Ebony arrived back at the apartment late that afternoon, cheeks flushed from the lingering chill. Her shopping bags rustled as she nudged the door shut with her foot. The quiet of the space greeted her, warm and familiar. She slipped off her coat, hung it by the door, and was halfway through unpacking her sweater when her phone buzzed.
A message from Lin lit up her screen.
Lin:"Girl you are literally trending! Look at this!"
A link followed.
Eyebrows furrowed; Ebony clicked it.
The post loaded slowly, then popped open into view: Her, smiling faintly, unaware, wrapped in a soft charcoal coat and holding her cappuccino by the window. The caption called her a queen. The hashtags read like praise.
Her breath hitched slightly.
Before she could fully process it, her phone rang.
Louis.
She answered quickly. "Hello?"
"Bonsoir, Ebony," his familiar voice rang through, calm and composed as ever. "Did you see your photo online."
Her stomach twisted. "yeah but I didn't know someone was taking it. I wasn't trying to..."
"You don't have to apologize," he interrupted gently. "It's a beautiful picture."
Ebony said nothing, unsure how to receive the compliment. She settled onto the couch, pulling a pillow into her lap.
Louis continued, "But this is where the work changes. People are recognizing you now, sometimes even when you don't notice. And not all of them will have good intentions."
Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"There will be people who want to catch you at your worst; tired, upset, reckless. They'll twist a bad angle into a story. Sell it to blogs. Or worse, paint the house in a negative light. You represent more than yourself now, Ebony. You represent Étoile."
She sat up straighter.
Ebony swallowed. "Okay. What should I do?"
Louis paused. "Have you considered opening a social media page for yourself?"
Ebony blinked. "I… not yet."
"Well, now might be the time. People are looking for you. They want to know more. It's better if they find the real you, on your own terms, than a version others invent."
She hesitated. "What would I even post?"
"Start simple. Moments that matter to you. Things that reflect who you are, not just what you wear. But keep it curated. Intentional. No personal drama, no impulsive opinions. Ask yourself before you post: 'Would I want this to be the first impression someone gets of me?'"
She nodded, even though he couldn't see her. "I understand."
"Good," he said, his tone softening. "You're doing well, Ebony. Better than any of us expected this early on. Don't let the attention scare you. Let it sharpen you."
"Thank you, Louis," she said.
"You're welcome."
They hung up, and Ebony sat in the hush of her apartment for a moment longer.
Eventually, she opened her browser and searched for the post again. It had gained thousands of likes since she last checked. Hundreds of comments, in languages she didn't even speak. Ebony exhaled softly, then clicked away and began setting up the social media page as Louis had advised. She was quite nervous about putting herself out there but still; she picked a username that included her real name. The profile picture, a picture from behind the scene photos she had from the spring collection photoshoot. The bio, not so much. After several revisions, she settled on: Model. After finishing the set-up, she uploaded a different picture from the photoshoot. The weekend passed by leisurely.
On Monday, she'd dressed more intentionally than usual: black tailored trousers, a fitted cream turtleneck, a hint of gloss on her lips. When the call came from reception that Antoine wanted to see her in his office, she didn't panic. She just stood, fixed her posture, and walked.
The Étoile offices were quiet, but full of movement, a rhythm of creative chaos behind polished doors.
Antoine didn't look up immediately when she entered. Ebony took a breath and waited near the door, arms loosely at her side.
"Close the door," he said, flipping through what looked like a runway lineup sheet.
She obeyed and stepped in.
Antoine finally looked up, eyes cool and unreadable as ever. But there was something in them today. Focus. Calculation. Then, as if deciding something, he set the paper down and gestured to the seat across from his desk.
She sat.
"You're going to walk in our summer fashion show," he said without preamble.
Her heart fluttered somewhere behind her ribs.
"You'll need to work on your walk," he continued. "Your posture, stride, shoulder placement. Everything. You'll train with Léa from choreography starting this week. You'll also be attending fittings, on time, no exceptions. And you'll spend more time observing other models. Learn by watching. Learn by moving."
