“When we use hues of blue and white, I think they’ll really complement the backdrop and help the models showcase the outfits more vibrantly. For the jewelry, a mix of silver and tiny pearls could tie it all together and highlight the features of the designs.”

Pulling off a Winter Fashion Week in less than two weeks is no small task. From logistics to management, everything has to be flawless—zero mistakes. That’s just how ALMARE has been for the past three decades: relentless in its pursuit of perfection. It’s no wonder it’s the most dominant luxury clothing brand in the industry.

Being a Junior Designer has its perks, though. I get to pour endless creative ideas into the outfits and see people love them. There’s the travel, too—all paid for by the company—which opens doors for fresh inspiration. And, of course, the free stuff. Who could ever say no to free stuff? Let’s just say it’s my love language.

But like everything else, it has its downsides. Overtime is almost a given, deadlines are crushing, and criticism can be harsh—sometimes brutally so. Worst of all, the credit for your hard work often gets swept up by the senior, “better-known” designers. It’s all part of the package, I suppose.

Speaking of which, where is Ms. Caroline Durand—“Caz,” as she likes to be called—the Head of Design at Almare? It’s been a year since I first stepped into this industry, and she’s still as much a mystery to me as she was on that first day. Caz has a quiet, commanding presence, the kind that makes you sit up straighter without her saying a word. She was the one who interviewed me for this role, her sharp eyes seeming to take in everything. But since then, I’ve barely had a chance to speak to her. She’s always away, caught up in something important, leaving the rest of us to wonder what she’s really doing. And now, she’s supposed to be here—but, as always, she’s nowhere to be found. I grabbed my phone, hoping she’d pick up. One ring. Two rings. Voicemail. Of course. Just my luck.

"Elle, can you help with this dress?" Max called from across the room, clearly struggling with the layers.

"Be right there," I replied, closing my phone and making a mental note to talk to Caz later about finalizing the outfits for the show.

I walked over and guided Sam and Paula through styling the dress, adjusting the layers, and picking the right accessories to pull it all together.

Hours passed, and we finally settled on 17 outfits, complete with matching accessories. From shoes to belts, everything had to be perfect—no room for mistakes.

"I think we can call it a night," I said firmly, glancing around the room. "Let’s pick this up tomorrow and start with the model selection process. Good work, everyone. Good night."

I gathered my things, bid everyone goodnight, and headed out, ready to leave the chaos behind—at least for now.

I grabbed my phone and checked for messages—two missed calls from Mom and a voicemail from Caz. Strange. I texted Mom back, telling her I'd be home in 20 minutes, then played Caz’s voicemail.

"Moreau, I had errands to take care of. If the outfits are finalized, send me the copy. Be at the studio by 1 for the model selection interview. I’m in a lunch meeting with the Editor-in-Chief tomorrow afternoon, so you’re in charge. Handle everything. You know the drill. Au revoir."

There it was again—another pile of work left for tomorrow, and she’d swoop in for the credit when it’s all done. I sighed in frustration, and then got into my car, heading home.

I pushed open the door to my apartment, the warm glow of the living room light spilling into the hallway. To my surprise, Mom and Dad were already seated at the dining table, their hands loosely clasped and expressions softer than usual. They’d flown to Paris for the week to celebrate their wedding anniversary, despite my insistence that they should focus on themselves for once. But, of course, they couldn’t resist pulling me into the celebration.

“I’ll be at the table in five minutes,” I said, setting my bag down and hurrying off to freshen up.

When I returned, the air around the table felt different—heavier, quieter. Normally, dinner with them was a lively affair. Mom would share fascinating tidbits about medieval history or ancient artifacts, while Dad rambled on about markets and investments—topics I never fully grasped.

But tonight, they were uncharacteristically silent.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, glancing between them. “I’ve never seen the dinner table this quiet before.”

“Elise, sweetie, your dad and I want to talk to you about something,” Mom said, her eyes shimmering with a mix of hope and determination.

“Okay…” I replied cautiously, my suspicion rising. Conversations starting like this rarely ended well for me.

“Well,” she began, glancing briefly at Dad for support, “we were wondering if you’re free this weekend since it’s our anniversary.”

I exhaled in relief, already imagining them planning something romantic for themselves. “Of course, Mom! I’ll be—”

“We were hoping you’d go on a blind date. We’ve picked out a few matches for you.”

The fork slipped from my hand, clattering onto the plate. So this was why dinner had been so quiet. It wasn’t about their anniversary—it was about ambushing me with the dreaded “date” talk.

“Mom, we’ve been over this,” I groaned, trying to keep my voice steady. “I don’t have time to date. You know that. Dad, help me out here!”

I turned to him, my last hope for sanity, but the way he avoided my gaze told me he wasn’t about to side with me this time.

“Elise, sweetie, I think it’s time you started dating again,” Mom said, her voice laced with concern. “Don’t you want someone to care about you? Someone you can rely on? The last time you dated was in college, and it only lasted six months. Come on, have a little fun for once.”

“Yeah, Elise,” Dad chimed in, his tone softer but no less insistent. “You’ve been so focused on work for so long. If you keep this up, you might forget there’s a whole world out there.”

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Mom, Dad, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I really don’t have time for blind dates right now. You know Winter Fashion Week is coming up, and I’m swamped with work. Deadlines are closing in.”

“I understand, sweetheart,” Mom said, her expression shifting to something almost pleading. “But just this once, go on a blind date we’ve picked for you. If it doesn’t work out, we won’t bother you again.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You mean for a few months before we do this all over again?”

She hesitated, then gave me a sheepish grin. “Maybe. But still, just one date.”

I sighed, feeling cornered. “Fine. Just once. But if he’s boring or it doesn’t click, that’s it. No more blind dates, and you both have to let this go. Deal?”

“Deal!” Mom said instantly, her face lighting up.

“Oh, I’m so happy!” she beamed, turning to Dad. “Arthur, she said yes!”

“She did indeed, Adeline,” Dad said with a satisfied smile. “I think this calls for a celebration. How about some wine?”

They clinked their glasses, toasting to their success, and just like that, the dinner table was lively again. Meanwhile, I sat there, wondering what exactly I’d just agreed to.

Hey everyone, it’s Natalie!

I’m so excited to share that the first chapter of my story is finally live! 🎉
I’ve poured my heart into this, and I can’t wait for you all to dive into Elise’s world.

💬 Let me know what you think—your feedback means the world to me!
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📅 New chapters are coming soon, so stay tuned!

Question of the Day:
Who do you think Elise will end up with? 👀 Drop your theories in the comments—I’d love to hear them!