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墨書 Inktalez
In the following days, I inevitably had more interactions with Ran. The brand's media preview, Vogue's exclusive shoot, and crucial makeup rehearsals all featured him prominently as both the opening and closing model, always positioned in the spotlight.
The backstage became our main "battlefield." He usually arrived early, quietly sitting in a corner listening to music or conversing softly with his agent. He exuded an aura that kept others at bay, creating a two-meter radius of solitude around him.
Meanwhile, I was like a spinning top, racing around backstage to handle various emergencies. I checked outfits, confirmed makeup and hair, communicated with the Show Director about the process, and calmed nervous models—busy to the point of not having a moment to spare.
Occasionally, we would brush past each other in a narrow corridor. He would nod slightly as a form of greeting. I would either ignore him completely or respond with a smile so forced it could hardly be called genuine. This deliberate distance and silent competition added an eerie tension to the atmosphere backstage.
Everyone seemed to understand the unspoken rule; no one dared to mention the past in our presence, not even gossip could be spoken aloud. Ke Lin seemed to have been intimidated by my previous attitude and had been much more polite to me these days, though he occasionally hinted that I should prioritize the bigger picture and maintain a good relationship with Lance.
Maintain a good relationship? How was that supposed to happen? Was I supposed to greet him with a smile and say, "Hi, Ran, thank you for standing me up back then and nearly driving me to bankruptcy. Now that you're back as my model, I'm truly grateful"? Dream on.
On the day of the media preview, a small incident occurred. One of my designs featured a special light-sensitive fabric that displayed flowing rainbow hues at certain angles; it was my pride and joy for this collection. However, during the showcase, the lighting technician somehow miscalculated the angle completely, making the dress appear dull and lifeless.
I panicked at that moment, wanting to rush forward to adjust it but was stopped by staff members. As I watched reporters' cameras focus on that disastrous lighting effect, my anxiety soared. Just then, Ran, standing at the front of the line, subtly shifted half a step aside.
With just half a step, he blocked most of the direct light sources aimed at me, and slightly adjusted his body angle to cleverly redirect a beam of side light onto that dress.
In an instant, the dress came alive.
It shimmered with colors, breathtakingly beautiful.
The reporters' flashbulbs immediately erupted into a flurry of light.
The entire process took only a few seconds, appearing as if it had been meticulously choreographed.
If I hadn't been watching intently, I would have never noticed his subtle maneuver.
Why did he help me?
I stood there, bewildered and puzzled.
After the event, I sought him out to ask for clarification or at least… to say thank you?
But he was already surrounded by a group of reporters and brand executives.
He handled various questions with grace, his smile polite but his gaze still distant.
He seemed like a completely different person from the one who had discreetly helped me moments ago on the runway.
As I watched him leave, enveloped by the crowd, I swallowed the words that had almost escaped my lips.
Forget it.
Perhaps it was just a coincidence.
Or maybe he was simply ensuring the overall effect of the show; after all, he was the opening model.
Yes, that must be it.
I told myself this repeatedly.
Yet in some corner of my heart, something stirred uncontrollably.
On rehearsal day, trouble struck again.
This time, it was directed at me.
Another designer releasing their collection at the same time, Lilian, had been subtly competing with me for some time now.
She "accidentally" knocked over a cup of coffee backstage, spilling it all over the finale dress I had prepared for Ran.
It was a pure white velvet suit, adorned with intricate patterns that I had painted myself. Coffee stains quickly seeped into the fabric, leaving behind unsightly marks.
Lily, looking flustered, apologized, "Oh no, I'm so sorry, Xia Wan! I didn't see..."
I trembled with anger. This suit was one of a kind; there was no backup! With less than 48 hours until the official show, everyone in the backstage was watching me, waiting to see how I would handle this disaster.
I clenched my fists tightly, my nails digging into my flesh. Just as I felt like I was about to explode, a hand pressed down on my shoulder.
It was Ran. I didn't know when he had come over, but he looked down at the ruined suit with a furrowed brow. Then he turned to me, his voice calm.
"Don't worry."
"I have a solution."
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