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Every year during the second week of June, the city of Bentleigh—the southern jewel of the Baylor Federation—hosts its annual Fashion Week. It's a week-long celebration that draws designers, models, and fashion enthusiasts from across the country and beyond.

The tradition wasn't always so grand. Years ago, it started as a modest summer collection launch held in Bentleigh. But when more brands began clustering their events together to save costs, something magical happened. Instead of splurging on individual shows—which could cost an arm and a leg if you hired high-profile models or even supermodels—they pooled resources. By sharing expenses, they created not just savings but also synergy. What emerged was a vibrant cultural phenomenon that grew into one of the most anticipated festivals in the global fashion calendar.

Of course, none of this really matters to the average person. For most folks, fashion weeks are distant spectacles, worlds apart from their everyday struggles. To them, trends might as well be written in hieroglyphics—ornate, colorful, and utterly impractical.

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Lynch had spent two days on a train to get here. Despite booking a private cabin to avoid the cramped discomfort of economy seating, he still felt drained by the time he arrived. The journey left him with a weariness that clung to his bones like damp fog. Yet, stepping off the platform in Bentleigh, Lynch felt a spark of energy ignite within him. Maybe it was the crisp air or the buzz of excitement humming through the streets. Whatever it was, it pulled him out of his stupor long enough to find a bar, drink a few rounds, and collapse into bed at his hotel.

He woke late the next morning to the shrill ring of the bedside telephone. Groaning, he reached for the receiver.

"You're late, Lynch," came Severella's voice, sharp with irritation. They'd agreed to meet for breakfast before heading over to Liora—a luxury design house—to preview this season's collections. Severella wanted to commission some custom accessories for the upcoming months.

For someone like Lynch, whose wardrobe consisted mostly of practical staples, these outings were a stark contrast to his usual life. He understood the value of frugality; after all, most people didn't have the luxury of replacing clothes unless absolutely necessary. Bills piled up, emergencies loomed, and saving money took precedence over indulging in fleeting trends. Fashion? That was for those who could afford it—for whom extravagance wasn't just a choice but a lifestyle.

Severella, however, belonged to a different world entirely. Born into wealth, she moved effortlessly among couture gowns and diamond-studded baubles. Today, though, her patience was wearing thin. This was the first time she'd ever initiated plans with someone, only for them to show up tardy. Everyone else had always been punctual—everyone except Lynch.

After mumbling an apology into the phone, Lynch dragged himself out of bed, showered, and threw on a simple outfit. By the time he made it to the hotel restaurant, it was ten o'clock—a peculiar hour in Baylor culture. Technically, anything before nine-thirty was considered "morning," but ten o'clock hovered awkwardly between too late and barely acceptable.

Grabbing an apple from the buffet table as a makeshift breakfast, Lynch joined Severella at her table. She glanced at him coolly.

"You're late," she repeated.

"Yes, I am," he admitted with a shrug.

Her eyes widened slightly, expecting perhaps a more contrite response. But instead of doubling down on her anger, Severella found herself softening. Maybe it was because Lynch had traveled two days by train to be here. Or maybe it was because she knew how rare it was for him to make time for social engagements like this. Whatever the reason, her frustration melted away.

"Come on," she said finally, standing and looping her arm through his. "Let's go. We shouldn't keep the designers waiting."

"They won't mind," Lynch replied, biting into his apple.

And indeed, they didn't. When Severella and Lynch arrived nearly forty minutes past the scheduled meeting time, the two top designers from Liora greeted them with enthusiasm rather than annoyance. After all, Severella was Waldric's daughter—a fact that carried considerable weight in high society. Her mere presence lent prestige to their brand, and they weren't about to jeopardize that.

"I heard you've been working on some bold designs…" Severella began, quickly diving into the heart of the matter. As a luxury label, Liora catered exclusively to elite clientele. Their bespoke services ensured that each piece was tailored specifically to the client's image and personality. These creations were one-of-a-kind, handcrafted masterpieces never intended for mass production. Meanwhile, the items displayed in storefronts and catalogs? Those were little more than window dressing, designed to appeal to the masses while maintaining exclusivity for the true connoisseurs.

This year marked a turning point for the Baylor Federation. After decades of isolationism, the nation was finally embracing globalization—and fashion was no exception. Subtle shifts were already evident: hemlines crept higher, fabrics became bolder, and silhouettes dared to challenge convention. Even lingerie broke free from traditional constraints, experimenting with daring cuts and colors. It was as if the collective courage to step onto the world stage had spilled over into every aspect of life.

By noon, Severella had placed orders for countless accessories—trinkets, really, though "trinkets" hardly did justice to their price tags. Over the course of an hour, she'd spent upwards of seventy thousand bucks. And yet, these purchases were merely appetizers; the main course would come later.

Liora's representatives extended an invitation to lunch at an exclusive private dining venue. Having Severella adorned in their jewelry was invaluable publicity—far more effective than any billboard or magazine spread. People trusted celebrity endorsements, whether consciously or not. Celebrities bought private health insurance, swore by certain doctors, and wore specific brands—and the public followed suit, often without realizing it.

After lunch, the duo attended three runway shows. Each presentation pushed boundaries further than the last, showcasing designs that were provocative, avant-garde, and unapologetically bold. The theme of the week seemed clear: fearlessness. Faces in the crowd reflected a mix of awe and bewilderment—as if viewers weren't quite sure what to make of this brave new world unfolding before them.

On the fifth day of Bentleigh Fashion Week, Lynch eagerly anticipated a particularly unique show. Hosted by an up-and-coming label striving to break into the upper echelons of haute couture, the event promised innovation—and controversy.

Severella raised an eyebrow at Lynch's enthusiasm. "Do you know someone involved with this brand?" she asked, though she quickly dismissed the thought. From what she'd observed, Lynch wasn't exactly a trendsetter. His wardrobe leaned toward classic, understated pieces—hardly the cutting-edge looks favored by fashionistas.

"Perhaps there's a model you recognize?" she teased.

Lynch chuckled. "I'm actually a shareholder in this company. Trust me, what you're about to see will challenge a lot of preconceived notions."

Intrigued, Severella leaned closer. "Can you give me a hint?"

"No spoilers," Lynch replied with a grin. "You'll see soon enough."

As the lights dimmed and the audience settled into their seats, anticipation crackled in the air. Then, instead of the expected opening remarks from a spokesperson, a deep, guttural roar echoed through the venue. The sound sent shockwaves through the room. Women gasped, clutching their pearls—or in some cases, fleeing altogether.

Beside Lynch, Severella gripped his arm tightly. The primal terror emanating from the cages now visible onstage was palpable. Lions and other big cats paced restlessly behind bars, their growls reverberating like thunder.

"This is… unexpected," Severella murmured, her voice trembling.

Lynch nodded, his expression unreadable. "Welcome to ‘Wild.'"

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