your invitation, but here’s how today’s show will run,” Liora continued. “Since we have…” She snapped her fingers and a short lady rushed in to give her a tablet. Dismissing her, Liora peeked at the tablet and said, “Thirty-eight designers competing, we’ll keep each of your presentations short and sweet. Twenty to thirty minutes max, including your runway time and your design pitch to the judges.”
Thirty-eight. That didn’t sound so bad… right?
“You’ll all be given a number, and will go in that order. Once it’s your turn, a coordinator will come to call you. No peeking, no watching each other’s presentations. We want this to be fair. And more importantly.” She paused, her red lips curving into something wickedly amused. “We want to see how well you handle the unknown.”
A few contestants groaned. One girl looked like she was about to faint, and a guy slapped a hand over his mouth. Liora gave us a parting wink before clicking away on her heels, her departure as commanding as it was entering.
As soon as the door shut behind her, the tension in the room snapped. Voices rose. People started buzzing again, fussing over makeup, supplies, last-minute details. A staff member in a navy-blue blazer stepped in with a clipboard and a tray of numbered tags. The sight of her shut us up.
“Okay, everyone,” she called. “In a single line. Find your name and take your number. Pin it somewhere visible.”
Everyone shuffled forward in a haste, and I accepted my number tag. 32. My stomach sank a little. I was near the end. Would I still be standing by then? It would be past midnight or late in the morning if everyone spent thirty minutes on their pitches. But at least I’d still get to pitch.
When I returned to my corner, some of the designers were pacing, checking their mirrors, and sipping from water bottles with trembling hands. I grabbed my phone for a distraction and opened the group chat with my best friends. There was a video from Lily. I turned down the volume before playing it, and three familiar faces popped up on my screen. My three favorite girls.
“We love you,” Lily yelled. Emily knocked her head, and Lily grinned, waving both hands in front of the camera like the knock didn’t affect her. Emily and Mia joined in to say, “Good luck. Win or lose, you’re amazing, Sash.”
The video ended, and I typed in a: I love you too.
There was a separate text from Mia, and it read: I know you can do this. Show them what you’ve got, Miss Fashionista.
Tears sprang to my eyes, and my throat tightened. I let out a nervous laughter, hugging the phone to my chest. I was friends with Emily and Lily before I met Mia, but on days like today, it felt like I had known her the longest.
Being on the same dorm floor with Mia was the best thing to happen to me in my first year. Now all four of us were friends, and I wouldn’t give that up for anything.
“Sunshine,” I whispered to myself. “Always sunshine.”
A few of the organizers came in, asking who had their models ready. A handful of designers raised their hands. Others, like me, stayed silent. Keeping my phone out of sight, I watched the scene unfold as we were separated into groups. Not everyone would wear their own piece.
Some were shy or antsy, so their designs would be worn by their models. But I already planned to model mine.
It was personal. A fusion of my roots in Maplecrest, my vision, and the textures I loved working with. I wanted to wear it. Needed to. So I sat in place while a few left.
Someone tapped my shoulder. “Makeup time.”
Already? I let myself be nudged into a chair, where two artists quickly got to work. One curled and pinned my hair, the other brushed foundation and shimmer across my cheeks. It was quick and efficient, done with the same professionalism I’d seen backstage in the high-end shows I watched on TV. I didn’t realize how much time had passed until the artists packed up, wished us luck, and left. After that, we were led away from the backstage chaos into a holding room where we’d wait to be called.
This room was quieter and less chaotic. Contestants sat tensely, some stood, and others paced in the heels they’d be walking in. Since I was far behind, I didn’t change yet.
“Contestant One,” a staff member’s voice rang out from the doorway. She held a printed list and called names from it. No overhead speaker, just a voice that would slice through the silence each time. “You’re up.”
The contestant, a tall man in an all-white outfit, nodded stiffly and walked out of the room. Nobody knew what happened beyond those doors. No screen. No TV. No idea how the judges reacted, what the stage looked like, or how harsh they were being. Only mystery and pressure.
It made everything worse. Brilliant move, honestly.
Minutes later, Contestant One returned. He didn’t say a word but walked past us and slumped into an empty seat with a blank expression. That silence said everything.
“Contestant Two.”
The event continued in that manner. Contestants left, and some trickled back in. A few didn’t return. Maybe they were being interviewed. Maybe they’d broken down crying somewhere. My heart beat harder with each call.
Still too far from my turn. Still enough time to fumble.
As hours rolled on, some designers decided to change into their final looks, and I chose to do the same. I pulled the garment bag into my lap, unzipped it, and screamed.
Author’s Note
Hello Queens! Thank you for choosing TDA. I hope you enjoy it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it.
As you get further into the story, don’t forget to drop a like, comment, or review. It’s the only way I can tell you’re enjoying the story, and it’s extra motivation to keep going. Most importantly, it will make my cute little writer heart so very happy.
Thanks in advance & happy reading!
Started: August 18th, 2025
Q: What day did you start reading? (Leave your answers in the comment section).
