99 Times for Alpha’s Bestie novel Chapter 115

Claire’s POV

The event was being hosted at the Fairmont Hotel MacDonald. This place looked like a castle meant for royalty, yet here I was.

Me.

Claire, the rejected mate of a sinking pack.

It was surreal to think of how far I’ve come since my life with Liam.

I was filling time with hobbies and random studies because my mate was too busy playing house with another woman. Now, everything I have done to fill that void within me has been setting up the building blocks for a better life.

Focus! I remind myself.

My gaze looked through the crowd, and caught Breanne at the far end of the room.

I watched as she hunted through the crowds, looking for her marks to pounce and prey on.

Yet even I could see that those elites had no interest in consorting with someone who dragged a baggage

of drama wherever she went.

By the time Breanne had circled the room, her grip on the wineglass tight enough to c***k it.

I was greeted by the majority of the room so far, and I was enjoying that others were gleefully seeking me out, while snuffing Breanne’s attempts.

She finally spotted me.

I was clad in a white gown. My jewelry was simple but elegant.

That was the difference between Breanne and me. I never needed to light up a room with diamonds and sparkles.

Beside me approached a woman I instantly recognized-the legendary Loran, founder of the global fashion powerhouse and the chair of the judging panel for this year’s competition.

Breanne’s eyes never left me the moment Loran approached me.

I could almost feel her seething from where I stood across the room. We chatted about my designs and laughed openly, like lifelong friends. I hoped it ate at her, watching with jealousy.

When Loran and I eventually parted, sure enough, Breanne pounced, intercepting me with a raised glass.

“Claire, what a coincidence. Can’t go anywhere without bumping into you, huh?” Her voice was sharp, mocking. “Seems Queenie’s little studio couldn’t hold you anymore. Already found yourself a new harbour?”

Her gaze flicked meaningfully toward Loran before returning to my face, dripping with provocation.

My brows knitted faintly. “Breanne, what are you doing here? I thought trash pickup was this morning? Did they not put you at the curb in time?”

“Funny! For your information, I was invited.” Breanne brandished her invitation as proof. Her eyes darted to my empty hands. “Don’t tell me you snuck in through the back door without one?”

I saw through the provocation and didn’t bother answering.

I turned, intent on preparing backstage for what lay ahead.

But Breanne wouldn’t let go; she lunged forward and grabbed my arm. Her claws break skin as she tightens her grip.

“Answer me first. How do you know Loran? Who’s backing you?”

I could see the jealousy gnawing at her.

“I don’t have time for this nonsense. I suggest you release your hold now.” I said curtly, not waiting for her to do so, I yanked my arm free.

Still, despite my removal from her presence, Breanne tailed me, spitting venom with every word.

“Well, well. Climb high, and suddenly you’re too good to acknowledge people, huh? That older man you’re ******g must’ve handed you plenty of resources. Lucky you! Since I’m looking to make it in fashion myself, how about giving your dear friend a leg up? I don’t want to have to resort to the dealings you had to make to get here.”

I had no idea why Breanne, even after the disgrace of that night with eight rogues, still dared fling insults so recklessly.

I ignored her baiting attempts and strode backstage.

Again, Breanne followed, relentless.

“Backstage is for the honoured guests, Claire. People like you have no business here. Don’t embarrass yourself-”

She, however, was cut off when the host’s excited voice boomed through the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the most thrilling moment has arrived! We are about to reveal the highest honour of this year’s Golden Threads-the Gold Prize, and the designer behind it!”

Spotlights danced across the stage. Breanne’s cutting words were drowned out.

Two usherettes appeared at my side, smiling warmly. “Ms. Reese, please come with us.”

Breanne froze; I could actually see the moment when her mind went blank. I fought the chuckle.

Rooted in place, Breanne could only watch as the host, breathless with excitement, proclaimed, “The Gold Prize of this year’s competition goes to-Nirvana!”

On the massive screen, a high-definition image of the entry titled ‘Nirvana’ appeared-not the dazzling gown everyone had expected, but a breathtaking men’s suit.

It broke away from the rules of traditional tailoring. The shoulders were razor-sharp, the waist draped with the effortless grace of a classic long robe. Under the lights, the fabric shimmered with a unique texture, like the phoenix’s plume reborn from fire.

“Wow, there are so few designers who can elevate a suit to this level!”

“Top-tier taste! Flawless!”

“This is definitely the work of a master!”

The crowd broke into heartfelt admiration.

The host’s voice rose with excitement as he revealed the answer.

“Let’s welcome with thunderous applause the international rising designer, Claire Reese! Congratulations,

Claire!”

Led by two ushers, I walked to the center of the stage.

Loran handed the gleaming trophy into my trembling hands.

I held the trophy high in pride and offered a winning smile in Breanne’s stunned direction. The wink that followed felt right and appropriate.

As the saying goes, play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Breanne had the degrees to be here, but laziness and chasing a title that was never meant to be hers have left her with nothing but envy and bitterness. She never got the man, the title, and now I stood here amongst people she sought to know, holding a trophy she would kill for.

Loran gave me a strong, heartfelt embrace.

“Congratulations, Claire. You deserved this win!” she whispered low right before she pulled away.

I returned the smile, I thanked Loran not only for her kind words, but also for this opportunity. Then, under applause and the crowd’s full attention, I stepped down from the stage.

As I began to work the room, I caught an interesting conversation behind the slightly ajar door from backstage.

There was a mirror on the wall, and I could see that Breanne was in there, but I didn’t know who else was in there with her. It seemed as though he was egging her on, however.