A Perfect Dress.

Threads of Destiny. 

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, and events depicted in this book are entirely the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or real-world events is purely coincidental.

Author's Note:

Hi there! Thank you for checking out A Perfect Dress! 

This is a story close to my heart—one that blends the competitive world of fashion, slow-burning romance, and the journey of finding one's true passion. It's a tale about daring to dream big and embracing second chances, with a touch of drama and intrigue.

If you love stories with strong, determined heroines, complicated love interests, and moments that make your heart race, then I hope you'll enjoy following Nalani's journey as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

I'm aiming to upload new chapters regularly (check the schedule in the description!), and if you want to support my writing, consider joining my Patreon for early access and exclusive content. Your comments, reviews, and support mean the world to me—it's what keeps this dream alive!

Let's create something beautiful together.

Happy reading!

- UYII.

Nalani didn't like the weather—it was too cold. Minus two degrees, they said. Her weather app promised temperatures would rise soon, but she doubted it. Shivering slightly, she tugged at the edges of her oversized caramel-toned trench coat, the soft wool blend adorned with the unmistakable gold monogram of Luca & Verdure, her favorite up-and-coming designer brand.

Her long curly black hair was tucked away under a minimalist black beanie. She had brown skin and deep brown eyes, standing at 4'9" with a curvy, thick body. Her flat nose and brown lips, dotted with freckles, added to her distinct look. Despite her sharp mind, Nalani often found her body a source of unwanted attention—especially in West Jasson, and even more so in her field of study. But if you thought Nalani was striking, you should see her sister, Denise. 

Beneath the coat, she wore a sleek, ribbed knit sweater dress in charcoal gray that hugged her curves just enough to make the cold bearable. The Arlen Harper cashmere scarf around her neck—a thoughtful gift from her sister—was a lifeline against the biting wind.

In one hand, she held a steaming cup of Java Haven's caramel latte, the warmth seeping into her black leather gloves lined with faux fur from Maison Viridian. It was her second cup of the day, and the bold "JH" logo on the cup had already become a familiar sight around campus.

Her phone buzzed in her other hand as she scrolled through her ride app, hoping the cab would pull up soon. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her Noir & Co. ankle boots crunched softly against the icy pavement.

The bench behind her looked painfully cold to sit on, its surface crusted in frost like crystals. So, she stood, adjusting her Vero Solace crossbody bag, which dangled casually at her side.

Nalani caught her reflection in a nearby shop window, tucking an escaped curl back under her beanie. Her eyes flicked down the street. Still no sign of the cab. She sighed, wrapping both hands tightly around her coffee for warmth.

She couldn't mess up today. "Only positive vibes," she murmured to herself as she stretched her hands and took deep breaths. I can do this for Mama and Papa, she reminded herself.

She lifted her phone again, tapping the screen until Face ID unlocked it, revealing the ride app. The driver was a few minutes away but currently stuck in traffic. She wished she could take the train, but it was always packed, especially with the holiday rush.

She checked the time: 8:15 AM. Not late yet, she thought. Nalani's mind began to do the math—fifteen minutes for the driver to pick her up, leaving her with Thirty minutes to get to the university. Her meeting was scheduled for 9:00 AM, and she didn't want to be late.

With fifteen minutes of nothing but time to think, her mind wandered. It was her third year at the National Fashion & Arts University of Jasson, the best art school in the state. For a Black woman, this was a huge deal, especially as a scholarship student. Her mom worked as a cleaner at South Park Hospital on the edge of town, and her dad, once a migrant worker, had given up trying to find work, settling into a life of quiet resignation as a house dweller. She couldn't really blame him. How much could a man take before he broke?

Nalani had promised herself she wasn't going to end up like her parents. They were sweet people, but she wanted more for herself. Fashion was a way out, even if it wasn't exactly her strongest suit. She couldn't thread a needle if her life depended on it. Luckily, she wasn't striving to become the best garment maker. Instead, she had focused on fashion consultancy and organization. The way she saw it, the job was simple: find a model, find a designer, help the designer create an amazing dress, and have the model wear it. Then, push the designer to sign an exclusive contract with the company you represent to make even more incredible designs. And that was it.

