Chapter 45: Red
After a moment, the noise from the audience quieted, allowing Evie to harness the silence. The rustle of fabric and faint click of cameras filled the pause. She then grasped the microphone firmly and spoke.
"People often claim that fashion is merely surface-level — consisting of clothes, colors, and fabrics. But let me be clear: fashion is a language, and every decision we make communicates who we truly are." She stepped away from her initial position, moving closer to the audience, so as to connect with them on a profound level.
"When I was younger, I used clothes as a shield. I believed that blending in would keep me safe. But the first time I wore something that resonated with my true self — not borrowed, not imposed, but authentically mine — I discovered the essence of fashion. It’s not a disguise. It’s a declaration."
"Every dress, every jacket, every pair of shoes tells a story. Some stories are subtle. Some are bold. But all of them hold significance. Fashion isn’t about mimicking someone else; it’s about revealing who you are at your core." The audience fell into a hush, captivated and attentive, some recording her words, others scribbling notes.
Evie concluded with a powerful message: "Remember this: what you wear isn’t just fabric against your skin. It’s a reflection, a protective layer, a statement. It embodies your story — and no one can articulate it better than you."
Her words lingered in the air, caught between the golden glow of the lights and the stillness of the crowd, before a wave of applause erupted.
Evie smiled, scanning the audience, pleased to see their enthusiastic reactions — she could read their admiration in their expressions.
"This is why Evie’s different," they whispered as the cheers surged.
Evie could only return their applause with gratitude, bowing slightly. Her gaze shifted to the back, searching for Ezra, wondering if he had witnessed her speech and felt proud. However, when her eyes landed on the pillar, he was nowhere to be found.
An uneasy feeling settled in her stomach. Did he leave already?
She didn’t want to reveal her disappointment, so she masked it with a smile before re-engaging with the audience, bowing once more.
The applause resonated as the moderator stepped forward, visibly impressed. "Thank you, Evie. That was powerful." Evie nodded, her eyes drawn to the bouquet in the moderator’s hands.
Those flowers.... She observed.
The moderator sensed her curiosity and responded, "Actually, these flowers are from the audience... It’s anonymous... But they’re for you." The moderator presented the bouquet.
Evie accepted the large bouquet, inhaling the fragrant aroma that made her smile bloom wider. As she examined the flowers, she discovered a note hidden among the petals.
Her cheeks heated as she read, "I couldn’t resist sneaking in here with these... Pretty, aren’t they?" The familiar handwriting made her heart race.
"Thank you very much for the flowers," Evie expressed, genuinely appreciative of the beautiful gift. It was Ezra.
The audience erupted into applause again as she stepped down from the podium toward her seat. Other speakers bowed in her direction, and she acknowledged them before taking her seat, her smile unwavering as she tucked her hair behind her ears while photographers captured the moment. The program continued seamlessly.
"We have time for a few questions from the audience." Evie composed herself, anticipating the questions she would be asked, just like the other speakers were asked. She hoped it was something she could answer as she took in a deep breath.
A woman in the second row raised her hand. "As someone who lives so much of your life online, how do you handle the pressure of always being seen?"
Evie confidently took the microphone from the moderator, her demeanor poised as she addressed the question.
"I remind myself that the internet isn’t a mirror — it’s a spotlight. It highlights facets of who we are, not the entirety. When the pressure builds, I return to what keeps me grounded: my family, my friends, and sometimes just relaxing in sweatpants, makeup-free. Identity isn’t determined by what others click on. It’s about what you know about yourself when nobody’s watching."
Another hand shot up, this time from a younger guest near the back. "What’s one piece of clothing that means the most to you?"
Evie paused, considering her response. "My mother’s scarf. It’s simple—soft cotton with tiny embroidered flowers. I wore it once on a challenging day, and it reminded me that strength doesn’t always need to be loud. Sometimes it’s quiet, wrapping around you like comfort. That scarf is woven into my story."
A final question came from a woman near the front. "If fashion is identity, what’s the risk of getting it wrong?"
