The designer turned pale. Assistants fumbled with schedules. Even Kanya tensed for a split second....calculating the PR damage before it hit the headlines.
But Aran?
Unmoved.
He tilted his head slightly, like she had just offered a mildly inconvenient suggestion.
"Great" he said. "Submit the cancellation fee to accounting before midnight."
Pakpao blinked. "What…?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Clause 7.3. Walkout within 24 hours of showtime without medical justification—breach of contract. Full cost. And don't worry," he added casually, "we keep it itemized."
Pakpao has never regretted anything in her life more than this.... As she walked towards the exit chewing her nails.
The tension was sharp enough to slice through the air.
Ten minutes.
Ten goddamn minutes before the final walk, the most awaited part of the entire show, the grand finale. The showstopper slot—now vacant thanks to Pakpao's tantrum and dramatic exit—was enough to throw the entire backstage into a panic.
She clenched her fist, half in stress, half in disbelief.
She turned sharply toward Aran, who stood calmly against one of the support beams, arms folded, looking completely unbothered.
"How can you be this calm?" she snapped in a hushed tone, moving closer to him, her voice tense. "We don't have a showstopper! We don't even have time to—"
"I do" Aran said simply, eyes steady on her.
Her breath caught. "…What?"
"I have a showstopper" he repeated, this time his gaze dropped meaningfully to her fitted silhouette in that custom Min Jae piece. "She's standing right in front of me."
Kanya's lips parted, but no words came out.
"Aran, be serious."
"I am." He pushed off the beam and walked closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "You're the only one who can walk that dress like it was made for you. Because it was. I didn't give you that piece for decoration, Kanya. I gave it to you because no one...no one will ever wear it the way you do."
Kanya swallowed hard, but her gaze flicked away. "But it's been so long. I haven't walked a ramp in so long. I was just—just the PR head here, not—"
"I'd bet my entire company on you right now."
She looked up, stunned.
His voice didn't waver.
"You were the best model I ever saw. Still are. And I'm not saying that as your boss. I'm saying that as someone who's watched you command rooms without even trying."
Her chest tightened. Her heels suddenly felt higher. The room slightly warmer.
A production assistant rushed to her side, headset crackling.
"Unnie, you're up" she said breathlessly, "ten seconds."
Kanya's head snapped forward. The lights beyond the curtain dimmed. The final track began to play.
The assistant's fingers shook as she reached for the curtain.
"Ten."
She turned to Aran. His eyes never left hers.
"Nine."
She took a deep breath.
"Eight."
"I'm scared" she whispered before she could stop herself.
"Seven."
Aran leaned in, voice a low promise against the shell of her ear. "Then let them watch you make fear look beautiful."
"Six."
Her back straightened.
"Five."
She rolled her shoulders.
"Four."
The lights burst on.
"Three."
Cheers and camera flashes.
"Two."
Kanya turned her head slowly, eyes locking with Aran's just before the assistant reached for the curtain.
"I won't let you lose this bet" she whispered, her voice quiet but firm, carrying more weight than the crashing music building behind them.
And for the first time in the chaos of the gala, Aran smiled—soft, proud, like the sun breaking through a storm.
With a steady hand, he reached to the side and lifted the showstopper's coat—an exquisite, limited-edition masterpiece designed to contrast perfectly with the sleek, sculpted dress she already wore. Midnight black silk, hand-embroidered in muted gold thread that shimmered subtly under the lights. A high collar, dramatic shoulders, and a cut that trailed like smoke behind the wearer.
Kanya took it without hesitation.
She slung it over one shoulder first, then slowly began to slip her other hand into the sleeve as the countdown hit—
"One"
She stepped through the curtains.
And the world held its breath.
The stage lit up in sharp white, casting her like a divine silhouette, caught between shadow and spotlight. The coat draped artfully from one arm, still not fully worn, as if she was in the act of transforming before their very eyes—becoming someone else.
No. Becoming herself.
The flashes began—first a few, then a storm. Phones lifted. Whispers surged through the audience like a tidal wave.
Someone in the second row gasped, "That's the muse.... The famous New York model."
Another added, "Kanya…. She's walking again."
She moved like she owned time itself, slow, poised, every step echoing louder than the last. And just as the midpoint of the runway neared, she pulled the coat fully on. The black-and-gold flared behind her like wings as she reached up, fingers untangling the tight ponytail. Her hair spilled down in waves—dark, free, bold.