She nodded quickly. "Yes, of course. I'll give it everything."
"You'll need to," he replied.
For a beat, silence fell. Ebony studied him quietly, thinking the conversation was over. But she didn't stand.
Maybe it was the glimpse she'd caught of him from behind that weekend, standing outside the restaurant with Camille, tall and striking in his dark coat. Maybe it was the clean symmetry of his features now, in the natural light of the office.
He really was handsome. In that quiet, self-assured French way.
A strong, straight nose. Defined jaw. Warm olive skin. A touch of stubble shadowing his cheek. Eyes sharp, slightly narrowed, hazel or grey, she couldn't tell. His brows dark and always mildly furrowed, like he was constantly calculating something in the background.
He could've been a model himself, just with the wrong kind of presence for a runway. Too grounded. Too in control.
"is there something else you want," Antoine looked at her after noticing she had not left.
Ebony blinked, snapped from her thoughts. "Oh… yes. Um…" She shifted. "I created a social media account. Like Louis suggested. I wanted to ask if… the kind of content I posted is okay?"
Antoine tilted his head slightly, "Ask Louis. He's the one managing that."
Ebony nodded, embarrassed.
"You're not in trouble," he added, almost an afterthought. "If anything, I'm surprised it took you this long."
"I just didn't want to seem like I was chasing attention."
"You're in fashion," Antoine said dryly. "You are attention."
That startled a quiet smile out of her.
He looked at her then, not just at her, but into her. For a flicker of a second, Ebony felt exposed in the strangest way, like he saw not just her exterior, but the person beneath it.
"Go," he said finally, turning back to his paperwork. "Work hard."
Ebony stood, still a little dazed. She walked out with her heart drumming louder than her heels.
Ebony walked out of his office, the door clicking softly behind her.
She exhaled slowly, trying to steady her heart, trying to blame the flutter in her chest on adrenaline, or pressure, or the weight of being chosen for the summer show.
But it wasn't just that.
Not really.
Her footsteps echoed down the corridor as she moved through the hushed Étoile headquarters. Her thoughts, however, weren't nearly as composed.
The way Antoine had looked at her, really looked. Not inappropriately. Not even warmly. Just… directly. Like she was no longer just a new face in the company, but something with shape, with force, with weight.
It had unsettled her. But not in the way she would've expected.
And that was the part that bothered her most.
She should've left that meeting with her mind full of posture cues and runway prep. Instead, part of her brain was still circling around the cut of his jawline, the way his shirt cuffs framed his wrists, the deep timbre of his voice when he said, "You are attention."
Ugh.
She stopped just shy of the staircase and pressed her fingertips to her temples.
It wasn't a crush. It couldn't be. Antoine was her boss. Her very serious, very unavailable boss.
The image of Camille from the weekend flickered in her mind, elegant, effortless, laughing softly beside him in that way women did when they already knew they had a man's attention. Camille had leaned into him. Touched his arm. Looked like she belonged.
Ebony had seen it. The way Antoine didn't pull away. Didn't discourage it.
Of course, someone like Camille would be with someone like him. It made perfect sense. They were of the same world. Polished. Prestigious. Photogenic in a way that felt expensive.
Ebony was something else entirely. Something still being shaped.
And yet…
She shook her head sharply, forcing the thought away. No. Stop.
She wasn't going to start projecting fairytales into power dynamics. Not when she'd worked this hard to become more than a body in someone else's narrative.
Whatever that flicker of curiosity had been, she'd snuff it out.
Maybe she just needed a distraction. Something safe. Harmless.
A romance drama, perhaps. The kind where the guy falls in love with the quirky girl who works at a bookstore and cooks barefoot. Or maybe she'd find someone else to admire, someone outside of work. One of the models. Or a barista in a coffee shop. Anyone who wouldn't make her question her professionalism every time he looked at her.
Someone she could fawn over harmlessly. Daydream about on weekends. Keep the line between real life and fantasy clear.
Because whatever Antoine was or wasn't with Camille, it wasn't her place to care.
