I never expected to see him again. It felt unreal, like a dream I couldn't quite wake from.
After I terminated the contract, I thought that was it, the end of our story, the end of him in my life.
Yet here he was, starting a new life, smiling beside a beautiful woman in the restaurant. Maybe she had signed the contract. Maybe she already knew the price of dealing with him. I clenched my teeth at the thought.
I hoped she knew he was a psychopath.
I gripped my toothbrush tightly as I allowed those thoughts to devour me, the porcelain bristles scraping against my teeth with more force than necessary.
My frustration at seeing him with her made my movements harsh, aggressive. I brushed harder until suddenly, a sharp sting exploded in my gum.
"Ouch!" I yelped, dropping the brush into the sink. I rushed to my phone to check the time.
"Shit, I'll be late for the interview." Panic bubbled in my chest.
I hurried through my morning routine, showered, dressed in my best outfit, and grabbed the folder of important documents I had prepared.
Today, I had an interview at one of the city's largest modeling agencies. My dream wasn't to be a model, I wanted to be a hairstylist but opportunity had a way of forcing doors open.
As I pushed open the sleek glass doors of the agency, the air changed. The scent of hairspray, perfume, and polished wood enveloped me.
Cameras were set up along the walls, bright lights reflected off glossy floors, and chairs lined the waiting area like soldiers at attention.
Models in various states of readiness whispered to one another, checking hair, posture, and expression in the mirrors that lined the walls.
I closed my eyes for a moment. "God, please let me get this job," I whispered, steeling my nerves before stepping fully into the buzzing room.
I found a chair near the center and sat, clutching my documents. Moments passed, hours maybe, though the minutes felt stretched like taffy.
The room filled with impatience and excitement until a voice finally rang out.
"1700!"
That was my number.
"Over here!" I shouted, hopping up and weaving through the crowded waiting room toward the interviewers.
I barely had time to catch my breath before a man burst in, panic etched across his face, eyes glistening with tears.
"There's trouble!" he gasped.
"What's wrong?" the woman in charge, Kat asked sharply.
"The models… they were in a brutal crash. Two are dead, and the remaining three are in critical condition. The show is tonight… what do we do? We can't let him down!" he stammered.
The woman's face hardened. "Calm down. Don't tell anyone yet. Find more models."
He bolted out the door as she turned to the crowd. "Everyone, please leave. The interview is postponed."
Murmurs of frustration and disbelief rippled through the room. My hands tightened around my documents, heart pounding.
So, I won't get this job?
Then she looked at me, her gaze sharp and assessing, and my blood ran cold.
"You. Follow me."
Before I could ask questions, she swept me through a back corridor, away from the chatter and chaos. I saw other women entering the dressing rooms, whispers following them like ghosts.
"Kat, what do we do? Most models are booked or on vacation," Alice said anxiously.
"You?" Kat said, pointing at me.
"Give me a runway walk," Kat ordered.
I froze like a statue, the words echoing in my ears.
"Now!" she barked. My legs moved of their own accord, gliding forward as if I had been trained for this moment all my life. I walked, head held high, shoulders back, each step measured, powerful.
Eyes widened around the room. Murmurs of admiration grew into applause.
"Let her replace Zara," Kat declared.
Alice's face twisted. "But Kat… she's… she's inexperienced! She's not even… beautiful. She doesn't meet the criteria."
Kat's gaze was icy. "Height?"
"5'9," I said, voice steady despite the adrenaline.
"Weight?" Kat replied.
"40," I added.
"That's good. Prepare her for the runway. Make sure it doesn't flop. He's coming tonight. We can't risk this, or we lose everything." With that, she turned and walked away.
Alice's glare burned into me. "But…"
"Let's go," she snapped, grabbing my arm and pulling me down a narrow corridor into a small, windowless room. Then, in a blur, she slammed the door and hit me across the face.
That was a shock.
"You think you can take Zara's place? Her sweat, her hard work?" she hissed. "You're delusional."
I groaned, clutching my cheek, blinking back tears. She raised her hand again when suddenly, a sharp knock rattled the door.
"Alice," a voice called, calm yet commanding. She froze, straightened herself, and opened the door.
Another woman stepped inside, eyes narrowing at my reddened cheek. "Did you hit her?"
Alice's lips curled into a fake smile. "Why would Kat replace Zara with her? Look at her. Isn't she ugly? Zara's far better."
"She's prettier than Zara," the new woman said softly, stepping closer. "And Alice, hands off. You don't want a scandal."
I swallowed hard, holding in the tremor of fear and humiliation. Why is everything happening so fast? I haven't even recovered from any yet and another one keeps rushing in.
"Please… keep this a secret," the woman whispered to me. I nodded silently, biting my lip, blinking back tears.
Time passed. I was trained by a team of patient women who taught me to walk, pose, and command the runway. They marveled at how quickly I picked up the techniques, praising my poise and determination.
I had no idea what I was doing but they assured me it was perfect. Come to think of it, how can they just choose me to walk a huge runway? or wait a minute.
Did I just get scouted?
"You'll be a good model," one whispered, and I managed a small smile. She noticed the faint red scar on my face.
"Did you get injured?" she asked, concern lacing her voice.
"I… hit my face," I muttered, brushing it off.
She squeezed my shoulder gently. "The makeup will cover it. Don't worry."
I forced a smile, masking the sting of humiliation and the sharp reality, here, I could be hit and stay silent. For the night, I would survive, earn, and hope.
******
The show began. Music swelled slowly, a haunting piano giving way to thumping bass.
Audience lights dimmed, camera flashes flickered like fireflies, and the air vibrated with expectation.
Models glided down the runway like living sculptures, each movement precise, mesmerizing.
When it was my turn, I stepped onto the runway in a custom gown I would never forget, ivory silk hugged my torso, cascading into a flowing skirt embroidered with silver threads that caught every light.
The neckline dipped elegantly, while delicate lace traced my shoulders, giving the illusion of fragile wings.
Cameras clicked, eyes followed me, and my heart raced.
And then I saw him. Raisem. Hair the same shade I remembered, his expression unreadable as a lady leaned close, whispering with a smile. He was in the front row.
He didn't move, he was like a statue but the sight of him ignited something inside me. I kept walking, forced my gaze forward, and struck my pose with a commanding smile.
Cheers erupted, and finally, I had his attention. Our eyes met, a fleeting collision that left my chest tight.
The final walk was my moment. I led the line of models, all eyes on me as lights bathed the stage in gold. Every step was mine to claim, every sway of the skirt a statement by, I was here, unstoppable, commanding attention.
When the final applause thundered, I slipped backstage. I didn't really like the attention and when I saw Raisem, I felt uncomfortable.
I wanted to leave the place and jait go back home. I was alone, as I had told Kat I wouldn't stay for the after-party.
She smiled, giving me instructions to meet at a coffee shop tomorrow at 2 p.m. to discuss business.
I stood before the mirror, removing my makeup carefully. Each swipe stung my cheek slightly, reminding me of the slap, of reality.
I bit my lip, staring at my reflection. Was I making the right choice joining this industry?
But deep down, I knew, this was what I wanted. I felt stupid for not speaking up when that moron hit me. I rubbed my cheeks.
"Ara," a soft, familiar voice said and I froze.
"Raisem?" I breathed, spinning in my chair. Our eyes met, and I instinctively hid the mark on my face behind my hair unknown to me, he had seen it.
"Who hit you?" His voice was gentle but sharp, and I felt the weight of the world crash down.