"Hey," Zara leaned in, her smile fading. "What's wrong?"
Bertha shook her head slowly, brows pinched. "I didn't plan on revealing those outfits today…"
Zara frowned. "Maybe there was a mix-up?"
Bertha didn't answer, her mind already racing.
Zara turned her gaze back to the audience, half-expecting to see more stars arriving. Instead, her eyes froze on a particular face among the crowd.
Collins Desmond.
He was clapping along with everyone else, eyes fixed on the stage.
Zara's breath caught. What the hell was he doing here?
She shifted her eyes a little to the right—and her heart sank.
Ariana.
Her stepsister was sitting next to him, leaning gently on his shoulder like they'd known each other their whole lives. They were laughing softly, whispering into each other's ears, wrapped up in their own little world.
Zara's stomach churned with anger.
They hadn't noticed her yet. But their comfort—their audacity—sent fire through her veins. Of all the nights. Of all the places.
She didn't want to look at the stage anymore. The show, the applause, the spotlights—none of it mattered in that moment. All she could see was them.
Meanwhile, the announcer's voice roared back to life.
"Now, everyone, brace yourselves for something truly spectacular!"
The crowd quieted in anticipation.
"We've all heard of heaven and hell... but tonight, you'll see them brought to life in a way you never have before."
The lights dimmed, the music shifted to something more dramatic.
"Please give a warm round of applause to Roland and Hannah Drew—renowned retired supermodels—as they step back onto the runway wearing the celestial and infernal-themed masterpieces from Drew's Couture!"
He let the suspense hang.
"That's right, ladies and gentlemen: Angels and Demons!"
The crowd went wild.
Two older people arrived on the runway, hand in hand—the man wearing a black tailored suit glittering with designs and rhinestones, two dark five-feathered wings sprouting from his back.
The woman wore something similar, but she was bathed in a white, flowing dress that sparkled like stars at night. A tiara embedded with expensive jewels sat perfectly on her head, and just like her partner, she had angelic wings erupting from both sides of her back.
Bertha had a ghostly expression. If anyone had looked at her, they might've thought she was about to faint. But Zara had long stopped paying attention.
Although Bertha kept talking.
"I didn't plan this. Why do they have to ruin everything?"
She turned to Zara, but Zara wasn't paying any attention.
Collins had already taken all her focus today.
But something quickly stole it away.
There was another runway that ran adjacent to the one used by Bertha's parents. Both runways met in the middle to form an intersection.
A middle-aged man in a suit and feathered mask stepped out from behind the curtains and walked down this runway.
No one batted an eye at him, most assuming his entry was part of a grand act by the supermodels.
But he looked oddly familiar to Zara.
Her alarm bells began to ring when a glint caught her eye—he had slipped something from inside his pocket and hidden it between his fingers.
It was small. Easy to mistake for something else.
But Zara knew.
It was a knife.
She took a closer look at him, observing his precise, calculated features. A chill raced down her spine. There was something deeply unsettling about him. A scary, but familiar feeling.
She had felt it earlier that night, near the backstage entrance—when that mysterious man had been stalking her.
That man…
Zara's heart sank as she realized it was the same person.
He was dressed like a model, but she could tell he wasn't. Not with the way he moved.
His presence was too calculated. His stride, too smooth and confident.
He was coming from the opposite end of the runway.
And Zara's heart skipped a beat as she realized—he was heading straight for them.
Her heart dropped even further as the truth began to settle in.
She knew exactly what he was about to do.
Meanwhile, he kept walking forward, inching closer to the intersection. Bertha's parents continued their performance, smiling and graceful, oblivious to the doom that was quietly closing in on them.
"Bertha!" Zara hissed, tugging at her best friend's sleeve.
"Bertha! That man, he…"
But this time, Bertha was the one not paying attention.
"Huh… just a minute, Zara."
Her eyes were locked on Roland and Hannah, still in shock at their audacity to use her designs without her permission.
Zara frantically turned back to the stage, where the dangerous man was just seconds from colliding with the retired supermodels. She estimated she had about two seconds—maybe less.
She knew she had to act fast.
The runway wasn't far from her. A calculated risk formed in her mind.
Zara briskly stood up. The sudden movement must've snapped Bertha back to her senses, because she turned sharply to her friend's odd behavior.
"Zara, what are you—" Bertha started to protest, but it was too late.
Zara was already off.
The man must've been too engrossed in his plans to notice her coming.
Zara slammed into him with ferocious force, sending him stumbling backward into the crowd of startled supporters.
His pocket knife flew from his hand and landed at Bertha's parents' feet.
That was all it took to send the entire arena into a frenzy.
Security personnel burst out of hidden corners, quickly surrounding the stage.
One of them escorted Bertha's parents backstage. Both were too stunned to speak, caught in disbelief.
People screamed and ran in all directions as chaos erupted.
Zara turned back toward where the man had fallen—but he was gone.
Bertha quickly ran to her side.
"We need to get out of here. Now."
"But the man—"
"We can worry about him later."
They dashed toward the exit.
Just as they reached the doors, the wail of sirens filled the air, followed by the screech of reinforced tires.
Three police cars pulled up, boxing them in.
An officer in a navy blue uniform stepped out and approached them calmly.
"Greetings, ladies. I'm Officer Moyes."
"Is there a problem, Officer Moyes?" Zara asked, slightly confused.
Officer Moyes stood tall, his posture firm, voice calm.
"We received a report linking you to an attempted murder incident. We'd like to ask you a few questions, ma'am."