Emily Charlton

The Metropolitan's grand ballroom was in chaos: assistants bustled about, racks of couture gowns wobbled, and Emily Charlton's sharp British accent cut through the noise.
"Where's look number 17?" Emily barked, clutching her clipboard. "If it's not on this runway in five minutes, I'm sending you all to work... retail." Her gaze fell on the intern, who promptly ran off.
Andrea Sachs, now more refined but still unflappable, stepped into the storm with calm determination. "Emily, calm down. The dress is being sewn onto the model right now, and I've already dealt with the problem of the missing model."
Emily turned sharply to her, narrowing her eyes. "Got it? How? Unless you conjured up Kate Moss out of nowhere, don't waste my time."
Andrea chuckled. "Almost. I called Yara."
Emily froze. "Are you crazy!?"
Before Andrea could respond, the room fell silent. Into the chaos, Yara entered, commanding and incredibly stunning. You moved as if you owned the entire space, your long coat billowing dramatically behind you.
Emily's jaw dropped. "Wow..."
Andrea stifled a laugh. "Long time no see!"
You smiled meaningfully, "Long time no see)"
Emily muttered, "Uh-huh," but quickly pulled herself together. "Well, that's delightful. Now, if you could try on character number 17 and save this circus , that would be wonderful."
You shed your coat, revealing a perfectly fitting Prada suit, and winked at Emily before heading to the fitting room.
Emily turned to Andrea, her cheeks slightly flushed. "I'll kill you."
Andrea crossed her arms over her chest, smirking. "Please."
Emily exhaled sharply and continued barking orders. "Okay, get back to work, everyone! This isn't amateur hour—it's fashion ."

But Andrea noticed Emily's barely noticeable glance lingering on the fitting room door, which betrayed a weakness for Yara.