Antoine stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom, towel rubbing roughly through his damp hair. Another clung to his hips, low and casual, as he padded barefoot across the soft carpet toward the bed.
He paused; Ebony was still in the robe. The food tray sat barely touched, and her clothes untouched on the chair beside her. Before he could say anything, she stood.
Deliberate and composed.
He opened his mouth to ask if something was wrong but stopped cold when her fingers slipped under the sash at her waist. The robe fell. And for a moment, time paused. She was bare, thin, bruised by hunger and streetlight shadows, but unshaking in her resolve. Her chin was lifted, eyes locked on his, there was nothing seductive about how she looked at him, just determined. Like a soldier walking into battle.
No, Antoine thought. This is taking a drastic turn fast.
He took a step back, words trapped in his throat, but before they escaped, she was already in front of him, close enough for the heat of her skin to rise against his. Her hands reached for the towel, fingers curling into the fabric.
"Wait," he said, finally. Firm, but quiet.
She froze.
Her hand was still on the edge of the towel, her breath shallow. The defiance in her eyes flickered, but didn't disappear. If anything, her jaw clenched tighter, like she was bracing for rejection or insult. Or worse.
"I told you I wanted you," Antoine said, "but not like this."
That stunned her.
"What other way is there?" she asked, her voice low, almost resentful. "You brought me here. You said you will pay. You can't go back on your words."
The towel slipped slightly at his waist as he reached out, not to pull her in, but to gently take his jacket from the chair and hand it to her.
"I will pay but not for this," he said.
The silence that followed was thick with disbelief. She didn't move. Didn't take the jacket. Her body stayed bare, though something else in her trembled at the edge.
Antoine met her gaze evenly, patiently.
"Go get dressed, I'll explain when you are done."
She stepped back with confusion. A flicker of something long buried, disgust at herself maybe, slipping through her defenses as she reached for the clothes and the robe and pulled it back around herself, she willed herself to disappear but the next best thing was the bathroom which she quickly ran for.
Behind the locked bathroom door, Ebony sat on the closed toilet lid, heart pounding harder now than when she'd dropped her robe.
Her fingers shook as she tugged on the clean underwear and leggings from the bag. The sweater felt too soft, like it didn't belong to someone like her. It swallowed her slight frame as she pulled it over her head and stared at her reflection in the mirror. The girl in the glass looked... clean. Almost normal. But the echo of humiliation clung to her like smoke.
I got it wrong. She swallowed the lump in her throat, blinking hard.
It shouldn't have stung. She had made a choice. A calculated one. There had been no illusion of romance, just survival. But instead of using her, that man had handed her his coat.
What kind of man does that? And more hauntingly, why?
She clenched her jaw and pressed her fingers to the sink, gripping it like it might anchor her. She was trying to shove the memory down, but her mother's voice slithered through her mind anyway:
"No man wants a girl who looks like you. You should be grateful for what you get."
Ugly. That's what they always said. Too tall, too dark, too awkward. She thought she'd made peace with it. Owned it. But this moment, it cracked something open.
If he didn't want that, then what did he want?
Did he pity her?
No, he'd said it with certainty, with eyes that didn't flinch. "I want you." But not like that. Not for her body.
Then what for? Organs? He looked dangerous. Nothing about him screamed safe. She had followed a complete stranger to a room alone. When she stepped out again, she found him, pulling a black t-shirt over his head, his back turned. His movements were fluid, methodical. Like someone used to precision.
His looks spoke of danger. He looked expensive. Intentional. Like someone born into a life where time and beauty were luxuries, not gambles.
She hovered near the doorway, unsure how to stand. How to ask.
"How... what did you mean?" she said, voice low but steady. "When you said you wanted me. And you'd pay."
Antoine turned to her slowly, his eyes meeting hers again with that same unnerving calm.
He nodded toward the now-finished plate. "Eat first," he said. "Then I'll show you."