And more importantly, she wasn't going to jeopardize her only real shot at stability for something as reckless as attraction.
She was here to work.
To survive.
To win.
Ebony lifted her chin, straightened her shoulders, and descended the stairs like she was already on a runway.
Let him stay handsome.
She had her own path now.
And it was time to walk it, well.
By the time she reached the main floor, Ebony had convinced herself to stop thinking about Antoine.
Mostly.
The halls of Étoile had that clean, efficient hush that always made her feel like a guest in someone else's world. But now, walking through it with her name trending and her place in the summer show secured, it didn't feel as distant.
She paused outside Louis' office, smoothed her hands over her hips, and knocked lightly.
"Entrez," came his voice.
She stepped in.
Louis was seated behind his wide desk, fingers moving swiftly over his keyboard. He looked up when he saw her, his expression lifting slightly.
"Ebony."
"Hi," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "I just left Mr. Antoine's office. He told me I'll be walking in the summer show."
Louis gave a small nod. "Yes. I know. Congratulations. You've earned it."
She smiled faintly, shifting from foot to foot. "Thank you. I… also wanted to ask you something. About the social media account."
He leaned back slightly, giving her his full attention.
"I created one over the weekend. Used a behind-the-scenes photo for my profile picture. I posted one of the final looks from the spring shoot. Is that okay? I tried to keep it clean. Professional."
Louis regarded her with a thoughtful gaze, then offered a reassuring nod.
"You've made a good start. The tone matters. So does consistency. Avoid cluttering your page with random moods. Keep it elegant, like the brand you represent, but don't let it swallow your personality. People want to see you. Not a mannequin."
She nodded slowly. "That makes sense."
"I'll have someone on the team monitor your page now that it's public. You'll likely gain a lot of followers in the next few weeks. Just stay grounded. And if you ever need guidance, ask. You're not alone in this."
Her shoulders relaxed. She hadn't realized how tense she'd been.
"Thanks, Louis."
"You're welcome. Now go. Léa will be waiting."
Ebony slipped out of the office and followed the hallway to the studio practice room.
Inside, tall mirrors lined the far wall. The space was empty except for Léa, who stood with her arms folded across her chest, her sleek ponytail sharp as a metronome.
"You're late," Léa said, her voice crisp. "By three minutes."
Ebony opened her mouth to apologize, but Léa raised a hand.
"Save it. Shoes off. Heels on. Let's go."
Ebony quickly swapped her flats for her runway heels, then moved to the center of the floor.
"Again," Léa said, motioning to the length of the room.
Ebony walked. Spine tall. Shoulders back. Chin level.
"Better," Léa murmured as she watched her approach. "But not quite."
Ebony turned and walked back.
This time, Léa stepped in front of her, stopping her with a single hand at her side.
"You're mimicking Jess's walk," she said, voice even. "It's graceful, yes. But it's not yours."
Ebony blinked, startled.
"I wasn't trying to—"
"You don't even know you're doing it. That's the problem." Léa stepped closer, not unkind but firm. "The best walks don't come from imitation. They come from understanding your body. Your rhythm. How you move when no one's watching."
Ebony nodded, absorbing every word.
"So," Léa said, stepping back, "we start over. Walk like yourself. Not like Jess. Not like Camille. You."
Ebony inhaled slowly. Then she moved.
One step at a time, less forced, more present.
Her hips didn't swing too wide. Her arms moved fluidly, not posed. Her posture lengthened naturally, like her body remembered how it felt to move through wind and not a stage.
Léa watched without speaking. Then, quietly: "Now that… is a start."
Ebony exhaled.
Her heart was still noisy from earlier, from what she saw, from what she felt.
But for the first time all morning, her mind was quiet.
Her body was listening.
She'd figure the rest out later.
After hours of walking, pausing, correcting, and repeating, Ebony finally slipped her heels off, cradling one foot for a brief second before letting it touch the cool wooden floor. Léa gave her a small nod of approval, a high praise, coming from her.