But she wished it were that simple. There was the hierarchy, a situation where the course required a lot of traveling and talking—things she already loved. But most of that talking involved dealing with men who made no effort to hide their intentions, men who actively wanted to be between your legs. You had to be smart about it, dodge their advances, and offer them something they couldn't refuse. The problem was, Nalani was still figuring out what that offer could be.

She had nothing—no money, no connections, no influence—just a sharp mind and a heart full of expectations. But that was about to change.

As the cab rolled in, Nalani checked her phone: 17BB46. She glanced at the plate number and then motioned for the driver to roll down the window.

"Sebastian Hower?" Nalani asked, checking the driver's face against the picture on her phone.

"Yeah, and you must be..." The driver paused, pulling out his phone to read her name. "Well, that's a lot of words," he commented.

"Just call me Nalani," she replied, jumping into the back seat and slurping down the last of her latte. The driver started the car, turned up the heat, and they were off.

Nalani opened the VibeStream app on her phone to check her posted VibeStories. "11456 views, not bad," she thought to herself as she scrolled through the app's VibeFeed, liking posts from various fashion houses and silently cussing at the stunning models.

A new notification popped up. It was from her older sister, Denise.

I hope you get the job, lil sis! the text read.

Nalani smiled and quickly typed back: I sure hope so. I've got your lucky scarf after all! she added, tossing in a prayer and crying emoji.

Denise responded with a dancing cat meme.

Nalani chuckled and lifted her phone to snap a selfie. I have to remember today, she thought. It's going to determine my future in this industry.

******

About 20 minutes later:

"We're here," the driver said with a professional smile as he pulled over to the driveway.

"PayLynx or FlexPay?" Nalani asked as she stepped out of the cab.

"PayLynx," the driver replied, still smiling.

"Really? PayLynx?" Nalani asked, surprised, as she opened the app to make the transfer.

"It's easier to use," he explained as he pulled out his phone to check the transaction.

"Done," Nalani said as she showed him the screen.

"Seen. Have a nice day," the driver said with a nod before turning to drive off.

Nalani watched the car disappear down the street with a sigh. That was Creda (ꓘ) 55, gone for a fancy car ride, Nalani. You should've just taken the train, she muttered to herself as she climbed the stairs. She still had about five minutes before her interview.

The busy main entrance hall of the university was eerily empty, which made sense since the school was on holiday. Snow blizzards and the threat of a snowstorm had caused the management to move classes to a later time, when temperatures would rise to something more manageable.

Nalani walked down the hall, her heels clicking softly against the floor. She was familiar with the layout. Turning left, then another left after a few more steps, she arrived at a row of offices. Taking out her phone, she opened the ProLink app and began scrolling through it.

Shit, where is it? she muttered to herself, scrolling up and down. 

Ah, found it. She tapped the message and opened it, preparing herself for what was to come.

Subject: Interview Invitation for Fashion Consultant Position at VeroStyle

Dear Nalani Amara Colette Pablo,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for an interview with VeroStyle for the position of Fashion Consultant for the upcoming Summer Fashion Show in Newpark. After reviewing your application and portfolio, we are impressed with your skills and enthusiasm for the fashion industry.

We would like to invite you to attend an interview for the position at the following details:

Date: Friday, December 2026 

Time: 9:00 AM 

Location: Venture Office 107, Fashion Department

Please bring your updated resume, portfolio, and any relevant materials that would showcase your skills. The interview will give us an opportunity to learn more about your background and discuss your potential fit within our team at VeroStyle.

We look forward to meeting you and discussing the exciting opportunities that await at VeroStyle. Should you have any questions or need to reschedule, please feel free to contact us at:

Email: [email protected] 

Phone: +133 (555) 123-4567

Best regards, 

VeroStyle Fashion Team

Nalani stood in front of Office 107, gazing at the large brown door with a silver plaque boldly etched in black. She arranged her dress one more time, took a deep breath, and hesitated. She wasn't sure whether to knock, her hand lingering in mid-air as she searched for a doorbell but found none.

