The card felt heavier than it should.
Ebony turned it over in her hand, matte black, her name etched in silver letters. It shimmered faintly in the soft morning light pouring through the apartment window.
Her first pay check.
She sat on the edge of her narrow bed, staring at it for a long time. Like it might vanish if she blinked too fast.
Even now, she still didn't know what to feel.
Three months ago, she hadn't known what it meant to earn anything; money, praise, belonging. When Antoine took her in, she thought the clothes, the apartment, the metro card, the stocked fridge...she thought all that was the payment. She hadn't expected more.
Back then, she wasn't even sure she had value. Not the kind people paid for. She was used to being bartered, belittled, reshaped to fit someone else's narrative. Now, she was being paid. By one of the top fashion houses in Paris. For her face. For her work. For herself.
She looked at the balance again, heart tightening. It wasn't a fortune by any model's standard, but to her, it was more than she'd ever seen in her entire life. More than her family had ever handed her. More than anyone had ever trusted her to hold.
Antoine's words played in her mind: "The entire collection sold out in under four hours."
She hadn't understood the weight of that at the time. She still didn't, not fully. But if it meant that she had done something right, something valuable, something good for the man who had picked her out of nowhere and given her a new life... then that was enough.
She slipped the card into her wallet and stood.
Today was Saturday. There were no training drills, no expectations. Just soft music wafting from the bakery below and a sky washed in early spring blue. Ebony was going to the mall.
The spring sun in Paris could be deceiving. It danced on the windows and painted the pavements gold, but the air still held a chill that cut through anything unlayered. Ebony stepped out wrapped snug in her softest scarf, a beige wool hat pulled over her curls, and a thick charcoal coat.
Even now, dressed in layers like everyone else on the street, she moved as though trying not to be seen. Old habits clung to her skin like breath on cold glass. Head turned downwards. Steps light. She still avoided too much eye contact, though she walked with more steadiness than before.
The wind tugged gently at her coat as she stepped into the metro station, and the smell washed over her with a rush of memory.
This wasn't her first metro ride.
But it was the first one that brought back the memory of the bus ride to the city. She hadn't even known where to get off.
No friends. No destination. No plan. Just… away.
Back then, the city felt too big, like it could chew her up and not even bother to spit her out.
She looked at her reflection now in the window: warm hat, scarf, wallet in her bag, enough money to buy herself something just because. She was still here.
Living.
And if she still kept to the corners sometimes, if she still glanced down instead of up, that was alright too. Courage didn't always look like bold strides. Sometimes, it looked like staying on the train, heading forward, even when you remembered what it felt like to run.
She stepped off at a station close to the shopping district and let herself walk with no plan. The streets were busier now with families with strollers, couples walking hand in hand, groups of girls in matching berets. The mall loomed up ahead like a small city of its own: glass façades, polished tiles, escalators whispering upwards into skylit floors.
Ebony walked in.
It smelled like vanilla and new shoes. She took her time. Touched fabrics. Tested hand cream samples. Stepped into a bookstore and let her fingers graze the spines of poetry collections in French and English. Bought a tiny journal with a floral cover.
In a small accessories shop, she picked up a pair of earrings shaped like golden moons. She held them to her ears in the mirror and smiled because they made her feel like someone who chose. It was a simple kind of joy, quiet, earned, and entirely her own. She wandered into a clothing store and, after some hesitation, bought a soft grey sweater.
Her final stop was a small café tucked between a florist and a boutique. She ordered a cappuccino and sat by the window; hands wrapped around the warm ceramic cup.
For just this moment, she let herself be.
A twenty-year-old girl, sipping coffee in Paris, with the whole world still ahead of her.
She pulled out the floral journal and opened to the first page.
Date: Saturday.
Title: finally living
This wasn't the life she had expected. It was better. Ebony looked out contemplating what to try next. The café window blurred slightly from the warmth of her cappuccino as Ebony cupped her hands around it, savouring the heat. Outside, the streets buzzed softly with weekend life, umbrellas spinning open in the occasional drizzle, shoppers carrying paper bags, the air laced with roasted chestnuts and perfume.
For a moment, she let herself sink into the stillness and then, across the street she spotted some movement.
Ebony's eyes drifted toward a high-end restaurant. Sleek façade, tall windows, the kind of place where everything gleamed without trying too hard.
There, just outside the front entrance, stood Camille.
She was angled slightly to the side, one hand on her hip, trench coat cinched perfectly at the waist, curls framing her cheek. Her lips curved upward as she spoke to someone, flirtatiously, if Ebony had to guess. Her gestures were effortless. Rehearsed.
The man she was speaking to had his back turned. Tall, clean-cut, dressed in a dark, fitted coat. He leaned in slightly to listen, hands in his pockets.
Probably her boyfriend, Ebony thought vaguely. He even looks handsome from the back.
There was something strange and magnetic about it, seeing two impossibly polished people framed by a rainy Paris street. Of course, she thought. Beautiful people find each other.
