Page 170 of The Boss Situation

Her entire team squishes into the huddle.

“I just want you to know how proud I am of every single one of you. Bellamore wouldn’t be where it is today without you. We’re a team. You’re all beautiful. Let’s show the world what we’re made of and how women rule this industry.”

They chant together, “Bellamore, fierce and bold! Own this runway, steal the show!”

They break into applause, then scatter like leaves. Billie walks out of view, and Weston turns to me.

“I’m so fucking happy it’s you,” he tells me, pulling me into a brotherly hug.

“Me too.” I squeeze him tight, knowing he and Easton will one day be my brothers.

Carlee walks over, grinning wide.

“Hi! You look great,” I tell her.

“Thanks. It’s Bellamore,” she says, and she pulls me into a hug too.

“Thank you for everything,” I whisper.

“I will do anything for my family. And I kinda want an exclusive from you,” she says with a wink.

“Consider it done,” I tell her.

“Now, shall we grab our seats?” Weston asks as Easton and Lexi approach.

Easton gives me a firm handshake. “Nice suit.”

“Your sister picked it out,” I tell him, adjusting the button to the suit she sent me weeks ago. The one with the light-blue lining, which matches her eyes, that she thought I trashed. Can’t wait for her to see it.

I follow them to the FROW—the premium front-row seating in the venue, reserved for celebrities, influencers, fashion editors, and VIP guests. To be given one of these seats is equivalent to finding the Golden Ticket in a Willy Wonka bar.

The anticipation in the air is thrilling. The lights lower, and it feels like magic.

I catch a glimpse of Harper backstage with a clipboard and headset and give her a thumbs-up. She returns the gesture with a proud smile.

My heart races with excitement as the room dims, then pops into complete darkness for dramatic effect. Then the bass of the music drops, and the Bellamore models step out to rule the runway.

It’s anexperience,just like Billie.

From my vantage point, I see every detail—the subtle shimmer woven into the gowns, delicate lace patterns of floral sketches Billie and Harper personally created, and signature silhouettes that flow like liquid silk as the models stride by. Each design tells its own story—stories of empowerment, resilience, and even flirty romance.

Around me, there’s a collective intake of breath as the models work the runway, confident and beautiful, embodying the spirit Bellamore is known for. I’m close enough to hear the whisper-soft rustle of fabric, the rhythmic click of heels echoing on beat with themusic as each piece moves past me. With the spotlights above, hand-sewn crystals reflect tiny sparkles.

The diamond princess has outdone herself.

Editors, influencers, and industry insiders beside me lean in, eyes wide, fully captivated. Each look feels like Billie herself—bold, emotional, and unforgettable.

In this moment, sitting in Bellamore’s coveted FROW, I don’t just watch; I live it. It’s more than a show; it’s an experience that leaves me inspired, energized, and utterly enchanted by the woman I’m going to make my wife.

When Billie takes the runway, everything fades to a whisper. There’s a noticeable shift in the room—an electric awe blankets the crowd and is immediately followed by gasps and murmurs of admiration.

Cameras snap shots of her. She steps into the spotlight, her chin raised with the kind of defiance only Billie Calloway can embody. Every step she takes radiates confidence. Her expression is vicious, but her eyes flicker with pride and a hint of vulnerability.

Her gown cascades down her thin body in waves of deep crimson, molten gold, and burning amber, seamlessly blending into each other, as if crafted from actual flames. Layers of silk chiffon and organza ripple and flow with each step, mimicking the graceful, powerful movement of phoenix wings spreading wide.

Hundreds of delicate crystals are meticulously embroidered throughout the fabric, catching the lights and shimmering like embers scattered in the wind. They gather more densely at the bodice, resembling the fiery heart of the mythical bird itself—radiating outward in shimmering lines and intricate patterns that echo feathers.

As she moves, the gown transforms into a living flame, glistening and flickering beneath the spotlight. The dramatic train billows behind her, trailing elegantly like smoke.

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