The Milan Fashion Expo hall reeked of desperation masked as innovation—overpriced perfumes clashing with the metallic tang of sweat-soaked interns hauling garment racks. Sophia Sterling cut through the chaos like a shark in sequins, Pang Xie trailing in her wake like a nervous shadow. The struggling designer clutched his portfolio of rejected sketches, eyes darting between Sophia's gleaming shears and the security guards dogging their steps.
"Miss Sterling!" Director Cui materialized in a cloud of Santal 33 and panic, blocking their path to the NOER showroom. "The livestream sponsors insist on positive energy today. No scandals, no meltdowns, just—"
"—just innovation." Sophia twirled the scissors, sunlight fracturing through their polished steel. "Relax, darling. We're here to elevate the craft."
She shouldered past him, stilettos sinking into the blood-red runway carpet. Above them, drones buzzed like mechanized paparazzi, broadcasting every smirk to 2.3 million viewers.
Livestream Chat:
[@FashionPolice]: SHE'S GOT WEAPONS??
[@MamaGirlMafia]: CALLED IT! SOPH'S GONNA BURN THIS PLACE DOWN
[@IsabellaStan4Life]: Keep our queen's name out of your tacky mouth!!!
Backstage, Isabella preened before a floor-length mirror, her NOER sample gown—a derivative tulle monstrosity dripping with Swarovski knockoffs—catching the light like a disco ball with delusions of grandeur. "Perfect," she sighed, ignoring the stylist sweating over her uneven eyelash extensions. "Lucian's going to die when he sees me in this."
She didn't notice the drone hovering outside her dressing room, nor the collective gasp from the expo crowd as Sophia mounted the main stage.
"Ladies, gentlethem, and vultures," Sophia purred into the mic, hoisting Pang Xie's neglected sketches overhead. "Meet the future."
With a flick of her wrist, she slashed through the NOER banner hanging above. Fabric rained down in jagged strips as Pang Xie scrambled to unfold his designs—raw-edged deconstructed blazers, asymmetrical hems that screamed rebellion. The crowd murmured; the livestream views spiked.
Livestream Chat:
[@ThreadBender]: HOLY SHIT SHE'S REVEALING THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES
[@CoutureKiller]: Isabella's gonna need a coffin for that career
Director Cui lunged for the soundboard. "Cut her mic! Cut—"
Too late. Sophia snatched a NOER sample gown from a petrified model, holding it aloft like a battle standard. "This?" She laughed, cold and bright. "This isn't fashion. It's foreclosure in sequins."
The scissors sang.
Silk split like rotten fruit. Beads scattered like teeth.
Isabella burst from her dressing room, tulle snagging on a stray nail. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU—"
Sophia turned, holding up the mutilated gown now reborn as a razor-sharp harness corset. "Darling! Just in time." She tossed the creation to Pang Xie, who began stitching it live onto a trembling model. "We're doing exposés, not expos. Care to join?"
The drones zoomed in—Isabella's mascara tears, Sophia's bloodied knuckles from the scissors' grip, Pang Xie's shaking hands weaving magic from the ruins.
Livestream Chat:
[@BurnItAll2025]: I'D SELL MY KIDNEY FOR THAT JACKET
[@IsababyDownfall]: R.I.P. Basic Bitch Couture
As security finally swarmed the stage, Sophia leaned into the nearest camera, lips grazing the lens. "Remember, darlings—" She winked, dropping the scissors into a champagne flute with a lethal clink. "—true luxury cuts both ways."
The feed died.
In the silence, Isabella's choked sob echoed through the hall. Somewhere in the wreckage, Pang Xie's phone buzzed with 27 new commissions.
Sophia Sterling had entered the chat.
And fashion would never look the same.