Ebony folded her arms tightly across her chest as Antoine finished buttoning the last of his shirt. The sweater she now wore was warm, and the food had settled in her stomach, but that wasn't what was eating at her.
She stepped forward a little, brows furrowed, gaze locked on him.
"That food was enough," she said quietly. "What I really need to know is… what did you mean?"
Antoine looked at her, but she didn't wait.
"When you said you wanted me. And that you'd pay." Her voice dipped lower, eyes sharp. "You don't mean... like, my organs or something?"
He froze mid-step, blinking once.
Then ...
A small laugh escaped him, surprised. Then came a soft shake of the head, a sigh, and a wave of his hand as he sat on the edge of the bed.
"Mon Dieu," he muttered, still chuckling. "No. Definitely not that."
He leaned over to the table and grabbed his camera, beckoning her gently.
"Come," he said. "Let me show you."
Cautiously, Ebony stepped closer. He turned the camera around and tapped through the gallery until he found it. The photo from earlier.
She recognized herself immediately.
It was surreal. She was leaning against the tree, half-shadowed by the enormous hood, the tear glistening down the visible side of her face. Her expression was quiet devastation, but also strangely poised. Still. Like she'd been carved from dusk.
Ebony stared. She didn't speak for a long time.
"That's me." she whispered eventually.
"Yes," Antoine said, tone gentler now.
"I…" She swallowed; eyes locked on the screen. "I think… that's the first picture I've ever seen of myself."
Antoine's brow lifted in surprise. "Truly?"
She nodded slowly, still staring. "In school, they always took class photos, but… I never bought any. My family said they were a waste of money. I'd just stand in the back and forget it happened."
"I took this earlier," Antoine said. "The moment I saw you. Something in it, your presence, your stillness. You looked like you could sell anything in one breath. And I could see it, my next collection. You, wearing it."
Her head turned slightly, eyes flickering between his words and the image on the screen. She stared at him, trying to read the expression on his face, to decide if this was some kind of test, a trap, a joke. The word formed before she could stop it.
"You want me to... model?" she asked, slowly.
"Yes," Antoine replied, voice level. "For my brand. I'm a designer. That's what I do. I want you to be part of it."
Silence stretched between them. "I saw a fashion magazine once," she murmured, voice far away now. "When I was in high school. A girl had a bunch of them from the city. We weren't allowed to look too long, but... I did. All the girls were so beautiful. Small faces. Soft hair. Light skin. Pretty clothes."
Her fingers twitched at her side.
"I didn't look like any of them."
He watched her in silence, her voice small and unsure. And he found himself wondering how someone like her could believe they were ugly.
She looked like she hadn't eaten in days. Her clothes hung loose on her frame, and she carried herself like someone used to shrinking, to apologizing for existing. But even now, in this raw and starved state, she looked… otherworldly. Her dark skin contrasted beautifully with the light in her eyes, those strange, soft brown eyes that gleamed like honey against a storm.
She didn't look like the women he photographed every day, sculpted, calculated, curated. She didn't pose. She existed. Her face told stories, and her presence didn't just take space, it demanded it.
She looked like something sacred. A forgotten deity from a better world.
He had seen beautiful women, more than his fair share, especially in his industry, but she was something else entirely. Not just beautiful. Compelling. The kind of beautiful that made people stop walking. That made silence spread in rooms.
And yet, she couldn't see it.
Antoine turned the camera back around and cradled it loosely in one hand. "That's the problem," he said. "They all look the same."
He looked at her again, more seriously now. "I'm a designer. I create for people who shift what beauty means. People who stop you in your tracks because they don't blend in. You, Ebony, you don't blend in. You break the rhythm. That's what I saw when I took this."
She blinked, not fully trusting what she was hearing.
"Would you have any problem leaving your country?" he asked, his voice quieter.
"I can leave now," she said with no hesitation. "There's nothing holding me back."
Antoine smiled slightly. "Do you have a passport?"
Her lips pressed together.
"…No."
"Do you know what you need to travel?"