Then the man turned.
Ebony's breath caught.
Antoine.
Her mind scrambled to piece it together. Camille, laughing and touching his arm. Antoine, nodding slightly, murmuring something low. They walked toward the black car idling by the curb. Camille got in first. Antoine followed. The door shut. And the car pulled off like it had somewhere far more important to be.
Ebony blinked, processing.
A sense that she was missing something she probably should have understood all along.
No wonder Camille moved like she belonged in every room. No wonder she and Jess were close. Jess is Antoine's sister.
She'd never thought much about her coworkers having personal lives, let alone her boss or herself really. She had lived a better part of her life going through the motions of life as external factors dictated. Antoine had always existed on the periphery of her world, distant, sharp-edged, unshakable. She had no idea who he spent time with, who he trusted, who he let close. But this, Camille being in that orbit, made more sense than it should have.
And it startled her.
Not because she'd ever imagined herself part of that circle. Far from it. But because this world she'd stepped into, the Étoile world, was smaller than she thought. Tighter. Intertwined.
Panic then set in, thankfully no one knew about the mishap that happened on the first night she met Antoine otherwise she would not live that down.
Still, the memory of it rose unbidden: her confusion, her fear, her assumption that that was the only thing she had to offer for a cost. And the shame she'd carried since.
Antoine had never mentioned it. Never used it against her. And for that, she was grateful.
But sitting there now, watching that black car disappear into traffic, Ebony felt the invisible wall between their world and hers all over again.
"Excuse me, miss?"
She turned, startled.
A teenage girl stood beside her table, holding up her phone.
"You're Ebony, right? From the Étoile campaign?"
The girl rotated her screen. There it was, her face. The golden gown. The wind-tossed hair. The photo that had started it all.
"Wow," the girl breathed. "Your eyes are so pretty. You look magical."
Ebony stared at the image, barely believing it was her.
"Thanks," she managed, lips parting into a quiet smile.
The girl grinned and skipped off.
Ebony sat back, blinking slowly, her heartbeat finally steadying.
Someone, out there in the world, had seen her and thought she looked magical.
She smiled softly; life had so many surprising turns. Watching couples walk past the café made her wonder if she should finally get herself a boy crush, someone to like, to think about, maybe even laugh with. All her life, she had kept to herself, too scared of being hurt. She had never expressed herself fully, never dared to lean into her own wants. Maybe now was the time. Maybe she could take up dancing again, the little she'd done before coming to Paris had helped with her poise and flexibility. Even Lin used to be a dancer, and it showed in the way she moved. Or maybe she'd learn photography, start to understand the world behind the lens that always seemed to find her best angles. She could even use her free time to travel and see the world beyond runways and studios. There was so much that she could do now that she finally was opening up to the possibility of living in her own terms.
***
Antoine didn't like being watched when he wasn't on a runway or in control of a boardroom. That's why he'd chosen the corner seat, half-shielded by the restaurant's glass divider and a potted ficus that needed watering. He had arrived first, of course, and ordered something neutral: a late lunch, still hot, untouched, and already fifteen minutes old.
He looked at his watch once, then again.
Jess finally walked in with a breeze of spring air and her usual confidence; arm linked with another woman's.
Camille.
Antoine's mouth tightened just slightly.
He stood, offered a polite nod.
"Sorry," Jess said, sliding into the seat across from him. "Camille was nearby and starving."
Antoine didn't answer immediately. He simply sat and gestured toward the waiter. Jess, radiant in her tailored blazer and oversized sunglasses, pretended not to notice his displeasure. Camille sat beside her, unbothered. Her smile too easy. Her perfume sharp.
The meal started with conversation between the two women, quick and fluid, mostly in French. Antoine ate quietly, answering when addressed, nodding where polite. He had nothing against Camille, not really. She was stunning, ambitious, and clever in that way that made people listen without knowing why.
But she wasn't subtle.
Not with the way she leaned toward him just enough. Or the way she mentioned campaigns she "would die to work on." Or how she let her hand linger on the wine glass, tracing the rim with her pinkie like she was drawing a line between her and whoever sat across the table.
This wasn't the first time Jess had pulled this.
Bring a friend under the guise of sisterly bonding. Disappear halfway through, text from a casting, sudden emergency, someone needing her elsewhere.
Halfway through dessert, Jess' phone buzzed. She glanced at it, stood, kissed Antoine on the cheek.
"Be right back," she said. "Ten minutes max."
Twenty minutes later, Camille was still talking about herself. About her "transition" from commercial to couture. About how hard it was to get noticed now with the "fresh faces" being pushed to the front of every campaign.
Antoine gave no more than he had to: a nod here, a question there. The moment Jess texted that she was headed elsewhere, he stood, signalled the car, and walked Camille out. She kept on talking, they needed to leave quickly or he might really get a headache.
She looked… pleased. Like something had gone exactly as planned.
He dropped her off near the studio, let her door shut gently, and didn't say much more than, "Take care."
