BILLIONAIRES: Father or Son

Chapter Fifty-One

FLORA'S POV

The show was about to begin, and I was a total mess. Alex had practically hauled me into a restroom tucked away in one of the hotel suites after I had texted him in full-blown panic mode, declaring my intent to quit.

"I really don't think I can do this," I whispered, wringing my hands as if in prayer.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Flora?" he hissed, grabbing my shoulders as if trying to shake some sense into me. "You can't let all this hard work go to waste."

I flinched. "But... what if they don't like it?" My voice cracked, and I imagined the audience booing, jeering, and sneering as I stumbled across the runway.

And then there was Lisette, Melissa, and whoever else had taken it upon themselves to sabotage me. Even if they weren't actively plotting my demise tonight, their smug faces in the crowd would be unbearable if I failed.

Alex exhaled sharply, visibly trying to keep his cool. "We talked about this last night. You're not here to perform a goddamn Broadway musical, Flora. You're here to flaunt. Flaunt your work, your design. You're the artist, not the damn canvas!"

I stayed silent, staring down at my trembling feet like a child being scolded. I wasn't good enough for this. Not for the runway, not for the spotlight. The sabotage felt like proof of that. Who was I kidding, thinking I belonged in a world of glittering perfection?

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a resigned sigh. "Fine. Whatever. You want to give up, that's on you." His voice softened, though his irritation was still there. "But I'll be sitting in that audience, Flora. Watching. Hoping you remember who the hell you are."

And with that, he walked out, the door going shut behind him with a click that made my stomach sink further.

I turned to face the mirror, glaring at my reflection as if my own insecurities were staring back at me. "You're not good enough," they whispered. I smoothed the fabric of my redesigned dress; the one Alex and I had slaved over all night to salvage after the original had been ruined. Would anyone even notice the effort? Would they care? Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the restroom and made my way back to the dressing room.

The buzz of pre-show chaos enveloped me. The air was thick with the scent of hairspray and anxiety. Models were everywhere, getting their hair and makeup done, adjusting their dresses, and practicing their walks. No one paid me much attention as I slid back into the corner where my models were preparing.

"This dress looks amazing on you," one of the models said, her tone surprised.

"Yeah, thanks," I replied, trying to sound casual while my heart still raced.

The other model tilted her head, assessing me with a critical eye. "Why don't you adjust it for one of us to wear? You know, it's quite a masterpiece."

"I will model it myself," I replied.

Their exchanged looks didn't escape me. Whether they thought I was crazy, unqualified, or brave, I couldn't tell.

*

The event had officially started, and the energy in the room buzzed. Models strutted onto the runway, glowing in the spotlight, before returning with triumphant smiles, their designers clapping and throwing out compliments. Meanwhile, my heart was doing a drumbeat in my chest, loud enough to drown out the upbeat runway music. I couldn't stop glancing around the room, catching the glances and whispers from the other designers from my office. The pointed stares made my skin prickle. I could practically hear their thoughts.

Why is she wearing that?

Is she seriously going to model her own dress?

Since most of them probably already hated me for daring to divorce Jayden Kensington, I couldn't really pinpoint who the culprit was with their expressions. Alex had laid down the law in the office yesterday, threatening to hold everyone accountable for the sabotage until they found the culprit. Still, I couldn't shake my suspicion about Ms. Hart. The way she was glaring at me now, with her lips curled was not helping at all.