Before she could decide, the door suddenly swung open. Standing in the doorway was one of her professors.

"Good morning, Mr. Chambers."

"Get in," the man replied curtly. He was probably in his late 40s, with a receding hairline now peppered with more white than black. His face, wrinkled with signs of aging, gave him a permanent serious expression. Nalani sometimes wondered why he hadn't retired yet. He wore an ash and black-striped suit, a white shirt, and black pants.

Nalani knew it was not the time for the obligatory compliment she usually gave him, as he had the serious look he wore when grading a fashion project or assigning one. She squeezed past him and into the room.

The space was simple—a white room with a large projector screen mounted a few feet high behind her. In front of her was a light brown table with four chairs. Three of them were occupied by people with similar expressions to Mr. Chambers, while the last empty chair was presumably for him.

"Please take your seat, Miss…" the man in the middle said, looking down at the paper on his desk. He was rather handsome, almost Terish in appearance. His skin was very light, almost pale, with a full light beard and thick hair. His black eyes, slim nose, and round lips completed his features. He wore a black suit jacket, a brown waistcoat, and a striped blue-and-black tie tucked beneath it. Though she couldn't see his pants, she was curious.

Nalani knew exactly what he was doing—he was trying to read her name. She walked up to the chair in front of her, maintaining a composed, professional look.

"Please call me Nalani," she said, quickly adding, "Miss Nalani," glaring at Mr. Chambers and then across the room.

The other two participants were women. One looked too young to be there. She had deep blue cat eyes, which Nalani suspected were fake, a slim nose, and large pink lips. She wore a black turban to match her gown, which had butterfly-wing sleeve design stretching from her shoulder down covering her fingers. Her accessories included silver earrings and necklaces. The other woman appeared older, with a cold, modern expression on her face. She had brown eyes, a large pointed nose, and almost invisible lips. She wore white sleeves and a red scarf tied around her neck. Nalani couldn't help but wonder if she was the only one freezing in the room.

The man in the middle cleared his throat, shifting his papers. 

"So, Miss Nalani, we have reviewed your application, and... ehm..." He cleared his throat again. "We may have sent the acceptance email to the wrong applicant."

Nalani blinked a few times, staring at him in disbelief.

"What? Excuse me?" she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and disbelief.

"You see, we were supposed to send the application to Nalia Amira Colette Padrón," the man said, turning to the younger woman, Mrs. Courtney. "But she mistakenly sent it to you, Nalani Amara Colette Pablo, and failed to properly redirect it. We only realized the error a couple of minutes before you arrived. We were going to call and ask you to stand back, but the professor convinced us to at least hear you out and see you in person before finalizing our decision."

Nalani's world seemed to crumble. She had prepared for this interview with the confidence of being selected for her skills, but here she was, being called a mistake and riding on the professor's goodwill. But she wasn't going to give up. If this was nature's way of flipping her the middle finger, then she would make the most of it. 

She cleared her throat, stood tall, removed her bag, and took out her smart drive with a determined look. 

The room fell silent as the interviewers stared at her, their expressions already assuming she would fail. They probably expected her to flinch, to give in, and let the moment slip by. They were probably thinking, Just get on with it so we can say no and get to our holiday. But Nalani had a card up her sleeve—she knew they were underestimating her, and even the professor was aware of it. He nodded slightly as she plugged her smart drive into the projector.

Nalani stood tall, her heart racing. As the projector came to life, the vibrant colors of her presentation lit up the room. She could feel the eyes of the interviewers on her, waiting for her to falter. But she didn't. With a steady breath, she began, her voice cutting through the tension in the room with an authority that was both confident and unshakable.

"Sirs and ma'am, I stand before you not only as a student but as someone who understands the power of vision and collaboration in fashion. The task at hand is simple: find an unknown designer to collaborate with the supermodel Arielle Kate for the Newpark Summer Fit Walks runway show. But fashion is not just about following a brief. It's about pushing boundaries and creating something that leaves a lasting mark."

