Chapter Four
Julian
The flash of cameras was dying down, but the pressure didn’t. I was halfway through this damn shoot, muscles already aching from holding poses I didn’t want to hold. The air was thick with that fake, forced perfection everyone expected.
Victor stood behind the lens, barking out orders like some tyrant king.
“More edge. Sharper jaw. Less softness, Vale. You’re not a teddy bear.”
I shifted into the next pose, trying to make it look effortless, but the sting in my jaw was growing.
Then Victor’s voice cut through, low and cold:
“You’re giving me pity, not power. Do you even want this? Or are you just wasting everyone’s time?”
I froze. My jaw clenched so hard I thought it might crack. Rolling my eyes was automatic—I didn’t have the energy to waste on him anymore.
But then he was there, stepping up behind me, hand grabbing my jaw with enough force to make me snap to attention. His eyes were ice.
“Look at me, Julian.”
I forced my gaze up, meeting his cruel stare.
“This attitude? It’s poison. Fix it—or I’ll make damn sure everyone knows the real you. Got it?”
The words hit me like a train, but I said nothing. I only tightened my jaw and turned back to the camera, because defiance was the only thing I had left.
The shoot finally wrapped. Cameras off. Lights dimmed. But the tension in my chest stayed sharp, coiled tight like wire under my skin.
I made my way toward the crew’s snack table—just to look. Just to think about it. Protein bars. Crackers. A small bowl of cut fruit. Nothing sinful. Nothing dangerous.
But still...
I stood there, staring at the spread like it might bite me. My stomach twisted painfully, hollow and aching. I hadn’t eaten since early this morning. There hadn’t been time. And Victor... Victor would’ve killed me if I was late.
You can take one. A bite. Just enough to stop the shaking.
But my fingers curled into fists at my sides instead.
No. No weakness. You don’t need it. You’re fine. You’ve done this before.
The quiet sound of footsteps behind me made the hair on my neck rise.
Victor.
He slid up beside me, his presence thick and suffocating, and leaned in close—voice smooth, sharp as glass.
“You’re not thinking about eating that... are you?” His gaze dropped to the snack table, then flicked back to me. “Filling your body with that poison after everything I’ve done to fix you?”
I felt my body tense, shoulders locking into place as if bracing for impact.
“You know better,” he murmured, low and dark, like we shared some secret only I was meant to suffer. “Weak models lose their edge. Or worse... their contracts. Stay sharp, Vale.”
He gave the table a disgusted look before brushing past me, his cologne thick in the air, and left me standing there—hungry, shaking, and furious.
You wanted this, I reminded myself bitterly. You wanted this life. This is what it costs.
I gulped the hunger back down, and turned away.
I was turning away from the snack table, ready to escape this suffocating set, when I heard the familiar quick shuffle of dress shoes behind me.
“Julian, hey—wait up.”
Bradley.
I stopped but didn’t turn. His voice was already winding its way into my skull like an unwanted thread.
He finally caught up, breathless. “Good news,” he said with that forced, greasy smile he always wore when he wanted me to swallow something I’d choke on later. “You’ve been booked for an international shoot. A full week. Paid double.”
I didn’t respond. My jaw ticked.
He kept going.
“It’s with that new actor. What’s his name—Miles Bennett? You two looked good together last time. The client loved it. Said the chemistry was perfect. Real. They want more.”
I finally turned my head, slowly, fixing him with a flat stare. “I’m not here to babysit wide-eyed rookies.”
Bradley laughed nervously, adjusting the lapel of his ugly suit. “He’s not so bad. The kid’s got something, Julian. And they want him with you. The agency’s already agreed. Flights are already booked. So—pack a bag.”
Of course they were. No one ever asked what I wanted. Not anymore.
I exhaled sharply through my nose, grinding the heel of my palm into my eye. “Perfect,” I muttered flatly. “Just what I needed. A week abroad... playing nice.”
Bradley patted my shoulder like we were old pals. I stiffened beneath the weight of his hand.
“Come on, Vale. It’ll be good for you. Maybe this Bennett kid will soften you up.”
I shot him a sideways glare. “Don’t count on it.”
Bradley just laughed like that was charming and walked off, probably off to ruin someone else’s day.
I stood there for a moment longer, my chest tightening with the thought of Miles Bennett—the smiley, golden retriever actor who’d probably want to chat the whole damn time.
Just survive it. Like you always do.
I grabbed my phone, pocketed it, and headed for the exit.
Showtime never really ended.
The studio door clicked shut behind me with a hollow sound. The kind that echoed in my skull long after the outside world went silent.
I pulled my coat tighter around my frame and made the short walk to my car, head down, eyes on the pavement. Not because of the cold—but because if I looked up, I’d see Victor standing there in my mind, smirking like he always did. Controlling. Watching.
I hated that he followed me even when he wasn’t there.
The drive home was muscle memory. My hands on the wheel. My foot easing the gas. The radio stayed off—just the soft hum of the engine and the quiet weight in my chest for company.
When I parked in front of my building, the sky was already dark. The city lights bled into the car’s interior, thin and cold like needles pricking at my skin.
I didn’t rush. Didn’t want to.
But I made myself get out, made myself walk to the door, swipe the keycard, and ride the elevator.
My apartment greeted me the way it always did—
Silent.
Still.
Too clean.
I locked the door behind me, slipped off my shoes, and set them carefully by the wall. The faint scent of lavender cleaner lingered in the air—the housekeeper must’ve come today.
Everything perfect. Everything untouched. Like no one actually lived here.
I stood in the middle of the living room for a long minute, staring at the quiet space. No laughter. No conversation. No warmth.
Just me.
I glanced at my phone on the counter. No messages. No missed calls.
Of course not.
My stomach gave a faint, hollow twist. The snack table at the studio flashed through my mind—Victor’s voice like poison in my ear—and I shook my head, pushing the hunger down.
Maybe tea. That was safe.
I turned toward the kitchen but paused when I caught my reflection in the dark window.
The perfect face. The charming smile. America’s sweetheart.
I didn’t even recognize him.
“Great,” I muttered. “A whole week abroad. With him.”
Miles Bennett.
I could still see his wide, open smile. His stupid, honest eyes.
I gulped and glanced away from the glass.
One more mask to wear.
I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair. The quiet settled heavy around me again like a blanket I couldn’t shake off.
And I let it.
Because this was what I wanted.
Wasn’t it?