The silence that followed was a relief.
He directed the driver to his parents' house. As expected, Jess's coat was already on the rack when he arrived. She was sitting at the kitchen island with their mother, sipping tea like she hadn't just vanished on him an hour ago.
"Tu es venue vite(You came fast)," she said brightly.
He didn't respond right away. He walked over to the espresso machine, fixed himself a cup, and took a slow sip before finally turning to her.
"Don't bring Camille to lunch with me again."
Jess blinked. "Why?"
"You know why."
Jess rolled her eyes. "She's not that bad."
"She's not serious."
"She's just getting started...."
"She's not getting started. She's shopping."
Jess paused, caught halfway between indignation and embarrassment.
Antoine leaned on the counter, arms crossed.
"This is the third time, Jess. Third girl. Same story. You bring her to 'catch up,' then vanish and leave her sitting across from me like I'm supposed to audition her as a person."
"You're overreacting."
"I'm not. And it's not just about Camille." He softened his tone, but not the message. "You need to be careful who you call friends."
Jess looked away, jaw tight.
He continued, quietly. "Some of them don't want to be your friends, Jess. They want access. To me. To Julian. To our name. And when they can't get it, they leave."
It was a truth Jess didn't want to hear. But she had heard it before. Their parents had said the same thing in kinder, roundabout ways. Antoine didn't do roundabout.
"I'm just trying to be normal," Jess said finally, her voice a little smaller. "To have people around me who aren't obsessed with being 'connected.'"
"Then choose ones who don't see you as a stepping stone."
Jess looked down into her tea, and for a moment, she was just his little sister again, the one who used to sneak into his room to steal his hoodies, who hated sitting alone at fashion galas because all anyone ever wanted to talk about was who she was related to.
He sighed.
"Just be careful. That's all I'm saying."
Jess gave a nod. "Okay."
They didn't speak more of it. The quiet of the house settled between them.
Antoine left a short while later, his coat collar turned up against the wind.
He didn't dislike Camille. He disliked what she represented, what so many of them represented. All the girls who wanted a shortcut instead of the grind. All the hopefuls who saw him not as a mentor, or even a man, but as an elevator button they could press to get to the top floor.
Sometimes, the ones with the most potential were the ones who let it rot chasing proximity instead of growth.
Antoine had just returned to his apartment when the door clicked behind him and the quiet settled in.
The city hummed outside, Paris at dusk, with its muted horns and golden windows, but inside, it was still. Controlled. Exactly how he liked it.
He placed his keys in the ceramic dish by the door and loosened the collar of his coat, shrugging it off onto the hook. He went to his office and reached for his laptop, opened a few spreadsheets, started sifting through the figures from the latest campaign analytics. The numbers were still climbing—engagements, request to add more pieces to the collection, reposts. It wasn't just a successful drop; it was one of the fastest sellouts the house had ever seen. And the face most attached to the visuals?
Ebony.
She hadn't said much after he told her the collection sold out. Just that soft, surprised thank you that didn't feel rehearsed.
He appreciated that. The silence. The humility.
The buzz of his phone broke his train of thought.
Jess.
He let it ring twice before answering, not bothering with a greeting.
Her voice was already animated. "Did you see it?"
"See what?"
"I just sent you the link. Check your messages."
A moment later, his phone buzzed again, this time with a text. A simple link and a message:
"do she even know she is trending."
Antoine clicked it.
The page opened to a viral social media post. A candid photo of a girl in a café, bathed in natural light. Ebony. Sitting by the window, coffee cup in hand, sweater sleeves pulled past her wrists. She was smiling faintly, caught mid-thought, unaware she was being watched.
The caption read:
"Met a queen today. Just watched her smile to herself like she was falling in love with the world. Paris, man."
#WindowMagic #ModelEnergy #SpottedInParis #RealBeauty #ModelOrAngel
Antoine leaned back in his chair.
No angles. No effort. Just Ebony, as she was. And somehow, that still image had all the allure of a billboard. Mesmerizing.
"She's trending," Jess said on the other end. "Check the comments. People think she's an actress or something. Someone tagged the fashion house's page."
He refreshed the page. Comments were pouring in.
"Anyone know who she is?"
"I want that sweater, that coffee, that life."
"Actual goddess energy."
"Is this the girl from the Étoile campaign??"
"Her smile is unreal."
"Why do the beautiful ones always look the loneliest?"
Antoine closed the tab.
"Good photo," he said finally.
Jess snorted. "Understatement of the year."
He stood and crossed to the window, watching Paris glitter below. Somewhere out there, Ebony was probably still in that café, completely unaware her face had just started another wave of attention.
This… this was the kind of energy he wanted associated with Étoile de Verre. Clean. Honest. Natural beauty, effortlessly captured. Not girls chasing status. Not people leveraging their way into his orbit through his sister.
"She's doing everything right without even trying," he muttered.
Jess heard him. "And maybe that's why it's working."
He didn't reply. But he stared out into the city a moment longer.