Chapter 26
The Final Verdict
Country: Aurivelle
City: Cressford
Alvara
By the time I finished getting dressed, my nerves had already started creeping in.
I stood in front of the mirror for a long moment, smoothing down my light pink blouse where it tucked neatly into my baggy trousers.
My white sneakers were spotless, my mini crossbody bag rested against my hip, and my gold hoop earrings caught the morning light.
The sunlight streamed through the window, spilling across my hair in soft golden waves.
Good enough.
I stared at my reflection, studying myself, counting the seconds as my heart skipped in uneven rhythm.
“You can do this,” I whispered quietly.
“Just breathe.”
A deep breath.
Two.
Before I could say anything else, Mom’s voice called from the sitting room.
“Alvara! Isabella is here!”
“Coming!” I shouted back, adjusting the strap of my bag and taking a last glance at my reflection.
I stepped out of my room to find Isabella standing near the doorway, arms crossed dramatically.
“Well, look who finally decided to appear,” she said, smirking.
I rolled my eyes at her, trying not to show how jittery I actually felt.
“You’ve been here for two seconds,” I teased lightly.
“Two very long seconds,” she shot back, grin widening.
Mom laughed softly from the couch, shaking her head at our antics.
“Both of you stop teasing each other and come say goodbye properly,” she said warmly.
Mom pulled me into a quick hug before stepping back to look at both of us.
“Good luck today,” she said. “I’m rooting for you both.”
“Thank you, Mom,” I replied, voice steady despite the fluttering in my chest.
“Thanks, ma’am,” Isabella added, giving a small nod.
A minute later, we were outside, walking toward the bus stop.
The morning was crisp, carrying the faint smell of blooming flowers from the nearby gardens.
For the first few minutes, neither of us spoke.
The silence felt heavy, like the calm before a storm.
Then Isabella sighed, soft and tense.
“I’m nervous,” she admitted.
I glanced at her.
“Same,” I replied honestly.
She adjusted the strap of her bag and lowered her voice slightly.
“Did you hear about the judges coming today?”
“No,” I said, curiosity piqued.
“Well… I did,” she said, grimacing slightly.
That immediately caught my full attention.
“Apparently one of them is Cassian Valtieri,” she said.
I stopped walking for half a second.
“The Cassian Valtieri?”
She nodded gravely.
“The one and only.”
Cassian Valtieri was legendary in Aurivelle, a fashion critic who inspired fear and awe in equal measure.
Designers across the country whispered his name with a mixture of reverence and terror.
“If Valtieri approves your work, the entire industry will notice,” she added.
I swallowed hard.
The problem? He almost never approved anything.
Scores as low as forty or fifty percent were considered generous.
“He barely gives anyone above ninety,” Isabella continued. “Some years nobody even reaches eighty-five.”
That was comforting, I muttered under my breath.
“And he doesn’t care about reputation or connections,” she added, almost as if reading my thoughts. “Only originality.”
I could feel the weight of her words pressing down on me.
Great.
“Who are the other judges?” I asked, my stomach tightening.
“Lucienne Moretti and Matteo Corvanni,” she said.
That made me feel slightly better.
Lucienne Moretti was known for elegance, emotion, and for noticing subtle genius in young designers.
Matteo Corvanni was bold, theatrical, and unforgiving when it came to visual impact.
“If Cassian judges technical perfection, Lucienne judges artistic vision, Matteo cares about impact,” Isabella explained.
“And here I was hoping today would be relaxing,” I muttered.
She laughed softly, the sound comforting, grounding me slightly.
We walked the rest of the way in silence, each lost in our thoughts, hearts thumping in anticipation.
By the time the boutique came into view, my chest felt heavy, almost as if I were carrying all the nerves of the designers before me.
As soon as we stepped inside, I realized we weren’t the first ones to arrive.
Almost everyone was already there.
All eleven designers competing for the selection were scattered around the boutique, quietly talking or pretending to adjust fabrics and bags.
The atmosphere was thick, almost tangible, charged with tension and anticipation.
Suddenly, the reality of the day settled heavily in my chest.
The boutique door jingled again, and I felt my knot forming in my stomach.
The judges were here.
I couldn’t help but notice how they carried themselves.
Cassian Valtieri, sharp dark suit, icy gaze, every movement precise.
Lucienne Moretti, soft cream, elegance radiating effortlessly, measured, calm.
Matteo Corvanni, flamboyant, bold colors, the air around him electric.
My chest fluttered.
Cassian handed Clara a sleek tablet.
“These are the designers selected from the virtual submissions,” he said, voice flat, eyes sharp. “I am not here to waste my time on the other six.”
Clara glanced at the list, cleared her throat.
“Isabella.”
I held my breath as she stepped forward, a spark of hope igniting inside me.
“Helena.”
“Elowen.”
“Sylvie.”
And then…
I froze.
My heart skipped a beat.
“And… Alvara.”
Relief and fear collided inside me.
I almost stumbled as I stepped forward, hands trembling slightly.
Isabella gave me a quick squeeze, her eyes wide, nerves mirrored in her expression.
We were instructed to bring our designs upstairs.
The private presentation suite waited, serene and charged, bathed in sunlight streaming through wide windows.
The tables gleamed, showcasing every seam, every fold, every detail of our work.
We positioned our designs and stepped back, waiting.
The judges moved deliberately, assessing, and calculating.
Polite nods.
Brief murmurs.
My stomach churned.
Time slowed as they neared my work.
Then Cassian stopped.
Completely.
I couldn’t breathe.
Time stretched, every second painfully slow.
Lucienne tilted her head, curiosity softening her features.
Matteo crossed his arms, circling slightly, intrigued.
Cassian’s fingers traced the stitching, eyes narrowing.
Does he hate it?
Did I overdo it?
Is it… too much?
Finally, he murmured, almost to himself:
“Interesting.”
Lucienne stepped closer, voice soft but deliberate.
“The construction… exceptional.”
Matteo circled, bold, decisive.
“And the silhouette… dramatic. I like it.”
Cassian wrote in his notebook, silence falling again.
My chest heaved.
Was it praise? Or mere politeness?
The tension lingered, heavy.
Finally, the judges returned to Clara.
Lucienne’s voice was calm, warm.
“These are some of the best designs we’ve seen today.”
Cassian nodded once.
Matteo gave a small approving gesture.
“They will hear from the institute soon,” Lucienne added.
And just like that, they left.
The silence after their departure pressed down on me.
I sank slightly against the table, exhaling a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
Isabella glanced at me, eyes wide, mirroring my own disbelief.
“Do you… think we passed?” she whispered.
I shook my head, still feeling the tension knotting my stomach.
“I… I don’t know,” I admitted. “We’ll have to wait.”
We stood in silence together, hearts still racing, minds still spinning.
The waiting had only just begun.
And in that stillness, I realized the weight of what we’d done.
Every stitch, every fold, every painstaking hour now rested in the hands of the judges.
And all we could do was hope.