The bass of the opening track pulsed through the floor, vibrating up through Mimi Lola Lane’s feet as she moved like a shadow along the backstage corridor. Models floated onto the runway in their crochet couture, a hypnotic dance of yarn and artistry under the hot, white lights.

But backstage? It was chaos contained only by the thinnest thread. And the knot was starting to fray.

Mimi ducked into the side dressing area, where a cluster of designers huddled around garment racks, whispering behind manicured hands. She caught snippets:

“…knew it was coming…”
“…always plays dirty…”
“…serves her right…”

She spotted Sabrina first — bold, restless, her fingers stitching aggressively at a skirt while her sharp eyes darted around the room. Beside her, Camille stood near a rack of dresses, arms folded, an air of cool detachment masking the calculation in her stare. Zara fussed quietly over a model’s belt, her mouth a thin, tight line of disapproval.

And Jelani? He leaned casually against a rolling cart, dressed in dark layers, his handsome face unreadable, his phone spinning lazily between his fingers.

Mimi cleared her throat, stepping into their midst. The chatter evaporated like mist under the heat of her stare.

“Anyone seen Makeda’s missing gown?” she asked, keeping her voice casual but firm. She let her eyes drift slowly from one designer to the next.

Jelani was the first to snort. “You mean the one she probably misplaced herself? Not exactly the organized type, is she?”

“She thinks someone stole it,” Mimi said.

“Stole?” Sabrina barked a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Please. What’s to steal? Makeda’s whole line looks like Etsy rejects. If anything went missing, it’s doing us a favor.”

Several chuckles rippled through the group. Even Zara’s lips twitched before she quickly schooled her features back to neutrality.

Mimi clocked every glance, every twitch, every tightened jaw. She wasn’t here just to ask; she was here to read. And what she saw made her heart sink.

There were a lot of reasons someone might want to sabotage Makeda tonight.

Too many.

A clatter of heels on concrete spun everyone’s attention toward the far end of the dressing area.

It was Imani, sweeping in with a flourish, her crocheted gown a riot of colors and metallic threads. She tossed her hair dramatically and said, far too loudly, “Heard about the drama. Figures. Makeda’s been riding on everyone else’s creativity for years. Karma’s a real—”

“Imani,” Mimi said sharply. “Not the time.”

Imani shrugged, but Mimi caught the glint in her eye. Satisfaction. Or guilt? Hard to tell.

Before Mimi could press further, Nyah came rushing up, breathless, a folder clutched tightly to her chest.

“Mimi!” she whispered urgently. “It’s not just the gown. My pattern book — it’s gone too.”

Mimi’s heart dropped to her knees.

“Gone?” she hissed, pulling Nyah aside. “When did you last see it?”

“This afternoon,” Nyah said, voice shaking. “I was sketching backstage while Makeda was on a call. I tucked it under my bag… I swear it was there. But when I went back just now to check — it’s gone.”

Mimi rubbed her temples, trying to stay calm. She knew that sketchbook — the one Nyah treated like a precious secret.
A memory flashed: just two weeks ago, Nyah had pulled her aside during rehearsals, her face lit with pride as she flipped through the pages.

Each sketch had been a masterpiece, dated years back — whimsical crochet gowns, edgy mesh sets, intricate stitch patterns — proof that Nyah hadn’t just started designing; she’d been born for it.

Mimi remembered, too, the moment she’d complimented Makeda recently: “Your new designs feel… different. Fresh.”

Makeda had just smiled — too tightly. Mimi hadn’t thought much of it then.

But now?

Now, it clicked.
This wasn’t just about a missing gown.
This wasn’t an accident.
This was a cover-up.

If the wrong person got their hands on that pattern book — with Nyah’s original sketches, dated long before

Makeda’s recent ‘creative explosion’ — it would blow Makeda’s carefully crafted illusion to pieces.

Or worse: Nyah could lose everything she had dreamed of.

Mimi’s mind raced. Every second counted now.
She needed a plan. Fast.
Because if she didn’t find that gown and that pattern book before the finale, the truth wouldn’t just slip out — it would explode onto the runway.

And not everyone backstage was ready to survive the fallout.