Chapter 4

I tried to sleep, but my mind wouldn’t quiet down. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face— calm, unreadable, that small curve of a smile that always left me second-guessing everything.

It wasn’t attraction. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

I was just... challenged. That’s all.

She had this way of making people feel small without saying much, like she could see through whatever mask you tried to wear. And maybe I hated that... the way she always seemed one step ahead, as if she already knew what I was thinking before I did.

But the thing about being challenged is... you start wanting to win.

And that thought bothered me more than anything.

The next few days went by in a blur of shoots and fittings. Every time someone touched up my makeup or adjusted the lights, I caught myself comparing their hands to hers, smaller, faster, less deliberate. Her presence lingered like perfume I couldn’t wash off.

By Friday, I’d had enough.

If she wanted to play mind games, fine. I could play too.

I booked another session under my name, even though I didn’t need one. The receptionist sounded surprised when she read the appointment note out loud, “For assessment only.” I almost laughed. If only she knew what needed assessing.

When I entered her clinic again, she was already there, head bent over a file. She didn’t look up right away.

“Miss Garden,” she greeted, voice calm as always. “You’re early.”

“I figured you’d appreciate punctuality,” I said, matching her tone.

Finally, she lifted her gaze. That faint smile again. “You assume I’m the one waiting.”

“Am I wrong?” I asked, taking a seat without being told to.

Her eyebrow arched slightly, but she didn’t stop me. “What brings you in today? You had your session just days ago.”

“Consider this... a follow-up,” I said, crossing my legs. “You did say my skin reacts to stress, right?”

Her eyes flicked briefly toward my posture, then back to my face. “And you’re stressed now?”

I smiled faintly. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you’d notice.”

For the first time, she paused. It was subtle, a brief break in her rhythm but I caught it.

She stood and put on her gloves. “Lie down,” she said, tone clipped but lower than usual.

I obeyed, though this time, I didn’t avoid her eyes.

She started the usual process; methodical, controlled, but I could sense it: the shift. Her touches weren’t softer, but slower. More careful. Her voice stayed professional, yet every word carried something heavier.

“You’ve been thinking too much again,” she said quietly.

“Maybe,” I murmured. “Or maybe I’ve been thinking about the wrong things.”

Her hand stilled for a moment, then moved again. “And what kind of things are those?”

“You tell me,” I said, keeping my eyes open.

That made her look at me. Really look. The space between us tightened.

“You’re doing it again,” she whispered.

“Doing what?”

“Pretending you’re not curious.”

I smiled, the same way she did before. “Who said I was pretending?”

For a second, neither of us moved. The air felt electric, quiet, waiting. Then she straightened, removing her gloves.

“That’s enough for today,” she said, tone returning to calm. “You’re testing limits.”

“Yours or mine?”

She hesitated before replying, “Both.”

And before I could say anything else, she walked toward her desk. “Next week. Same time. Don’t be late.”

I stood, heart still racing but my face composed. “I won’t.”

As I reached the door, she said one last thing... her voice calm, but her eyes no longer detached.

“Be careful, Ena. Some challenges don’t end the way you expect.”

I smiled over my shoulder. “Then I guess we’ll see who wins.”

Saturday came faster than I expected.

By seven, I was already in the studio, hair pinned, makeup half-done, lights flooding every corner. The air smelled of foundation and hairspray, the kind of scent that clung to your clothes long after the cameras stopped flashing.

Modeling days were always loud with people moving, calling out instructions, retouching, fixing, adjusting... but to me, it was another kind of silence. The kind that drowned thought with noise.

“Ena, you’re next,” the coordinator called.

I stood, stretching my neck, the familiar calm settling in. The lens didn’t care about nerves. It only cared about angles, light, and how well you could hide exhaustion behind a smile.

Martha walked toward me, clipboard in hand. “You’ll be paired with someone today. Marven Cruz— new endorser, a few campaigns in New York. Try to look comfortable with him, okay?”

“Got it,” I said, nodding.

The photographer gestured for us to come forward. Marven was already there; tall, easy grin, the kind of man who looked confident without trying.

“Ena,” he greeted, offering his hand. “Big fan, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I said, shaking it lightly. His grip was warm, firm.

“Ready?” he asked, tone light.

“As ready as I can be.”

The first few shots were formal. Poses, angles, clean expressions. Then the director called out, “Closer! We need chemistry.”

Marven moved in naturally, his arm sliding around my waist as if it belonged there. I matched the pose, eyes half-lidded, lips parted slightly, the kind of look that sold stories people wanted to believe.

Click. Flash. Click.

The photographer’s voice broke through the hum. “Perfect! That’s the energy I need. Let’s keep that!”

I felt Marven’s breath near my ear as he whispered, “You’re good at this.”

“Years of pretending,” I murmured back, not breaking character.

He chuckled softly. “Then pretend I’m your favorite for the next few hours.”

I smiled for the camera, but something about his words tugged at the edge of my mind... not because of him, but because of how easily I compared it to someone else’s voice.