Chapter 65: The Devil’s Countermove

Inside LUXT’s private suite, silence reigned. The air was heavy, thick with disbelief and dread. Every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on Dante, who stood near the window, his phone still pressed to his ear. His normally composed face had turned grim, his jaw tight, his eyes dark. When he finally lowered the phone, the sound of his slow exhale filled the room.

"They found them," he said quietly.

The words seemed to echo through the suite. Mindy, standing near the center of the room, didn’t move. Her expression remained calm, her voice steady when she asked, "Where?"

Dante’s tone was clipped, professional, but there was a weight behind every word. "About forty kilometers from here. An abandoned construction site. They were tied up, blindfolded. Their phones were confiscated. The assistants were beaten. The three security personnel escorting them are in critical condition."

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Emma covered her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. "My God..." she whispered.

Dante continued, his voice low. "They’re alive—but barely. My men encountered four attackers. All dressed in black. Highly trained. They tried to capture them, but the attackers escaped."

The room fell into a deathly silence. Even the faint hum of the air conditioner seemed to vanish. Matthias stood near the table, his silver mask catching the light, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—cold, sharp, and dangerous—darkened until they looked almost black. The temperature in the suite seemed to drop several degrees.

"How long?" he asked quietly.

Dante immediately understood. "The models can be here in approximately two hours."

Matthias closed his eyes briefly, his voice calm but edged with steel. "Our first runway look begins in two and a half."

No one needed to explain what that meant. Two hours left barely thirty minutes to prepare. It was impossible.

The realization hit everyone at once. Months of preparation—months of sleepless nights, sketches, fittings, and rehearsals—were about to collapse because of one calculated attack. The silence that followed was suffocating. Emma and Hannah sat quietly on the sofa, their faces pale. The design team stood frozen, their hands trembling slightly as they exchanged helpless glances.

Layla couldn’t sit still. She began pacing back and forth, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. "What do we do?" she demanded, her voice rising with panic. "Our entire collection, the photographers, the interviews—everything depends on this!" She turned toward Mindy, her eyes wide. "Mindy, say something!"

But Mindy didn’t answer. She stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, her back to everyone, staring out at the skyline of Greendale. The city stretched before her, glittering and alive, completely unaware of the chaos unfolding inside this room. She didn’t move. She didn’t blink. She was thinking.

Matthias watched her quietly, trying to read her expression, but he couldn’t. There was something about her stillness that unnerved him. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t despair. It was calculation.

Then, without warning, Mindy turned and picked up her phone. She dialed a number quickly, her movements precise. The call connected almost instantly.

"Mindy," came Ana’s voice on the other end. "I’m with the media team. We’re preparing the judges’ interview. What happened?"

"Leave it," Mindy said simply. "I need you."

Ana hesitated. "Now?"

"Now."

There was a pause, then Ana’s voice softened. "I’ll be there."

Mindy ended the call and turned back toward the room. Her gaze swept over everyone before landing on Layla. She circled her once, then twice, her eyes studying her from head to toe.

Layla frowned, her voice uncertain. "Why are you looking at me like that? You’re making me nervous."

Mindy didn’t answer. She turned her attention to Emma, then to Hannah, her eyes sharp and assessing. Emma blinked, confused. "Minny? What?"

Still no answer.

Finally, Mindy looked toward her design team. "Everyone," she said quietly, "come with me."

They followed her into the preparation room. Five couture gowns stood displayed on mannequins, each one a masterpiece of craftsmanship and imagination. The fabrics shimmered under the soft light, the embroidery glinting like captured starlight. Everything was ready—except the models.

Mindy turned to face her team. "We have exactly two hours and thirty minutes," she said. Her voice was calm, but there was a quiet authority in it that made everyone straighten instinctively. She began explaining—quietly, patiently—every instruction, every adjustment, every responsibility. She spoke with precision, her mind already several steps ahead.

Fifteen minutes later, the room was silent again. The designers stared at her, their faces pale. One of the junior assistants finally found the courage to speak. "Miss Wilson," he said hesitantly, "are you serious? We can actually do this?"

