4.RIAS Spotlight stole by RYLE
The college auditorium buzzed with energy-flashes of camera lights, excited murmurs, upbeat music echoing through the wings of the stage.
A row of judges sat poised in front of the ramp, pens clicking, eyes scanning every detail as students from the Fashion Design Department presented their work.
Backstage, chaos danced like glitter in the air-models hurried for outfit changes, assistants ironed out creases, makeup artists dabbed and sprayed final touches.
Ria stood still amidst the storm, her hands pressed against her chest.
Her mannequin masterpiece had come alive-a graceful gown made of layered pastel organza, hand-sewn beads on the neckline, and flowing bell sleeves that shimmered under lights.
"You got this," whispered her classmate from behind.
Ria took a deep breath, nodding. Her eyes scanned the front rows through the curtain slit. And then-she saw her.
Eva.
Sitting with Lexi and Trenton on either side, grinning like the proudest big sister in the world.
Ria's heart soared.
Eva had made it.
---
Earlier that morning, Eva had pulled every possible string to leave the hospital after her rounds. Dr. Niel Morris hadn't questioned it when she simply said, "It's important family business." He only nodded, and returned to the case file in his hand.
Now here she was, beaming.
"Look at her," Eva whispered to Lexi.
"She's glowing," Lexi replied. "And the dress? That's a showstopper."
"Where's the guy she's crushing on?" Trenton asked, peering around.
"Oh, shut up," Eva elbowed him.
---
The emcee's voice rang out:
"Next on the ramp, a design titled "Sunset Reverie" by Ria Walter."
Ria's model emerged like a vision-tall, elegant, the fabric catching every golden glint of the spotlight. The crowd hushed, then slowly erupted in applause as the model twirled gracefully.
Judges scribbled, nodded, even exchanged impressed glances.
Ria watched, hands trembling with a mix of pride and disbelief. She glanced one more time at the audience, locking eyes with her sister.
Eva stood up, clapping with all her heart.
This moment... it belonged to Ria.
---
Just when the crowd was settling into the glow of applause following Ria's breathtaking presentation, the emcee's voice interrupted the moment with unexpected news.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a surprise wildcard entry-Lara Keene, showcasing her self-designed collection titled 'Fierce Whispers'!"
A ripple of surprise moved through the auditorium.
Ria turned sharply backstage. "Wildcard? No one mentioned wildcard entries!"
"Must've been registered last minute," one of her batchmates shrugged. "Probably an honorary slot."
Before Ria could respond, the crowd gasped. The runway lights turned a deep violet hue, and a tall girl strutted onto the stage like she owned it.
She wore a sleek black jumpsuit with asymmetrical cuts and silver accents. The sleeves shimmered like stardust and the back dipped daringly. Her confidence was magnetic-chin high, smirk in place, and eyes fixed ahead like fire.
"She's not even from this college," Lexi whispered, eyes wide from the audience.
Eva leaned forward. "She's stunning... and that outfit is killer."
Behind them, someone murmured, "She's from Pacific Law School. That's not even a design institute!"
"What's she doing here then?" another asked.
A boy's deep voice boomed from the front row, calm yet filled with pride:
"You're rocking it, Lara!"
Ria's eyes narrowed as she followed the sound.
There he was-tall, clean-cut, grey hoodie over a formal shirt, standing with folded arms and the cocky calm of someone who knew he didn't need attention to draw it. His hair was tousled in a way that seemed both careless and perfect. His smile was wide, dimples deep.
Ryle Morris.
Ria clenched her jaw.
Eva turned to her. "You okay?"
Ria forced a smile. "I'm fine."
But she wasn't.
That outfit. That girl. That boy. That win.
The judges stood, gave Lara a standing ovation.
The final results were announced fifteen minutes later.
"Second Runner Up-Amanda Lee."
"First Runner Up-Ria Walter."
"And the Winner of the annual Pacific Design Festival is-Lara Keene!"
The crowd erupted in cheers, but Ria felt a lump in her throat. Her hands still tingled from where Eva had held them a moment ago in hope. She clapped, of course, polite and graceful. But her heart sank.
Lara blew a kiss into the crowd, which was clearly for Ryle. He gave her a wink.
"I'm going to throw up," Ria muttered under her breath.
Eva squeezed her shoulder. "You were brilliant, Ria. Seriously. We'll celebrate tonight."
"Sure," Ria whispered. But her mind was already racing.
After the show, outside the college entrance under the glowing fairy-lit trees, Eva pulled Ria into a hug.
"You did it," Eva whispered, her eyes glossy.
"I wouldn't have, without your help last night," Ria whispered back. "Or your Alfredo recipe."
They both laughed.
"Mom and Dad would've loved this," Ria added softly.
Eva smiled through the sting behind her eyes. "They saw it. I'm sure of it."
"I will be there in 5 minutes Ev.Lemme go grab my stuff!" Ria said as eva walking to the parking lot to pull her car.
The backstage was chaotic-models shuffling out of their outfits, assistants wrapping up fabrics, and college volunteers hurriedly packing up props and stands.
Ria made her way toward the changing room, her lips pressed tightly together. She was holding her bag, but what weighed heavier was the ache in her chest. She wasn't angry about losing... she just felt like something had been stolen from her.
As she reached the end of the hallway, she slowed her pace.
Voices.
Low, confident, and unmistakable.
Ryle Morris.
She stepped quietly behind a half-drawn curtain near the makeup station. She didn't know why-maybe instinct, maybe intuition-but something told her to listen.
"...you were amazing," Ryle said, handing Lara a bottle of water.
"Oh, I know, babe," Lara grinned, unzipping her boots. "That runway was mine the second I stepped out."
