Winning My Ex-Crush

Fenella’s POV

“What’s wrong with her? Why does she always feel unhappy seeing others doing better than her?” I asked Jessy, watching Kiara walk away.

Really, it reminded me of Amy, my bully in high school. Why is there always someone like her in this world? Is this the effect of unhealthy teen movies?

“Pfft, that’s called being toxic. Don’t mind her.” Jessy waved his hand and focused again on watching the other models.

I waited until the second session started for the models. In the second session, Alan asked the actors to portray one of their favorite scenes. For the models, Alan asked us to walk on stage to showcase the clothes we were wearing.Property belongs to Nôvel(D)r/ama.Org.

“I’ve seen what your fashion tastes are like. The next question is whether you can persuade others to wear that outfit just by walking on the catwalk,” Alan said to the 20 Gene models, including Kiara, who insisted on returning as a model.

“Start!” With one shout from Alan, we began to line up beside the main stage.

One by one, the models started walking on the catwalk. Of course, this was relatively easy because it was our daily job. The difficult part was as requested by Alan and all the other designers. The way to persuade others to wear, or at least appreciate, the clothing designs showcased.

Electronic music is played with a rhythmic beat and interesting instrumental melodies. Suddenly I became nervous, and my gut feeling wasn’t good. Nevertheless, I treated this catwalk the same as I would a show by a famous designer.

Come on, Fenella. You can do this. I repeated those phrases over and over in my mind. Giving positive affirmations to myself was a good thing, right?

When it was finally my turn, I walked up confidently. First, I posed with a confident hand on my waist. Next, I walked down the runway with full confidence that my clothes were indeed good. I even intentionally put one hand in my pants pocket to show off the trendy pattern inside my tweed blazer. It was also aimed at showing off the white bustier I was wearing.

I felt everything was going well. My steps were steady, my gaze was bright, my posture was upright, and I was sure everything was going smoothly to the end of the runway.

Unfortunately, it was all just my hope. Suddenly, the background music changed from electronic instrumental music to a children’s song about a shark family.

Oh, damn it! What the fuck?! Who the hell set this children’s song as the background music?! What is this?!

I wanted to curse, but I was still walking on the runway with a thin smile. Everyone was stunned and bustling about. Everyone was panicking, except for me.

Once I started strutting down the runway, I would keep walking until I returned backstage. That was an absolute rule drilled into me. Even if I fell on stage or if my clothes slipped off, leaving me naked, I couldn’t mess up the stage.

Just keep walking, gorgeous.

Because of that strict training, I learned not to care about anything else but to fulfill my duty. As long as there were spectators and the show went on, I had to remain calm. Even if the song was silly, I shouldn’t bother.

Yes! Even if the designers played children’s songs like this, I didn’t care. I just needed to walk the runway. That’s it.

So when I kept walking without paying attention to the song, everyone focused back on me. They seemed to forget about the background music. They stared, watching me from below the stage as I reached the end of the runway and began to open my tweed blazer.

At the first stop, I lowered my blazer halfway down my arms. Then, I spun halfway around as I lowered the blazer further down to my wrists. I spun again, facing the front of the stage, and fully removed my blazer. With practiced movements, I spun again, draping the blazer over one shoulder.

Then I walked again to the main stage. Upon reaching the main stage, I turned, blew a kiss, and winked. As I stepped down from the stage, people began applauding enthusiastically and shouting my name.

“Bravo! Amazing!” Jessy led the cheers.

At this moment, the children’s song abruptly stopped. Alan stood up from his seat, his face flushed red.

“This is disgusting!” He walked toward me with a furious expression.

I could clearly see the furrow on his forehead, his tightly pursed lips, his tense jaw, and his piercing gaze. As I held my breath, preparing to be scolded, Alan apparently walked past me.

“Whose fault is this?!” Alan yelled angrily at the operator behind the stage.

“I don’t know, Mr. Schmidt,” the computer operator stuttered as Alan approached him.

“How could you not know? You’re the operator!” Alan’s roar echoed throughout the room.

“I went out to check on my car. Someone told me my tire was flat. I swear. I didn’t know anything. I just came back here. As soon as I saw the song was wrong, I immediately stopped it.” The man in the red cap pleaded with Alan.

“Then why did you leave the laptop like that?” Alan continued to interrogate the poor man with a tone of anger.

“I thought the music would play fine even if I left for a while.” The operator squeaked in fear.

Alan ran his hands through his hair. He seemed to be massaging his head and neck. Alan bit his lower lip and paced back and forth as if holding back his anger.

“Get into that meeting room and bring your laptop now. I’m not done with you yet.” Alan pointed to the meeting room, and the operator hurriedly went in with his laptop.