Mindy met his gaze. "We can," she said firmly. "But only if everyone trusts me."

For a moment, no one moved. Then, one by one, they nodded.

"Let’s win," someone whispered.

The words spread like a spark. The room exploded into activity. Designers rushed to their stations, assistants began steaming fabrics, stylists prepared accessories. The air filled with the sound of movement, determination replacing despair.

Outside, Wade was waiting near the door. "What are you planning?" he asked, his tone cautious.

Mindy turned to Dante. "Call your men," she said. "Tell them to take every model directly to the hospital. They’ve been through enough. They’ll receive full payment. They don’t need to walk today."

Dante hesitated, glancing at Matthias. Matthias gave a single nod. "Do it."

Layla frowned. "If there are no models," she said slowly, "then who exactly is walking the runway?"

Mindy smiled—a slow, dangerous smile that made everyone in the room pause.

Layla’s eyes widened. "Why are you smiling like that? Should I be scared?"

Wade chuckled. "I think you should."

Before Layla could respond, the suite door burst open. Ana rushed inside, slightly out of breath. "I’m here," she said, looking around. Everyone was staring at her. Then she noticed Mindy’s smile. Her expression changed instantly.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No. I know that smile. What are you planning? Why do I feel like I just walked into the Devil’s trap?"

Wade laughed. "You definitely did."

The door closed behind them. A few moments later, two loud screams echoed from inside the suite.

"NOOOO!"

"I CAN’T!"

Outside, several hotel staff exchanged confused looks.

Two hours later, the Royal Pavilion was ready. The runway lights glowed softly, photographers adjusted their lenses, and the guests had taken their seats. The judges sat in perfect alignment, their expressions composed. The orchestra tuned their instruments, the air vibrating with anticipation.

Originally, Zeus Vision was scheduled to present fifth. But Matthias’s phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen, his expression turning cold. "They moved us," he said.

Mindy looked up. "To?"

"First," Matthias replied. "They changed the order. We’re opening the show."

The room froze.

Matthias turned to her. "Are you sure? Can she do this?"

Mindy smiled faintly. "She’ll surprise everyone. I can’t leave. You’ll have to handle backstage."

Matthias nodded once. "I will."

At that moment, Zac burst into the suite, his hair slightly disheveled, his expression exasperated. "What was so urgent?" he demanded. "I was on a date! I had to tell her I suddenly had stomach pain. Do you know how embarrassing that was?"

Matthias sighed. "We need you."

Zac folded his arms dramatically. "Fine. What now?"

Mindy smiled. "Come with me."

Twenty minutes later, Zac walked out of the preparation room completely speechless.

Back inside the Royal Pavilion, the lights dimmed. The orchestra began to play a slow, haunting melody. The host stepped onto the runway, his voice echoing through the hall. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "welcome to the Maxine Portfolio Runway Showcase."

Thunderous applause erupted.

"The first presentation," the host continued, "will be from Zeus Vision, in collaboration with LUXT Design."

Across the audience, Missy Hawthorne smiled confidently. Everything was proceeding exactly as planned. Opposite her, Kelvin King leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

Lucy, seated beside him, noticed. "What made you smile?" she asked.

Kelvin’s gaze remained fixed on the runway. "Nothing," he said softly. "I just remembered my brother."

Lucy frowned but said nothing.

Backstage, someone was shaking uncontrollably. "I can’t," the voice whispered. "I seriously can’t. I’ll fall."

Zac stood beside the trembling figure, his arms crossed. "No," he said calmly. "You won’t."

"I’m sweating," the person stammered. "My legs are shaking. My heart is exploding."

"Good," Zac said. "Use that. Besides, Missy looks ridiculously smug out there. Don’t you want to wipe that smile off her face?"

The nervous figure hesitated, then nodded slowly. "I do."

"Then walk," Zac said simply.