"Still," Ryle chuckled, brushing lint off her shoulder. "I told you, I wasn't gonna let you leave empty-handed. I pulled strings so hard they almost snapped."
Lara raised a brow, curious. "Wait-you actually made them give it to me?"
"I called the head of the jury this morning," Ryle shrugged like it was no big deal. "Told him my dad's firm might be interested in sponsoring next year's event-if the wildcard gets her fair shot."
Lara snorted. "Fair shot, huh?"
"You crushed it," he said. "But I wasn't gonna leave it to chance. No way you were going to lose to some college sophomore in a yellow skirt."
Ria froze.
That was her.
Her skirt was yellow. Her design was intricate, handmade, and emotionally inspired by her mother's old patterns.
The lump in her throat burned.
Lara giggled and ran her fingers through Ryle's hair. "You really are dangerous."
"You like that about me," he smirked.
She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "I love that about you."
Ria turned slowly and slipped away, heart pounding. She didn't care about the prize anymore. But the betrayal stung deep-not because she lost to someone better... but because she never had a fair chance.
And because someone like him-with his charming arrogance and smug entitlement-could twist the world with just a few words and a phone call.
The ride back home was quiet. Too quiet.
Eva, seated beside Ria in the cab, kept stealing glances at her sister, trying to read her face. But Ria simply stared out the window, arms crossed, her jaw set in silence.
"You okay?" Eva asked gently.
Ria nodded once. "Yeah. Just tired."
Eva didn't push. She knew that tone-sharp, short, final. Ria wasn't in the mood to talk.
Back at their shared bedroom, Eva placed her bag on the bed and changed into her comfy pajamas. She offered to heat some cocoa, but Ria declined. Instead, she sat at her desk, sketchbook open, pencil moving in short, frustrated strokes across the page.
But her mind wasn't on the design.
It was on him.
"You crushed it-but I wasn't gonna leave it to chance."
Those words replayed again and again. Each time, it made her grip the pencil tighter.
She could still hear Lara's laugh. Ryle's smug tone. The way his hand rested on Lara's shoulder like he owned the world-and the judges who decided it.
Ria was no stranger to losing. But this... this was something else. This was manipulation dressed as merit.
She swallowed hard and took a deep breath.
Then she ripped the page from her sketchbook, crumpled it, and threw it in the trash.
Not this time.
She didn't cry. She didn't rant.
But something inside her shifted.
She'd come back stronger. Better. Smarter.
Ryle Morris.
The name stuck in her brain like thick skin.
He wasn't just a name anymore. He was the face of everything unfair, everything shallow that people in power did because they could.
She didn't know him. But now, she wanted to.
Not to admire.
Not to impress.
But to beat.
In that moment, something solidified inside Ria Walter. A quiet promise.
He adjusted the collar of his worn leather jacket as he walked out of his law school's bustling main building. Students passed, nodding, whispering. He didn't pause. His phone buzzed. He checked it-Lara-and shoved it back into his pocket.
He wasn't in the mood. Not today.
Last night's fashion contest had been... messy. Lara won, sure. He made sure of that. But the way that girl-what was her name?-the one who should've won, looked? It bothered him.
He didn't know her, but her silence said a lot. The quiet kind. The kind who don't make scenes, but don't forget either.
He sighed.
Ryle wasn't the villain people made him out to be. Not entirely, at least.
---
Back at his off-campus , Denver sat on the couch, waiting with raised eyebrows.
"You look like crap," Denver said, tossing a soda can at him.
"Nice to see you too."
"You're late for the moot prep. Again."
Ryle flopped onto the couch beside him, opening the can without looking. "I'll catch up."
Denver studied him. "Lara?"
Ryle didn't answer.
Denver scoffed. "Dude, one day your heart's gonna trip over that ego of yours."
"She needed the win," Ryle muttered.
"Did she, though? Or did you need her to win?"
Ryle exhaled, eyes drifting to the ceiling. The walls around him, though filled with books and law case notes, somehow felt... tight.
Claustrophobic.
Like his choices were slowly boxing him in.
He hated when Denver made sense.
And worst of all-he couldn't shake off the look in that other girl's eyes.And for the first time something is really bothering him after his mom's death.
Flashback last night:
Not just on the stage-he saw her after the conversation with lara.
In the chaos of celebration, the spotlights, the glitter, and the hollow applause... his eyes had landed on her. Standing off to the side, clutching a sketchbook against her chest like it was the last thing keeping her upright.
She didn't cry.
She didn't storm out.
She didn't throw accusations or shout for justice.
She just stood there.
Still.
Like someone trying not to shatter in public.
Her hair was tied in a messy low ponytail, strands falling out in frustration, cheeks flushed from stress.
She wore a pastel blue body hugging dress with silver thread along the hem-simple, clean, graceful.
Her hands were inked with fading pencil marks.
Nails chewed. Eyes rimmed red from fatigue, not tears.
He remembered the way she looked at Lara walking away with the trophy.
Not jealous.
Not envious.
Just... devastated.
She had expected it to be hers. Not because she was arrogant. But because she knew she earned it.
And that?
That haunted Ryle.
"Dammit," he muttered, tossing his phone onto the bed. The picture Lara sent him seconds ago-posing with the trophy, a kissy-face selfie with a caption 'queen things only'-made his stomach twist.
His gaze drifted to the window. Seattle's skyline was in soft greys and silvers.
He could've stopped it. He should've.
But he didn't.
And now... he remembered everything about that girl. The heartbreak in her posture. The subtle quiver of her chin. The way she avoided Lara when their eyes almost met.
She hadn't even looked at him-not directly.
Yet he remembered her more vividly than anyone else from that night.
Ryle Morris never regretted his wins.
But this time?
He wasn't sure if it felt like a win at all.
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