"Come early tomorrow," the instructor said, scribbling something into her clipboard. "We'll build on this."
Ebony murmured her thanks and stepped out into the hallway, her limbs tired but her chest lighter. Her mind had cleared with movement, with repetition. She didn't need to figure everything out today. She just needed to keep showing up.
She turned the corner and nearly collided with someone walking fast from the opposite direction.
"Whoa…sorry," the man said, steadying her with a hand.
Ebony looked up and recognized him instantly.
Sami.
Tall. Impeccably dressed. Hair slicked back just enough to frame his symmetrical, almost unfairly flawless face. His cheekbones looked like they had been shaped with a ruler. And his skin; clear, smooth, glowing like he drank nothing but spring water.
"Oh…hey," he said, flashing a grin that would've made anyone blush. "Ebony."
She nodded. "Yeah. Hi."
"I saw your viral post. Crazy how fast that blew up." He tilted his head slightly, playful. "They caught your good side."
She smiled politely. "Apparently, I have one."
He laughed and lingered a moment longer, hands tucked into the pockets of his designer joggers. He looked like he belonged in a cologne ad; lean, styled, effortless.
For a flicker of a moment, Ebony remembered her thought from earlier that day, how she should find someone harmless to fawn over. Someone safe. Someone decidedly not her boss.
And here he was.
But as her gaze swept over Sami, perfect posture, perfect smile, skin too smooth to be real, something in her resisted.
He was, in every sense, what most girls would want. Incredibly handsome. Kind. Friendly. And yet…
He didn't make her eyes linger. He didn't make her nervous or feel that strange, weightless tug in her stomach.
He didn't make her wonder what he looked like when no one else was around.
He's too clean, she thought. Too polished. Too practiced.
Not cold, like Antoine could sometimes be.
She realized it then: as beautiful as Sami was, he didn't evoke that dreamy feeling in her. The confusing, inconvenient, terribly timed one that had bloomed after Antoine looked at her like she was real.
"Anyway," Sami said, "see you around, yeah?"
"Yeah," Ebony replied, offering a polite nod.
He disappeared down the corridor, and she stood there a moment longer, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Since when did her eyes decide that Antoine was the standard.
But that, she decided, was a problem for another day.
Right now, she had training to focus on, posture to perfect, and a career to protect.
And if she needed a distraction in the meantime… maybe she'd stick to romance dramas after all.
They were safer.
And the leading men never complicated your paycheck.
Back at the apartment, dusk had already settled over the city. The windows glowed faintly with the last wash of pale lavender light, and the quiet inside felt like a warm exhale.
Ebony dropped her bag by the door and kicked off her shoes, then paused for a long moment, staring at her reflection in the hallway mirror.
She hadn't turned on the lights yet, and the soft dark blue of early evening wrapped around her like silk. Everything felt quieter. Softer. Private.
Without the pressure of Léa's sharp gaze or the sound of clicking pens and critiques, she stepped in front of the mirror and rolled her shoulders back.
She walked. Slowly. One end of the narrow space to the other, bare feet whispering across the floor.
She didn't try to strut. Didn't arch or exaggerate. Just moved. Paid attention. To how her body swayed. How her arms naturally fell. How her weight shifted from one hip to the other when she wasn't trying to be someone else.
She turned. Walked again.
This time, she let herself smile for herself.
Léa had said it: don't mimic others.
Maybe what worked wasn't about recreating Jess's grace or Camille's command or any other woman's rhythm. Maybe what worked was simply hers. Whatever that looked like. Whatever that became.
She tried again. Slower. Shoulders open. Chin high. No music, no metronome. Just her and the floor and the fading light.
When she finally stopped, her breath was steady. Her limbs no longer tense. Her eyes in the mirror held something new; quiet certainty, like a thread beginning to tighten into form.
Tomorrow she'd face Léa again. She'd slip on the heels, straighten her spine, and walk with whatever new thing she found in herself tonight.
She stepped away from the mirror, feeling clarity gently inside her.
And that was more than enough to start with.