As Nalani clicked through the slides, mood boards filled the screen. Bold patterns, unique textures, and futuristic designs danced across the screen. The images of runway shows showcased models walking in dynamic, unconventional fashion—each look more captivating than the last.

Nalani's confidence grew with each passing moment. She clicked to the next slide, her voice more assured.

"Instead of seeking the most well-known designer for collaboration, I decided to take a different approach. What the Newpark Summer Fit Walks runway needs is something fresh, something innovative. We need to discover a designer who is still unknown but whose creativity rivals the greatest names in fashion. I'm talking about designers with raw, untapped talent—ones who will disrupt the scene."

The next slide appeared, showcasing a powerful image: Arielle Kate, the world's most sought-after supermodel, her long blonde hair flowing and her sparkling skin glowing as she wore a silk white gown that seemed to shimmer. The text read: Arielle Kate—currently refusing all collaborations. It was a bold revelation, a key moment in Nalani's presentation that illustrated the magnitude of the challenge.

Nalani continued, her voice steady with determination.

"And here, ladies and gentlemen, is where the real opportunity lies. Arielle Kate, the biggest name in fashion, has refused all collaborations due to a major crisis that's left the fashion world in shock. This is our moment to prove that we don't need to follow trends—we need to set them. The key to success lies in finding a designer who won't just fit Kate's style, but one who will push her to new heights—someone whose work will inspire her to return to the runway with a bold, unforgettable statement."

She clicked to the next slide, which displayed a concept for the runway show: a seamless blend of both classic and futuristic fashion. The designs would complement Kate's elegance but also challenge her to embrace daring, unconventional choices. The goal was not just to dress her, but to make the designer's creations resonate with the audience on a deeper level—an emotional connection that would captivate everyone.

"Our goal isn't simply to have Kate walk the runway wearing clothes. Our goal is to craft a narrative—a story that unfolds with every step she takes. The clothing will be an extension of Kate's journey. We need a designer who can build on that vision—someone capable of turning a crisis into a new beginning for Kate, and for the entire fashion industry."

Nalani paused for a moment, her gaze sweeping across the panel of interviewers. She could feel the weight of their scrutiny, but she didn't falter. She clicked to the next slide, which revealed a breathtaking vision of the runway—an expansive catwalk, flanked by bold, dynamic lighting, setting the stage for the unexpected. The runway itself looked like a living entity, alive with potential, ready to break free from the mundane constraints of tradition. The designs were not just clothing; they were a movement, an evolution. They would not only speak to Kate's legacy but to a new era of fashion.

She turned to face the panel, locking eyes with each of them. Her heart raced, but her voice remained steady, commanding, filled with conviction.

"Fashion is not just about trends. It's about moments—moments that shape culture, and moments that define history. This collaboration, once we find the right designer, will not just be a show—it will be the future of fashion. And I am confident that with the right talent, we will make that future a reality."

A final slide filled the screen—an intricate collage showcasing Kate's potential transformation. The model, small projects she had pieced together, and the Newpark Fit Walks, all fused together into an unforgettable vision of fashion and technology. Nalani could feel the energy building, and she smiled softly as she clicked through the final slides.

"In fashion, it's not enough to just create; you must innovate. You must make people feel something. With this collaboration, this novice designer and Arielle Kate will push the limits of what's possible. And the Newpark Summer Fit Walks will not just showcase fashion but will transform the entire experience for everyone who sees it."

She paused, allowing the silence to settle in before turning to face the panel of interviewers. With a final, soft smile, she added, "So, I ask you: why settle for ordinary when we can create something extraordinary? This is the future of fashion. And I'm ready to lead it."

For a brief moment, the room was silent. No one moved, no one spoke. Everyone was waiting for someone else to break the silence. Nalani's heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her composure, standing tall. Then, the unexpected happened. 

A loud clap echoed through the room. It was the professor. He smiled widely, his eyes shining with approval. He knew the difficulty of her vision, the effort it would take. But if she could pull it off, if she could make this happen, she could write her own legacy in the fashion world.

