Chapter 1
Leeyah Amani had mastered the art of looking unbothered. It was useful in her line of work, especially when there were photographers shouting her name before she had even made it through the doors.
“Leeyah! Over here!”
“Leeyah, one more!”
“Look this way!”
She turned just enough to give them what they wanted—a glance over her shoulder, a faint smile, effortless enough to look accidental. Flash. Another. She kept walking.
The glass doors of the fashion house slid open, swallowing her from the cameras outside and dropping her straight into controlled chaos. Assistants hurried across the lobby carrying garment bags. Someone was arguing over a missing pair of shoes, while a stylist stood beside a rack of clothes, speaking into two phones at once. Leeyah barely reacted. This was normal. She had been modelling long enough to know that fashion was mostly beautiful clothes, expensive locations, and people quietly panicking five minutes before everything was supposed to look effortless.
“Morning, superstar.”
Leeyah looked over. Mara was leaning against the reception desk, coffee in one hand and sunglasses pushed into her hair.
“You're late.”
Leeyah glanced at her phone. “I'm three minutes early.”
“Exactly. Suspicious.”
Leeyah laughed, slipping her phone into her bag. Mara narrowed her eyes.
“What?”
“You're smiling at your phone.”
“I smile everyday.”
“Not like that.”
Leeyah raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“Like you're making terrible decisions.”
“That narrows it down considerably.”
Mara snorted.
Leeyah's phone buzzed again. She glanced down.
Kairo: Tonight.
Her mouth twitched. She typed back.
Leeyah: Demanding.
The reply came almost immediately.
Kairo: Confident.
Leeyah: Annoying.
Kairo: You like annoying.
Leeyah looked up at Mara, who was already watching her. She typed one last message.
Leeyah: Don't get ahead of yourself.
Three dots appeared, then disappeared. Leeyah slipped her phone away before Mara could read anything.
“Who is it?”
“No one.”
“That was definitely someone.”
“Good morning to you too.”
Mara rolled her eyes.
Before she could interrogate her further, a woman in a perfectly tailored black suit appeared at the end of the lobby.
“Leeyah.”
Camille Laurent didn't need to raise her voice. Everyone heard her anyway. Leeyah straightened.
“Morning, Camille.”
“Conference room. Five minutes.”
“Am I in trouble?”
Camille gave her a look. “You'll find out upstairs.”
Mara whispered, “That's never good.”
Leeyah grabbed her coffee from the reception desk. “You're not coming?”
“I value my freedom.”
Leeyah laughed and headed toward the elevators.
She had built this life carefully. The campaigns. The covers. The shows. The money. The independence. Everything belonged to her now, and for once, she liked things exactly the way they were.
Leeyah stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor. She had no idea that by the end of the day, that was going to change.
Not because of a man.
Not yet.
