2: Desperate nude shoot

Celeste POV.

The sting on my cheek had barely faded, but the pain in my chest was still fresh. My mother's words kept replaying in my head. "You will move in with me."

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Anna, my best friend and stylist, asked, her hands hovering anxiously over my shoulders.

I forced a tight, sharp smile through the mirror, though my reflection looked like a ghost of who I was two hours ago.

“I don’t have a choice, Anna,” I whispered, my voice cracking slightly before I hardened it. “I need enough money to secure a place before tonight. I refuse to wake up tomorrow under that woman's roof.”

I couldn’t bear to watch my mother strip me of my wings. I refused to let her win.

“But a semi-nude shoot? For them?” Anna turned me to face her, a worried pout tugging at her lips as her eyes roamed over what I wore.

The black mesh kimono clung to my body, revealing more than I was comfortable showing. This wasn't the kind of work I usually accepted. It was totally out of my usual comfort zone. I’ve always done clean, high-fashion graphic modeling. But it's obvious desperation changes the limits you thought you had.

“It’s fine, Anna,” I said, pacing the small dressing room, my heels clicking frantically against the linoleum. My heart was hammering a mile a minute. I checked my bank app for the tenth time. Still zero. The clock was ticking.

“We both know what my mother did. She sold the house. My father’s house. I have to get out tonight.”

Anna squeezed my trembling hands.

“I heard the photographer they brought in at the last minute is a massive deal. Very professional. The finest in his field.” She swallowed. “I think his name is Zayne or Zine… I don’t really—”

The heavy metal door of the studio creaked open, slamming against the stopper with a loud clang that made me jump.

The man who walked in immediately sucked all the air out of the room.

For one brief second, the panic crushing my chest disappeared.

I hated that my mind could still notice anything other than my ruined situation, but this man was impossible to ignore.

He wore black ripped jeans and a grey shirt with the top two buttons undone, revealing a glimpse of his broad chest. His sharp jawline and dark, penetrating eyes carried an intensity that made the entire room feel smaller.

I was in the middle of a disaster, yet my brain had chosen that moment to remind me that beautiful men existed.

“Is she the one doing the shoot?” His cool voice rolled out smoothly, cutting through the heavy air.

Neither Anna nor I could utter a word. We just stared. He held a high-end camera loosely in his hand, looking completely unimpressed by the chaotic studio.

“Hello?” he prompted, his voice echoing, snapping me back to reality.

Before I could mask my panic, Anna cleared her throat.

“Yes, she is,” she said.

His eyes roamed down my body for a brief, calculating second. The cold air of the studio hit my exposed skin, and my nipples hardened instantly under the thin mesh. I hated how exposed I felt, but under his gaze, a strange, defiant thrill flickered through my panic. If I was going to be pushed to my limits today, I wasn't going to let him see me sweat.

“Okay, get into position.” He dropped his eyes to a stunning, dark Patek Philippe watch on his wrist. “I don’t have all day.”

I rose from the stool, the mesh kimono slipping off one shoulder, revealing the bare curve of my left breast. I saw him tilt his head, his brow knitting tightly.

I stepped onto the seamless white backdrop, forcing my shoulders back.

This was not about him. It was not about his eyes on me. It was about the money.

I needed to remember that.

I needed to become Celeste Lynch—the girl who knew how to command a camera, even when everything in her life was falling apart.

I sat on the low couch in the center of the set.

“Chin up. Shoulders back,” his voice cut through the studio, low and commanding.

I did as he said.

Click.

The shutter echoed like a heartbeat.

“Turn slightly, left side. Good,” he clipped out.

Click.

I rose from the couch, lifting one leg, bending the other to create a long, elegant line from calf to thigh. My back arched deeper, my heart racing, my skin tingling. I glanced over my shoulder, lips parted in a half-smile that masked the terror clawing at my throat.

Click. Click.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded suddenly, his gaze dimming behind the lens.

I held the pose, forcing myself to ignore how exposed I felt. This wasn't about comfort. It was about getting enough money to keep my independence.

Look at me and pay me.

Click.

“Perfect,” he said abruptly, lowering the camera and giving a curt nod. “That’s a wrap.”

A heavy breath escaped my lips. It was over. I stepped off the seamless, my legs slightly shaking from the adrenaline. Anna was staring at me with wide, stunned eyes.

I walked straight up to him. Up close, his cologne was intoxicating—rich, masculine, woodsy. I forced my hand out for a handshake, desperate to lock down the paperwork for my immediate payout.

“It was a pleasure working with you.”

He took my hand.

The moment his skin met mine, something strange jolted through me. It wasn't just a spark of attraction—it felt like my entire body had recognized something my mind couldn't understand.

His hand lingered for a second longer than necessary. He leaned in slightly, a knowing, almost predatory look in his dark eyes.

“It was a pleasure working with you, human,” he murmured.

My breath hitched. My brow furrowed.

Human? Who the hell calls someone that?

Before I could ask, he slipped a thick, black embossed business card into my palm, his thumb brushing my wrist.

“I would love to work with you again.”

He offered a small, devastating smile with a wink, turning on his heel. It was only then I noticed a dark, intricate tattoo peeking out from beneath his sleeve, disappearing up his arm.

As the studio door clicked shut behind him, Anna rushed over, grabbing my arm.

“Are you okay?” Anna asked, her eyes searching my face. “Celeste, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I stared down at the card in my hand, my heart still racing, but the brief distraction of his touch faded as the crushing weight of my reality slammed back into my chest.

The shoot was done.

But as the project manager walked over with a clipboard, my hope shattered.

"Great job, Celeste," the manager said, not even looking up. "The client will process your payment. You'll see it on your standard end-of-the-month check."

My stomach plummeted to the floor.

"What? No—I was promised an immediate cash advance. I signed specifically for today's payout!"

The manager shrugged.

"That got denied by the accounting team. Standard terms apply. You'll get paid in three weeks."

For a second, I couldn't hear anything else in the room.

Three weeks.

Three weeks was a fucking lifetime when I only had three days.

I had three days before my mother's wedding. The new owners of my house were arriving soon. I had absolutely nowhere to go, no money, and no options left.

"Celeste?" Anna asked softly, seeing the blood drain from my face. "What is it?"

I didn't answer.

My hands trembled as I grabbed my phone from the dressing table. My mother's warning echoed in my head:

Stay prepared. They will come for you.