Chapter 10: Present Comes with Strings
I didn’t wake up to a blaring alarm clock because, well—I didn’t own one.
No dramatic “rise and shine” moment here. No cliché morning monologue about chasing dreams.
Just silence.
My phone was still ruined from yesterday’s rain ambush, and my old wristwatch had died months ago. So I had no idea what time it was. My internal clock was all I had—and she was unreliable at best.
I rolled out of bed and stumbled toward the bathroom, blinking at the luxury still laced into this new house. Hot water. Glass walls. Marble sink. It all felt surreal, like I was playing dress-up in someone else’s life.
After a quick shower, I threw on a simple outfit: a soft blouse, a black sleeveless cardigan, and a flowy skirt that skimmed my knees. I never dressed up much for the start of the day—what was the point, when I’d be changing into something dramatic and photo-worthy an hour later?
I checked on Mom before I left. She was still sleeping, her breath soft and even. Safe. And that was enough for me.
But as I closed the door behind me, all I could think about was yesterday.
Cassian Locke had kissed me.
In front of the press. The world.
And worst of all… I felt something. Something I didn’t want to name.
Nope. This was exactly why I agreed to Tessa’s ridiculous bet. I’d never fall for a guy like that. Ever. That kiss meant nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
---
By the time I got to Pink Moda, the office was already buzzing. Everyone seemed to be in a particularly good mood, tossing me greetings and waves from every direction.
I smiled. Politely.
Inside the dressing room, everything glowed with clean white lights. The usual hum of stylists, makeup brushes, steamers, and gossip filled the air.
Hardin had just finished working on another model, his brushes still in hand, when the girl stood up and turned.
It was her.
Jojo Lopez.
She gave me a withering look.
“The one stealing my spot and my fiancé,” she said loudly, practically to the room.
I blinked. “I’m sorry, are you talking to me?”
She smirked. “Obviously, you demonic cow. Don’t think you’ll get away with it. I’m coming for what’s mine.”
I stared, baffled. “Okay, wow. First of all—what?”
“You know I was engaged to Cassian. You’re just pretending to be sweet and clueless.”
“Jojo,” I said slowly. “I don’t know anything about your engagement. I’m not psychic. And for the record? I have no interest in stealing anyone’s spot—or their fiancé.”
She tossed her hair dramatically. “Save the act. You think just because you’re some media darling now, you can come in and take over?”
“I think,” I said carefully, “that you need to stop talking to me like I asked for any of this.”
She stepped closer, eyes narrowed. “Stay away from him. And from my spotlight. This industry doesn’t need two queens.”
Then she turned and stomped out like a Disney villain on her third espresso shot.
I stared after her.
What in the hell was that?
---
“Miss Nikki?” Hardin said, calling me back to earth.
“You can call me Marla, Harry. Nikki’s just for cameras,” I muttered, still fuming.
Hardin began prepping my makeup with his usual graceful touch. “Don’t mind Jojo. She treats every new girl like a threat. Especially ones Cassian looks at twice.”
I gritted my teeth.
“She’s the star model, yeah?”
“Technically. But you’re quickly becoming the face.” He paused, then added delicately, “There were rumors about her and Cassian a while back, but nothing official. Engagement? That’s news to me.”
I didn’t know if I was more irritated by Jojo’s made-up claim, or the fact that everyone assumed I was actually in love with Cassian. I wanted to scream that it was all pretend. But I held my tongue.
Hardin leaned in. “Don’t let that sadist get in your head. Just focus on what you have going on with him.”
I flinched, but didn’t correct him. Not because he was right—but because I was too tired to start unraveling the mess this fake relationship had already become.
---
After the makeup session, a stylist escorted me to wardrobe.
“This way, Miss Nikki,” she said. “You’re number one, right?”
“Yeah. That’s the designation Margaret gave me.”
The woman raised her brows, clearly surprised. “VIP model. Got it.” She led me to the special racks reserved for top-tier shoots, flipping through outfits like she was searching for buried treasure.
After a few minutes, she frowned. Then frowned harder.
“Um… okay,” she mumbled, eyes darting over every hanger. “It should be here.”
“What should?”
“Your dress. The one for today’s campaign.”
She looked panicked now, hands trembling slightly. “I placed it here last night myself. Someone must have moved it.”
“It’s fine,” I said quickly. “I’ll wear something else.”
She shook her head. “You can’t. You’re the cover model. Every shoot is themed and styled weeks in advance. There is no replacement.”
I glanced at her, then at the racks.
And then I heard the click of heels behind me.
“Looking for this?”
Jojo stood at the doorway, her expression smug, her body wrapped perfectly in the very dress meant for me.
The cover outfit.
My stomach sank.
She twirled, slow and theatrical. “Fits like a dream, doesn’t it?”
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