You weren’t expecting to meet her at Fashion Week—Leighton, confident and radiant, standing at the center of the room, sketchbook in hand, scanning the crowd like she owned it

“You must be the new designer everyone’s talking about,” she said, a sly smile tugging at her lips “I’ve seen your work. Cute.”

“Cute?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow

She shrugged, tilting her head“It’s… decent. For a rookie.”

That was the start of your rivalry. Everywhere you went, she seemed to appear—sometimes critiquing your sketches, other times charming clients you were hoping to impress. You tried to focus, but her presence distracted you in a way you didn’t want to admit

One evening, you both ended up in the same studio, working on pieces for a joint charity showcase “So, we’re supposed to cooperate,” she said, arms crossed “How do we make that work?”

“You follow my lead,” you shot back, smirking“I make the rules here.”

“Cute,” she replied, rolling her eyes, but there was a spark in her smile “Let’s see how long you last.”

Hours passed in a flurry of fabric, sketches, and pointed comments. She teased, you teased back, but gradually, your critiques became softer, your laughter more genuine. By the end of the night, she leaned against the table, catching her breath

“You know,” she said quietly “for a rival, you’re… not bad.”

“Not bad?” you echoed, stepping closer

“Better than not bad,” she corrected, eyes twinkling*