The Grand Palais was buzzing with energy. The Paris Fashion Show was in full swing, and the world's most glamorous people were packed into the venue, ready to witness the height of couture brilliance. Emily Cooper adjusted her chic black beret, trying not to let her nerves show. She was with Sylvie Grateau, Luc, Julien, and Antoine Lambert, all of whom had been invited to represent Savoir. This was a big night for Emily, one where she could finally prove that her American flair could hold its own in the world of Parisian elegance.
"Try not to embarrass us, Emily," Sylvie murmured as they walked into the glittering venue. "This is not your influencer playground."
Emily shot her a tight smile. "I know, Sylvie. I'll be on my best behavior."
Luc smirked. "Ah, but Emily's best behavior is still—how do you say—chaotic?"
"Better than boring," Emily quipped, earning a snort from Julien.
They found their seats in the front row, a prime spot where the models would glide just inches away. Emily's phone buzzed as she tried to snap a photo of the stage. A quick glance at her notifications showed an Instagram story from Jessica Davis—someone Emily was desperately hoping not to see. But when she looked up, there Jessica was, just a few seats down, chatting with Ani Achola like they owned the place.
Emily's mood soured immediately. Jessica Davis? Here? At her Fashion Show? The last time they'd interacted, Jessica had called her a "walking cliché with a marketing degree." And Emily, in a moment of rare fury, had responded by calling Jessica "a petty small-town disaster." It had been months since that confrontation at Le Pure Café, and while Emily had tried to move on, the sight of Jessica now brought everything flooding back.
"What's wrong?" Julien whispered, noticing the tension on Emily's face.
"That girl over there," Emily said, nodding toward Jessica. "She's—"
"Let me guess," Luc interrupted, leaning closer. "An ex-lover? A secret twin? Oh! Did she steal your croissant?"
"No," Emily hissed. "She's just...insufferable."
Sylvie raised an eyebrow. "And yet, you're glaring at her like she ruined your entire career."
Emily crossed her arms. "She's just someone I really don't like."
Before anyone could respond, the lights dimmed, signaling the start of the show. Music thumped through the speakers as the first model strutted down the runway. The crowd gasped and clapped in awe, but Emily couldn't focus. Jessica's presence loomed like a storm cloud over her perfect night.
When the intermission arrived, Emily couldn't hold it in any longer. She stood abruptly, ignoring Sylvie's warning glance. "I'll be right back."
"Don't do anything stupid, Emily," Sylvie said, sipping her champagne.
Emily marched over to Jessica, who was laughing at something Ani had said. The audacity of her joy made Emily's blood boil.
"Jessica," Emily said, her tone sharp. "What are you doing here?"
Jessica looked up, startled, then smirked. "Well, hello to you too, Emily. I'm here for the same reason as you, obviously. Fashion."
Emily crossed her arms. "Since when do you care about fashion?"
Jessica shrugged. "Since it became part of my job. Unlike you, I don't just play dress-up for Instagram."
Ani let out a low whistle. "Ouch."
Emily ignored her. "You know, you've got a lot of nerve showing up here after everything."
Jessica laughed. "After everything? What, you mean our little spat at the café? That was nothing. Get over yourself, Cooper."
Emily's voice rose slightly. "Nothing? You insulted my career, my life, my personality! And now you're here, acting like you belong—"
"I do belong," Jessica cut in, standing to meet Emily's glare. "More than you, probably. At least I'm not a walking stereotype with a baguette in one hand and a dream in the other."
The surrounding crowd began to take notice. Sylvie groaned from her seat, muttering, "Oh, mon dieu. This girl is hopeless."
Emily jabbed a finger at Jessica. "You're just jealous that I actually know how to thrive in this world. You're stuck in the past, reliving your high school drama like it's a Netflix special."
Jessica stepped closer, her voice icy. "And you're stuck in a fantasy, pretending you're the next Carrie Bradshaw when you're really just a wannabe."
The tension between them was palpable. Ani tried to step in, placing a hand on Jessica's arm. "Maybe we should all just calm down—"
"No," Emily snapped. "She needs to hear this. You think you can walk in here and act superior to me? Newsflash, Jessica: this isn't Liberty High. You don't get to be the queen bee here."
Jessica smirked. "And you don't get to play the victim. Grow up, Emily."
Before Emily could retort, a familiar voice cut through the tension.
"Ladies," Antoine Lambert said smoothly, appearing behind Emily. "As much as I enjoy a good catfight, perhaps this is not the place?"
Emily flushed, realizing the scene they'd caused. Jessica, however, seemed unbothered, her smirk firmly in place.
"You're right," Jessica said, brushing past Emily. "This isn't the place—for her."
Emily watched as Jessica and Ani walked away, her fists clenched at her sides. She turned back to see Sylvie shaking her head in disappointment, Luc and Julien looking thoroughly entertained, and Antoine sipping his champagne with a bemused expression.
"Well," Julien said, breaking the silence. "That was...dramatic."
Sylvie sighed. "Emily, if you're going to pick fights, at least do it somewhere less public."
Emily slumped into her seat, her cheeks burning. "She started it."
Luc chuckled. "Ah, but you finished it—with flair. Très chic."
Emily groaned. This was supposed to be her night, and now all she could think about was Jessica's smug face. The show resumed, but the evening was ruined. For the rest of the event, Emily fumed silently, vowing that the next time she saw Jessica Davis, she wouldn't just call her out.
She'd end the feud once and for all.