Betrayed and Claimed by the Lycan King Chapter 298

Isolde's POV

"Good morning, everyone," I said cheerfully as Holden and I arrived at the fashion design competition venue.

"Good morning, Isolde!" they chorused back, their enthusiasm evident in every syllable.

I looked around at my teammates, taking in their eager expressions and the way they were practically bouncing on their feet. "You all look incredibly energetic this morning," I observed with a genuine smile.

"It's the first day of the competition!" Lily exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. "We can barely contain ourselves!"

"Having such confident fashion enthusiasts as teammates makes me really proud," I said.

Cathy stepped forward, her voice filled with conviction. "We're going to shine brilliantly, and you're definitely going to win the design competition championship. There's no doubt about it!"

I felt a flutter of both pride and caution at her words. Glancing around the bustling venue, I could see other teams with equally determined expressions. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," I said carefully. "This is going to be a tough competition."

Holden, who had been quietly observing, suddenly spoke up with surprising warmth. "What does it matter? You're the best," he said before moving to take a seat in the back.

I blinked in surprise at his words.

The bustling atmosphere around us suddenly shifted, and I felt the change before I saw it. The entire venue fell silent, as if someone had pressed a mute button on the world.

I turned toward the entrance and felt my heart rate spike. The judges were walking in.

There were six of them total—four men and two women—and every single one of them had won the Fashion Design Competition at least three times. These weren't just judges; they were legends in the industry.

The female judge, Layla Scott, stepped forward, her voice cutting through the silence and echoing throughout the hall. "The competition begins now."

I glanced around at the other chief designers and their teams. Like us, they all wore expressions of intense focus, their attention locked on the judges with laser-like precision.

"Your task," Layla continued, "is to design and create three different women's bikinis. You will display them on the three mannequins provided in your work area."

My pulse quickened. Bikinis. I could work with that.

"You have exactly three hours, starting when the bell rings," she announced. "There will be monitors stationed throughout the hall to ensure fair play. Any form of cheating will result in immediate disqualification and a five-year ban from the competition."

*'Three hours,'* I thought, my mind already racing through potential designs. *'That's tight, but manageable.'*

About twelve men in black suits entered the hall, dispersing to various corners like silent sentinels.

Ten minutes later, the bell rang.

Game time.

I immediately took charge as the chief designer while my team members prepared our equipment and organized the fabric. My heart hammered with excitement rather than nerves now. Bikini design was one of my strengths—I'd launched a successful bikini line at Liberty Designs just a few months ago that had sold exceptionally well.

Holden positioned himself near our work area, quietly observing and occasionally offering helpful reminders about small details. His presence was reassuring, grounding me when the pressure threatened to overwhelm.

For the first hour, I focused entirely on sketching my designs. My enhanced werewolf senses helped me visualize exactly how the fabric would drape and move, allowing me to maximize the material we'd been given. Every line, every cut, every detail was deliberate and purposeful.

The next hour and a half were pure creation. My team and I worked in perfect synchronization, transforming my sketches into reality. We caught and corrected small mistakes along the way, refining each piece until it met my exacting standards.

When we finally displayed our finished pieces on the mannequins, I felt a surge of satisfaction. These were good. Really good.

The bell rang, signaling the end of our time.

I glanced around the venue and saw that most other designers had also completed their work, though a few were still frantically making last-minute adjustments.

The judges regrouped in the center of the hall, preparing for the critique phase.

For the next hour, the judges systematically moved from team to team, requiring each designer to explain their creative concept and market viability. One of the judge, Jeremy Wright's critiques were just as ruthlessly unforgiving as his reputation suggested, and I watched several participants visibly wilt under his scrutiny.

When the judges finally approached our station, my legs felt like they might give out.

Layla Scott addressed me directly. "Miss Isolde Blackwood, please tell us what you've created."

I took a deep breath, steadying myself, then walked confidently toward my first design.

"This is a full cup bikini," I began. "It provides comprehensive coverage and excellent support, perfect for women with fuller busts or those who prefer more modest exposure while still feeling confident and beautiful. The inspiration behind this piece is sexy yet comfortable."

Moving to the second piece, I continued, "This is an ultra-micro three-piece bikini set, designed for women who want to make a bold statement and aren't afraid to show some skin."

Finally, I gestured to the third design. "And this is a G-string style swimsuit that blurs the line between lingerie and swimwear, for those who want to feel absolutely stunning."

When I finished my presentation, the judges remained silent for several long moments. Only Wright made any sound—a simple "Hmm..." that told me absolutely nothing about his thoughts.

I didn't breathe normally again until they moved away from our station.

The judges moved on to Daryl Fields next.

"Very fashionable," I murmured under my breath, observing his designs with genuine appreciation. His work really was impressive, and he presented with the kind of confidence I envied.

Most of the judges nodded in approval at his explanation, though Wright maintained his characteristic stone-faced expression.

After the judges returned to their elevated platform to deliberate, I turned to Holden, whispering urgently, "I feel like I'm about to lose control from nervousness."

Holden placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "That feeling is completely normal," he said softly. Then, glancing toward the judges' table where Wright sat, he added, "These judges aren't exactly friendly. That man who made the other girls cry is particularly cruel."

"He's famous for it," I replied, though Holden's support made me smile despite my anxiety.

"Your designs were exceptional," Holden said with conviction. "I'm confident you'll place in the top three."

His words warmed my heart.

When the results were finally announced, I placed second. Daryl Fields took first place.

While part of me felt disappointed not to win, I was genuinely satisfied with my performance. This was only the beginning of the competition, after all.

As the judges prepared to leave, Wright stopped in front of one of the female contestants—a girl I recognized as one of the women who had gossiped about me a few days ago.

She beamed at him with a brilliant smile, but it vanished instantly when he spoke.

"This design is absolutely trash," he said, pointing at one of her pieces.