She shook her head, expression guarded.
Antoine rubbed his jaw, thinking. Then he picked up his phone and tapped a quick message. "Then we'll start there," he said. "Louis will know what to do."
Ebony stood quietly for a moment, something in her stirred, something she hadn't felt in years, or maybe ever.
Hope.
Antoine checked his watch, then looked at Ebony with the kind of assessment he usually reserved for high-value negotiations.
"Where are you staying?" he asked, tone clipped.
Ebony hesitated. "I… I don't have a place. I'm new here."
"Figures," he muttered. "So, you're on the street."
She didn't respond, but her silence said enough.
Antoine pulled out his phone. "You can't live outside and expect to function. I'll pay for a place. Temporary. Nothing extravagant."
Her eyes widened slightly. "You'd really…?"
"I don't do charity," he cut her off. "If I'm investing in you, I expect results. That starts with you not collapsing from hunger or exposure."
He pressed a contact. "Louis."
Seconds later, a knock. Louis entered, calm and polished as ever.
"Oui, monsieur?"
Antoine gestured toward her. "This is Ebony. She'll be working with us. Don't treat her like a guest. She's an asset. Keep her standing, keep her useful."
"Yes, monsieur," Louis said smoothly.
Antoine didn't waste time. "Get her to her room and order her food. She hasn't eaten properly in days. And start her documents; passport, visa, whatever she needs to move. You'll handle everything."
Louis nodded, eyes briefly scanning Ebony. "Understood."
Antoine turned back to Ebony; expression unreadable. "You'll have your own room, clothes, food. Nothing more until you prove you're worth the trouble. Understood?"
Ebony swallowed, then nodded. "Understood."
"Good." He turned away, already done with the conversation. "Go."
Louis stepped aside and gestured her out. Ebony went out in silence, the floor steady beneath her feet for the first time in years.
Ebony glanced back once, unsure. "Thank you," she said quietly.
Antoine didn't look at her. "Don't thank me. Earn it."
She followed Louis out, who lead her to her room.
The door shut behind her with a soft click. For a moment, Ebony just stood there in the quiet of the room. Beige walls. Thick curtains. A clean bed with white sheets. A tray of food on the desk. All hers. No one watching. No one waiting.
She walked over to the tray. Rice, chicken stew, plantains, bottled water. Still warm.
Earlier, she could barely get anything down. Her stomach had turned at the thought of what she believed she'd have to give in return. She'd stared at the food, her fingers in her lap, counting the seconds. Hunger dull and hard in her belly, but fear sharper.
Now, there was nothing to fear. No one had followed her in. No one was demanding anything.
She sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the spoon.
The first bite burned a little on the way down. Her body wasn't used to it, not after days of tap water only. She swallowed, paused, then went back for more. Another spoonful. Then another. Within minutes, the plate was empty. She scraped the bottom for anything left behind.
She leaned back on the bed, not even bothering to pull back the covers. Her fingers rested on her stomach; rounder now than it had been this morning. Full.
The silence was thick. Comfortable. Her eyes closed before she could think to undress or clean up. The mattress was soft. Her body sank into it. She didn't know when last she'd had a real bed. Or a locked door. Or a meal that didn't come with shame or strings.
Her breath slowed.
Sleep came fast and heavy.
The next morning
In the hotel lobby, Antoine adjusted the cuffs of his coat, already dressed for his flight. Louis stood beside him; tablet clutched tight against his chest.
"She ate," Louis said simply.
Antoine glanced over. "Good."
"She slept too. Like the dead, from what the front desk said. Didn't wake up once."
"Good," Antoine repeated, this time quieter, like it mattered more than he let on. He reached for his phone, then put it back in his coat pocket. "She'll need a few days. Let her breathe, but don't lose time."
Louis nodded. "I've scheduled light fittings in two days. We will need a stylist to come in to get a feel of what works best on her."
"And the documents?"
"We'll start the process. Birth certificate, ID, then passport. It will take time."