A roar of applause erupted. Thunderous. Deafening. The photographers didn't stop. People didn't blink.
Backstage, jaws had dropped.
Assistants stood frozen, stylists stared, and even the models—used to dazzling moments—couldn't hide their awe.
"Is that… really her?" someone whispered.
"She's unreal" another murmured.
And Aran?
He stood just beyond the curtain line, where her gaze had last met his, his heart pounding in ways it hadn't in years. His arms crossed but clenched, his usually cold, composed face fighting a smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.
His eyes didn't leave her.
Not even once.
The words she had said moments ago echoed in his mind like a sacred vow: I won't let you lose this bet.
And in that moment, watching her set the stage on fire in a way no one else ever could, Aran knew two things for certain.
One: Kanya was never meant to be in the background.
And two: he had fallen a little more in love with her—watching her become the star he never stopped believing she was.
_
_
_
_
The night was still alive with energy as the last rampwalk concluded. The applause roared louder, echoing in the expansive hall, and everyone gathered around Kanya, congratulating her. Her colleagues, her friends, the models, all were thrilled—flooding her with cheers and praise. Korn, usually stoic, was crying. No one understood why, but it didn't matter; the joy in the air was contagious.
Jack and June, ever the affectionate duo, enveloped her in a tight, almost suffocating hug, their excitement palpable. The tension from the night had finally dissipated, and everyone was basking in the afterglow of Kanya's stunning performance. Yet, as the group celebrated, there stood Aran—cold, composed, his usual mask in place.
But Kanya could read him like a book. His eyes. The way his gaze lingered on her, not with the usual cold detachment, but with something more—a quiet admiration, a pride that only he could hide behind that calculated exterior. It made her heart race in ways she couldn't explain.
And then, just as she was about to acknowledge Aran's subtle shift in demeanor, the crowd parted like the Red Sea. The designer, Min Jae, the mastermind behind the Min Jae Collection, made her way to Kanya. She was an elegant woman in her mid-40s, sharp yet graceful, wearing a tailored black suit that screamed both power and style. She looked directly at Kanya and, without hesitation, said, "This dress—this piece of art—was never meant to be worn by anyone else." Her voice was soft yet filled with conviction.
Kanya blinked, unsure if she'd heard right. "It was made for you" Min Jae continued, her eyes scanning Kanya with reverence. "When I designed this, it was always meant for one person—my muse. And the moment I saw you on that runway, I knew. You are the muse that my art was waiting for."
Kanya's breath caught in her throat, the gravity of the words sinking in. She'd doubted herself before, questioned every step. But now, hearing the designer, the woman who created the dress, say this.....it felt real. It felt like she had truly become the living embodiment of the art she was meant to wear.
Min Jae turned to Aran then, her gaze shifting from Kanya to him. "Would it be possible to borrow her for future photoshoots?" she asked, her voice almost respectful, as if seeking permission from someone she knew held power in this world.
Aran, his usual stern demeanor unchanged, smiled. It was rare, so rare that it caught the attention of everyone in the vicinity. His smile wasn't the cold, calculating one he gave business partners or clients—it was real, sincere, almost proud. His eyes, still fixed on Kanya, held a flicker of something deeper.
Everyone around them cooed in surprise, murmuring about the rare smile from the usually stoic CEO of Mind Entertainment. Kanya could feel her pulse quicken, and she could practically hear her colleagues gossiping behind her back. She could almost kill them for their teasing looks.
But she didn't care. What mattered was the smile on Aran's face, and the way he'd spoken to the designer. He had supported her, not just professionally, but personally, by believing in her in ways she hadn't allowed herself to believe in. It was subtle, but undeniable.
Kanya turned back to Min Jae with a calm smile. "I would love to" she said, her voice steady. "But it will have to be a part-time commitment. My full-time role will always be handling the chaos of Mind Entertainment."
Min Jae nodded, accepting the terms without hesitation. "Of course" she said with a smile. "You're more than welcome to do as you please. Just remember, this dress will always be waiting for you when you're ready to wear it again."
Kanya laughed lightly, feeling a sense of peace wash over her, knowing she had made the right decision. She could still keep her roots at Mind Entertainment while exploring this new path, and Aran—he would support her, no matter what. And that made all the difference.