The ballroom lights went completely dark. Silence fell. Five seconds passed. Nothing happened. Missy’s smile widened. Ten seconds. Guests began whispering. One of the judges leaned toward another. "Technical issue?"

The Photography Director frowned. "Where’s the first model?"

Then—click. Click. Click.

The sound of high heels echoed through the darkness. A single spotlight flickered on, illuminating the runway. A graceful silhouette emerged from the shadows—elegant, confident, regal. The audience collectively gasped.

The host blinked, glancing down at his cue card. "Presenting," he said, his voice trembling slightly, "The Princess. The model... Miss Ana Bose."

The entire Pavilion erupted.

The light expanded, revealing Ana in full.

Her gown shimmered like dawn breaking over a quiet sea. The theme—Innocence mistaken for weakness—was woven into every thread.

The palette was soft and ethereal: nude pink, soft gold, and ivory blending seamlessly like the first blush of morning. Handcrafted floral embroidery climbed delicately across the bodice, each petal stitched with precision, each crystal vine catching the light like dew.

The off-shoulder silhouette framed her collarbones with quiet grace, while a pearl corset cinched her waist, sculpting her figure into regal perfection.

The flowing cathedral skirt trailed behind her like a whisper of clouds, every movement releasing a shimmer of gold dust under the lights.

A delicate cape, sheer and weightless, floated from her shoulders, embroidered with faint golden vines that glimmered as she walked.

It was a dress that told a story—a princess raised in luxury. Beautiful. Proud. Sheltered. She believed the world was kind. But beneath the softness of the fabric, beneath the innocence of its hue, there was strength. The kind of strength that came from surviving cruelty and still choosing grace.

The audience was spellbound.

"What?!" someone shouted. "That’s Andrew Bose’s daughter!"

"She’s walking?!"

"She’s gorgeous!"

"The dress—it’s breathtaking!"

Missy’s smile vanished. Her face turned pale. "Impossible," she whispered.

Across the hall, Kelvin sat upright, his satisfied smile gone. His fingers curled tightly around the armrest. Impossible. His men hadn’t failed. So how—

Ana walked down the runway, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. For the first few steps, she thought she might faint. But then she saw the audience. They weren’t laughing. They were staring—in awe.

A small smile appeared on her lips. Her nervousness melted away. By the time she reached the center of the runway, she looked every bit like a professional model. The applause was deafening.

Behind the media section, someone shouted on phone, "Turn on the TV! Miss Ana is walking!"

In another room, Andrew Bose received three phone calls at once. "What?" he said, confused. "My daughter? Runway?" He turned toward the nearest television.

When he saw her, he froze. "My daughter," he whispered. "She looks incredible."

Backstage, Mindy watched the live feed, a satisfied smile curving her lips. Layla stood beside her, pale and trembling. "Mindy," she said weakly, "I can’t. I seriously can’t."

Mindy pointed toward the screen. "Look," she said. "She was crying harder than you. Now look at her. You can do this."

Mindy turned to Dante. "You’ll escort her."

Dante blinked. "Wait. Me?"

Mindy nodded.

"Seriously?" he asked.

Layla looked horrified. "Oh no..."

Wade burst out laughing. "Thank God I’m not pretty," he said. "Otherwise, Mindy would’ve thrown me onto that runway too."

Layla glared at him. "Shut up."

Mindy stepped closer to Layla, her voice low but firm. "If the people who did this are watching us right now, don’t you want to wipe that smug look off their faces?"

Layla’s eyes narrowed. "I do."

"Then let’s show them," Mindy said.

Layla took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and nodded. "Let’s go."

Dante opened the backstage curtain for her.

Far across the audience, Kelvin’s eyes met Missy’s. She gave him an almost invisible signal. Kelvin slowly stood, adjusting his jacket. Without drawing attention, he walked toward the emergency staircase. Missy followed a few moments later, her expression tight.

Neither of them noticed the pair of eyes watching them from the shadows near the balcony—a silent observer, unseen and unmoving, tracking their every step as they disappeared into the dimly lit corridor.

The Devil’s countermove had begun.