Page 46 of Fateful Exposure

Selma

I had to make a statement.

A bold one that would let everyone know that Selma Volkov was back and here to stay.

My dress was probably the grandest design to ever come out of my beautifully creative head, and while it was a shame that it would be wasted on a gala that wasn't worth it, going into battle without my strongest weapon would be much worse.

Whatever Maria was doing with publicity was working. I made a mental note to make her a special dress as a thank you, since she'd refused to collect monetary payment. Two weeks ago, theblogs were reluctant to run any story with my name in it. Now that the public was getting sneak peeks of my new collection, I was suddenly invited to the biggest gala of the year.

I'd spent ninety-six hours making my dress for the gala. Crafted with meticulous care and attention to detail, the gown fell down my body like liquid silk, cascading in sumptuous hints of scarlet and gold that shimmered with every movement I made. The rich red fabric hugged every single curve of my body and cut into a slit that stretched all the way to the middle of my left thigh, accentuating my statuesque figure with an air of regal elegance. My breasts had been put into consideration, the padding of the chest area doing plenty to highlight the creaminess of my generous cleavage.

I needed everyone to know that if anything had ruined the name of my brand, Volkov, three years ago, it certainly wasn't my lack of unbridled creativity.

Maria decided to arrive at the gala side by side with me because she didn't want me to face the wolves alone. I was eternally grateful for her because my bravado since I heard I would attend the gala suddenly dissipated like smoke a few hours ago, leaving nothing but erratic palpitations and sweaty palms.

"Just breathe, Selly," Maria whispered as we alighted my Mercedes GLE. "You've got this."

I inhaled deeply, then released my breath. "I've got this," I repeated. "I've fucking got this."

Immediately, the air hit my face, and flashing lights threatened to blind me. Cameras clicked here and there, and I had to blink to save my poor eyes as questions were thrown at me from all sides.

Maria held my hand, and together, we walked further into war. The red carpet was the first battle. The entire place was packed to the brim. Reporters were scattered everywhere; triple that number were celebrities from around the world. I waited for the actress, who was currently walking, to hurry up and get it over with so I could do my rounds.

Just as she was wrapping up, someone swept past me, almost choking me with their vanilla perfume.

"Isn't that…" Maria trailed off beside me, her eyes on the young woman who was currently posing like she was the one everyone had gathered here to see.

"Iris," I confirmed. I hadn't seen my cousin in two years. The last time I'd seen her, she'd sat in my mother's kitchen brawling her eyes out about how she hadn't meant to fall in love with my boyfriend and how she had no idea Alex had stolen my designs. I found it all very bullshit-y, considering she was the one who had been my intern, and had seen the designs before anyone else.

I wondered how many other designers they'd duped of their work, and it irked me so badly that they were still in business. But it didn't matter. How did the saying go again? Every day for the thief, one day for the owner of the house.

I ignored her, like always, and chose that exact moment to begin my red-carpet walk. Almost instantly, the cameras turned to me, clicking away. I allowed a victorious smile to stretch my lips, not before blowing an angry-looking Iris a kiss. It was not my fault she was under the deluded impression that she was more popular than me. Even at my worst, Iris couldn't hold a candle to me.

As I posed, the image of Ashton flashed through my mind. I pushed him away instantly, refusing to give him any more thoughts. He didn't deserve it.

An hour later, the gala was in full swing. Maria was off socializing because she knew everybody. At the same time, I stood near the large fountain in the middle of the spacious ballroom with a glass of white wine, observing everything. So far, no one had approached me, which wasn't surprising. People wanted to see every other person talk to you first before they did, especially if you were a social outcast like me-just so their reputation remained intact.

It didn't stop them from looking, though. I could see the complete envy on the faces of the women and the blatant curiosity on that of the men. To accentuate my look, my stylist had slicked my hair back and straightened the blond strands to fall down my back, baring my neck which was devoid of jewelry. I only wore diamond studs on my ears, smokey-eyed makeup and blood-red lipstick.

Honestly, even I would be jealous.

"You've always been a sight for sore eyes, Selma. How I've missed you," someone said.

I froze, recognition spreading through me like wildfire. It had been a very long time since I'd heard that voice. That voice that once upon a time I would have been content to hear for the rest of my life.

Swinging around to face the voice, I bristled. "Alex."

Alexander Winston was not who I'd call handsome. His looks bordered very closely on beautiful, almost effeminate. Long blond hair and perfectly carved brows with a straight nose and thin lips. He was smooth, unlike Ashton, who was rough and hard. I'd once preferred Alex, but given how much of an asshole he'd turned out to be, my tastes in men must have changed because the sight of him filled me with disgust.

"Fancy seeing you here." He smirked, one hand in his pocket and the other gripping a champagne flute. "Is this your entry back into stardom?"

I raised my chin in defiance. "Why? Are you scared everyone will realize that you and your little girlfriend are petty thieves?"

Alex laughed heartily. "I've missed that feistiness, too. At the same time, it was what pushed me to your cousin."

I scoffed. After all this time, he was still trying to gaslight me despite being the one who cheated. "You can have her. After all,birds of the same feather flock together. I don't expect you to understand loyalty."

"Awe, don't be sour, sweetheart," he cooed, sipping from his wine flute. "It doesn't become you. Maybe you should spend more time working on that attitude than trying to be something you're not." He shrugged. "Just my opinion."

---