Antoine looked at him sharply. "Then start today. That shoot cannot move from the spring calendar."
"I know."
Antoine exhaled through his nose, then looked toward the elevators. "She doesn't know what she's getting into."
"She will."
He turned fully to Louis, voice low. "Be patient with her. But be firm. She doesn't need coddling, she needs structure."
Louis didn't flinch. "Understood."
Antoine adjusted the strap of his bag. "She's the whole campaign, Louis. If she falls apart, this all falls apart."
"I won't let that happen."
For a moment, Antoine studied his assistant, as if weighing something heavier than the conversation. Then he gave a small nod.
"I'll handle France. You build her up. Brick by brick, when I'm back for the shoot, I need her ready."
Then he walked away, the glass doors parting for him as he stepped into the morning sun, already making a call before the doors swung shut.
Louis stood still for a beat longer, then turned on his heel and headed for the elevators. Brick by brick.
***
Ebony woke up to filtered sunlight pushing through the heavy hotel curtains. For a moment, she didn't move. Her limbs felt heavy; her stomach warm. It took a few seconds to remember where she was.
No one banging at the door. No cold floor. No rush to get out of someone's way.
Just silence.
She sat up slowly. The plate from last night was gone from the desk. A fresh one had replaced it. This time: toast, boiled eggs, fruit slices, tea. She hadn't heard anyone come in.
A knock came just as she was halfway through the eggs.
Louis stood outside, sharp as always in a fitted shirt and tie, tablet in hand.
"Good morning, Miss Ebony," he said, eyes flicking briefly to the food before settling back on her face. "Mr. Antoine asked me to check in before he left."
Antoine. Ebony thought. Even his name felt expensive.
"Left?"
"He has a flight to Paris this morning. We have a lot to prepare, and he needs to coordinate things from our end in France."
Ebony blinked. "He's leaving?"
Louis nodded. "Just temporarily. He'll return before the shoot, but there's groundwork to be done. Models to arrange. Crew to fly in."
Ebony sat back slowly, processing.
"You'll need grooming, styling trials, media training, test shots, basic prep. You also don't have travel documents, so the shoot will have to happen here. We'll base operations here."
"All that," she said, softly, "for me?"
Louis didn't answer that. Instead, he tapped something on his tablet. "There's a schedule we'll build around you. Mr. Antoine doesn't waste time or money unless he sees potential. You're the face of the spring collection now. That comes with work."
Ebony looked down at the food. The weight of sleep still lingered in her bones, but something else now pressed against it.
Conviction.
She had tasted hunger in ways Antoine and Louis would never understand. She had slept outside on cement, curled beneath broken cardboard. She had been called names that still echoed in her skull when she closed her eyes.
All her life, people had told her she was too tall, too black, too strange, useless. For the first time, someone saw her and said: valuable.
She didn't know if Mr. Antoine meant it. She didn't know if she trusted it. But she knew what she had decided, long before he bought her that first meal. She needed money. Money was freedom. Money meant she would never again have to sleep outside or be forced into another cage like marriage. Money was survival.
She didn't know what being a model entailed, what poses or paints or pretenses they expected, but she would learn. She would give whatever she had to give.
She was done being discarded. This time, she would meet expectations... and exceed them even if she had to become someone entirely new.
Louis spoke again, more gently this time. "We'll take it one step at a time. You'll be briefed before anything happens."
She nodded.
"Good. Now, your documents?"
She reached for the little bag she'd brought with her. It had everything she owned: her birth certificate, high school certificate, and the ID card she'd used to board the bus to the city. Louis handled them like they were precious, flipping through them with the care of someone who knew how fragile paper and identity could be.
"Eat. Then we'll talk wardrobe basics, I'll also come take a few pictures for your passport picture. There's a stylist on call later this week, and I'll take you to get fitted."
He turned to leave, then paused. "And Ebony.... sleep when you can. This is the slowest the days are going to be for a while."