The room fell silent, anticipation thick in the air. Evie met her gaze, then scanned the audience before smiling and responding, "The only way to get it wrong is to allow someone else to dictate how you should dress. Fashion is a journey of trial and error, but your identity belongs only to you. Even mistakes become part of your narrative. In fact, they often are."
The crowd stirred with nods and smiles, clearly resonating with her words. The moderator stepped back in, satisfaction evident on her face. "Thank you, Evie. That’s the perfect note to end on."
The program concluded with applause that resonated like music, and the room began to loosen.
Women rose from their seats, engaging in spirited conversations, laughter, and the soft clinking of glasses filling the air. Photographers navigated through the crowd to capture candid smiles and warm embraces.
At each chair lay thoughtful souvenirs—small silk scarves in muted tones from Veloura, notebooks stamped with Aurora’s golden sunrise, and slim lipsticks from Muse in shades for every skin tone. Guests tucked them into handbags or draped the scarves over their shoulders, clearly delighted by the thoughtful details.
Yet, most eyes remained drawn to Evie. Just as she stepped down from the podium, a small circle formed around her—women of various ages leaning in, eager to express their gratitude, share a word, or snap a quick photo.
"You said exactly what I needed to hear," a young woman said, clutching her notebook.
Another, older woman, gently touched Evie’s arm. "The story about your mother’s scarf... it made me think of my mother’s apron. I’ve never considered it that way before."
The warmth in their voices reached Evie more profoundly than the applause. This was not the clamor of social media likes or followers; it was the resonance of genuine connection. She smiled, her earlier nerves fading.
Across the room, representatives from the sponsors exchanged approving glances—Evie had embodied everything they desired. Photographers took one last round of shots, capturing her mid-laugh amid the women, the souvenirs shining in their hands.
Evie finally settled into the back seat of the car that would take her home.
What filled her heart at the moment was a sense of fulfillment; the event had concluded on a high note.
The sky darkened slightly, with stars and the moon making their appearance. Evie gazed out the window, a lingering smile on her lips.
Soon, they arrived at the mansion, and her heart raced at the thought of seeing Ezra.
As the driver pulled up to the house, she was pleasantly surprised to find him waiting outside. Their eyes locked, and he greeted her with a smile as the driver elevated the tinted glasses.
Evie grinned inwardly while the driver stepped out to open the door.
Composing herself, she refrained from rushing to him; instead, she walked up the steps confidently, where he stood leaning against the pillar, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched her approach.
"You’ve been waiting?" she asked, keeping her tone steady while pretending to be indifferent.
"Of course," Ezra replied, scrutinizing her. "Are you tired?"
"What do you think?" Evie raised an eyebrow, then added, "I’m hungry, too."
"Come on, I made something," he stated, extending his hand. When she didn’t take it, he sighed and stepped closer, sweeping her into his arms. Her eyes widened momentarily as she instinctively clutched his neck, feeling warmth and surprise as he carried her inside.
"You got my gift, right?" he asked as they crossed the threshold.
"Hm," Evie hummed, her cheeks flushing. It was impossible to hide the effect he had on her.
But then she remembered something, "Why did you come in there? That gathering was for women... What were you thinking?" She playfully slapped the back of his shoulder, though her tone held seriousness.
Ezra smirked. "That’s exactly why I had to leave quickly"
"How did you get past the officials?" she pressed, aware of the security at the entrance and curious how he managed to slip through unnoticed.
"Just handed them some cash, and they opened the door. I made it clear that I was only going to see someone and then leave," he stated, setting her down once they reached their destination.
Of course, he was going to bribe them.
"And they actually let you in?" Evie raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with how they could easily be swayed.
Ezra shrugged his shoulders casually, before saying, "Enough about them," as he leaned down to cup her cheeks while standing over her, his gaze locked with hers and his next words were sincere as they left his lips. "I’m proud of you, Evie"
Evie’s lips curved into a reluctant smile—she was determined not to give in easily to this man, yet here she was.
"You did well, Red," he added, ruffling her hair playfully. Then Ezra excused himself to go to the kitchen and dish out what he had prepared.
Evie stiffened at the nickname, her eyes following him.
Red.