One Night in Valeria - Chapter 13: Chapter 13
You are reading One Night in Valeria, Chapter 13: Chapter 13. Read more chapters of One Night in Valeria.
The Underground Studio two weeks later, the first show wasn’t in a ballroom.
It wasn’t under gold chandeliers or surrounded by camera crews and royalty.
It was in an abandoned art warehouse in Old Velaria.
The walls were stripped bare, the runway lit by hanging lanterns, and the crowd?
Design students, underground press, and a few brave fashion editors with enough sense to see a revolution coming.
Jessica Hale’s first collection was called:
> ASHES.
Because you can’t rise until something burns.
At the Collection.....
Look 1: Shattered tulle stitched with gold veins, like broken glass healed with fire.
Look 2: Velvet corset with metal wings fragile and unbreakable.
Final Look: A gown made entirely of torn red silk, sewn back together with black thread. Wounds made visible. Beauty redefined." Every piece screamed rebellion, femininity, pain… and healing.
Backstage After the Show the crowd gave her a standing ovation. But Jessica didn’t smile. Not fully.
She stood backstage alone, breathing hard, hands still stained with charcoal from her sketches.
Celeste entered quietly.
“You just made a thousand-year industry look like a relic,” she whispered. “Congratulations.”
Jessica stared at the curtain.
“I don’t want their applause. I want their attention.”
“You have it now. What are you going to do with it?”
“Keep it.”
Elsewhere, Liam watched a private stream of the show from his penthouse.
No one knew.
He saw every model. Every cut. Every statement sewn into the fabric.
But it was the final dress that undid him.
The red silk. The black thread.
Her pain… made into beauty.
He closed his laptop and sat in the dark.
He was proud.
But he wasn’t in her light anymore.
And he wasn’t sure he deserved to be.
The next morning, an anonymous message arrived:
“Design for me. I will fund your empire.”
“Refuse, and I will rip it from the ashes myself.”
D.
Attached was a photo of her mother’s original sketches. Designs never published.
Stolen.
And someone had them now.
In the night, Jessica stared out her window, clutching the sketch of her mother’s lost work.
Behind her, the city glittered. She could hear cheers from the street her name finally whispered with respect instead of shame.
But inside her chest, a storm had begun.
She had set fire to the past.
But someone was trying to steal what was left in the smoke.
And she wouldn’t let them.
Not again.
"If they want a war..., Let them bleed in silk."
It wasn’t under gold chandeliers or surrounded by camera crews and royalty.
It was in an abandoned art warehouse in Old Velaria.
The walls were stripped bare, the runway lit by hanging lanterns, and the crowd?
Design students, underground press, and a few brave fashion editors with enough sense to see a revolution coming.
Jessica Hale’s first collection was called:
> ASHES.
Because you can’t rise until something burns.
At the Collection.....
Look 1: Shattered tulle stitched with gold veins, like broken glass healed with fire.
Look 2: Velvet corset with metal wings fragile and unbreakable.
Final Look: A gown made entirely of torn red silk, sewn back together with black thread. Wounds made visible. Beauty redefined." Every piece screamed rebellion, femininity, pain… and healing.
Backstage After the Show the crowd gave her a standing ovation. But Jessica didn’t smile. Not fully.
She stood backstage alone, breathing hard, hands still stained with charcoal from her sketches.
Celeste entered quietly.
“You just made a thousand-year industry look like a relic,” she whispered. “Congratulations.”
Jessica stared at the curtain.
“I don’t want their applause. I want their attention.”
“You have it now. What are you going to do with it?”
“Keep it.”
Elsewhere, Liam watched a private stream of the show from his penthouse.
No one knew.
He saw every model. Every cut. Every statement sewn into the fabric.
But it was the final dress that undid him.
The red silk. The black thread.
Her pain… made into beauty.
He closed his laptop and sat in the dark.
He was proud.
But he wasn’t in her light anymore.
And he wasn’t sure he deserved to be.
The next morning, an anonymous message arrived:
“Design for me. I will fund your empire.”
“Refuse, and I will rip it from the ashes myself.”
D.
Attached was a photo of her mother’s original sketches. Designs never published.
Stolen.
And someone had them now.
In the night, Jessica stared out her window, clutching the sketch of her mother’s lost work.
Behind her, the city glittered. She could hear cheers from the street her name finally whispered with respect instead of shame.
But inside her chest, a storm had begun.
She had set fire to the past.
But someone was trying to steal what was left in the smoke.
And she wouldn’t let them.
Not again.
"If they want a war..., Let them bleed in silk."
End of One Night in Valeria Chapter 13. Continue reading Chapter 14 or return to One Night in Valeria book page.