"That was…unexpected," the man said. Nalani could've sworn she saw the briefest flicker of a smile on his face before it disappeared, replaced by his usual business-like expression. He cleared his throat.

"So, if we do select you for the contract, how soon could you get Kate on board and secure the right designer?" he asked, his voice steady but curious.

Nalani took a deep breath. "With the proper funding, I could—"

"Funding?" The older woman snarled at the word, as if it were an insult. 

"Yes, ma'am. Funding," Nalani replied, her tone firm but respectful. "I would need resources to find the right designer. He could be anywhere in the world, but it requires investment."

The older woman scoffed. "How is that our problem?"

Nalani's mouth opened to respond, but she hesitated. She hadn't anticipated this. It was her idea, her vision, but she didn't know the intricacies of the funding or the protocols behind it. She turned toward the professor for guidance, but he merely nodded at her, silently urging her to continue. 

Her shoulders slumped slightly as the weight of reality hit her. She had no answers to this. These people never really wanted her here, she thought. This was the end.

Nalani turned to collect her smart drive when the man spoke again, his voice softer but still assertive.

"Perhaps we could work out something," he said, leaning forward.

Nalani turned toward him, her curiosity piqued.

"How about this," he continued, "If we could get a progress report of your Arielle Kate convincing campaign, we'll give you 40% upfront funding."

"40% won't cut it," Nalani replied, her voice steady but firm. "I would need at least 55% to get started."

She knew this was a gamble, but she had to make it. This was her chance to turn things around, to make an offer they couldn't refuse.

The room fell silent for a moment. Nalani could feel the weight of their gazes, but she pressed on.

"If I get a 30% startup, I could not only double the company's market sales to 200%, but I could secure an exclusive handoff deal with the designer for whatever Kate would wear."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Nalani regretted them. She had set herself up for failure. She had painted herself into a corner, promising the impossible. Doubling the company's sales? Making an unknown designer sign away their rights to their designs in exchange for a single shot of fame? It was unrealistic. No designer in their right mind would agree to such a deal.

The man stared at her for several long seconds. His face was unreadable. Then, finally, he spoke.

"Can you do it?" he asked, his voice calm but probing.

Nalani swallowed hard. She hesitated, but then nodded. "Yes. Yes, I can," she replied, her voice shaky but resolute.

If only a fool would agree to such terms, then Nalani would have to find a smart fool—someone who was skilled at designing but perhaps not so sharp in other areas. She had to find someone willing to take the risk and make this vision a reality, no matter how impossible it seemed.

"Then I guess we'll be excited to have you on board," the man said, standing up and extending his hand to shake hers.

Nalani took his hand, smiling as she shook it. "It will be my pleasure working with you," she replied, her voice steady but her heart still racing with the excitement of the moment.

"Oh, my name's Adam," the man added with a friendly pat on her shoulder. "You can just call me that."

"The contract will be sent to you through the professor," he continued, his tone businesslike once again. "And I advise you to read it thoroughly."

Nalani nodded, her mind already racing with the possibilities. 

"I wish you luck," Adam said, turning to walk away. "But now, I have to excuse myself—those wines aren't going to drink themselves." He added, drawing a small laugh from the room as Nalani stepped back, observing him. 

She couldn't help but notice how tall he was—almost six feet—and the warmth in his smile now, much softer than when they first met. It was strange to see a shift in his demeanor, but she appreciated the gesture.

Adam turned, gathering his things—a bag, his phone, and an empty paper cup of coffee which he shook if there was any content left—and both women followed him out of the room, exchanging small talk. The atmosphere lightened, but Nalani stayed behind, alone with the professor.

The professor smiled at her, giving her a gentle tap on the shoulder. 

"I knew you could do it," he said, his voice filled with pride.

As he turned to leave the room, he gave her one last piece of advice. "Clean up and go home. You'll need all the rest you can get," he said, the door closing behind him.

With the professor's words echoing in her ears, Nalani stood in the now-quiet room, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. 

For the first time, things were really starting to go her way. She had done it. And no matter how challenging the road ahead might be, she was ready to face it…head-on.