INICIAR SESIÓNRose’s POV Days had passed since that night. And somehow, I still kept coming back here. Same club. Same noise. Same lights. Every night, I told myself I was done. That I wouldn’t come again. And every night, my feet still brought me here. I’d sit in the same area, order the same drink, and watch the crowd like I was waiting for something to appear out of it. Or someone. The first night, I told myself it was curiosity. The second, I said I was just bored. By the fourth night, I stopped lying to myself. I was looking for Kailin. I needed to see who he came with. Needed to know if he really had someone. A lover. A one-night stand. Someone he spends steamy nights with. Each night he didn’t show up, my chest tightened in a way I hated. And then tonight— I saw him. My breath caught instantly. Same tall frame. Same calm expression that never matched this place. He walked in like he owned the space without trying, eyes scanning the room like he was checking exit
Lara’s POV In these few days, I realized something simple and terrifying. Being with Aiden was beautiful, more than I had imagined. That morning, I woke up before my alarm. Sunlight slipped through the curtains, soft and warm, and for a moment, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, smiling like an idiot. Because days ago, Aiden chose me. Not his fears. He chose me with his whole chest, his whole voice. Downstairs, I could hear movement. Plates. The coffee machine. Him. I got up quickly, pulled on a loose shirt and shorts, and made my way down. When I stepped into the kitchen, he was already there—sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy, phone tucked between his shoulder and ear. “Yes,” he was saying calmly. “Move the meeting to ten. I won’t be late.” He ended the call and turned just as I reached the counter. For a second, he just looked at me. Not like a CEO. Not like my father’s best friend. Just like a man looking at the woman he wants. “Morning,”
Elena’s POV The next morning came faster than I expected. I barely slept — my head kept replaying every single thing he’d said. “Do it wrong. But do it honestly.” What kind of man even says things like that? By 6:50 a.m., I was already in the hall again. No one else was there. Just the faint hum of the AC and the sound of my own heartbeat. At 7:00, he walked in. Black again. Same sleeves rolled. Clipboard tucked under his arm. His eyes flicked over me once. “You’re early. Again.” “You said not to be late.” He nodded slightly. “Good. Let’s see if yesterday was luck or progress.” I smirked. “You really don’t know how to compliment people, do you?” “I’m not paid to.” “Well, you could try being human for once,” I muttered under my breath. He heard it. Of course he did. “Humans get attached,” he said. “Judges don’t.” That stung more than it should’ve. I straightened and said, “Then stop looking at me like one.” His eyes met mine — sharp, unreadable. “Walk.”
Elena’s POV Later that afternoon, I barely touched my lunch. My mind was still stuck on him — Mr. Lex — and that cold, unreadable face he always wore. Everyone else from the show group chat was buzzing about how exciting the night had been. “Can’t believe we actually made it!” “Judges were so tough!” “Lex looked so fine!” Yeah. Fine. And terrifying. By noon, I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to talk to him. To say something. To prove that I wasn’t just another contestant who’d fade away after few show. So, I showed up at the rehearsal hall. He was there — of course — standing in front of a small group of models, giving sharp, clipped directions. “Posture. Shoulders back. Don’t walk like the floor owes you something.” His voice carried authority. Everyone obeyed instantly. When he finally turned and saw me, his brows drew together. “You again.” I swallowed. “Good evening, sir.” “Is there a reason you’re here?” “I wanted to talk,” I said quickly. “This isn’t
Elena’s POV Backstage was chaos — laughter, applause for other contestants, whispers about my performance. But I barely heard any of it. My ears were ringing with Mr. Lex’s words. “Lacked precision… I expected more.” It echoed in my head like a verdict. Not just a critique, but something heavier. Something that felt like a warning. I walked past contestants congratulating themselves, forcing a smile, but my hands were trembling. Every step felt heavier. My brush box felt heavier too. The dressing room was quiet when I slipped inside. I locked the door behind me and dropped onto the edge of the bed. My painting lay folded at the corner, unfinished. My chest was tight. I thought of Mr. Lex. That sharp look in his eyes when he spoke. Not a hint of pity. Only judgment. "Why the fuck is it soo hard to impress him." I whispered to myself. And suddenly, it hit me — what if that judgment wasn’t just about the painting? What if it was about my place in this competition? "No,
Elena’s POV “Go get my hat!” one of the contestants barked at her stylist. The poor girl scrambled, nearly tripping over a makeup bag. The room was chaos. Contestants chattered about how the crowd clapped for them, some bragging, some faking humility. One girl was still humming from her singing performance, another was juggling apples to show off. I sat in front of the mirror, staring at my own reflection. My palms were sweaty. What am I even doing here? “Hey, Elena.” A girl in sequins leaned over. “What’s your talent again?” I forced a smile. “Painting.” Her brows shot up. “Painting? On stage? In front of everyone?” “Yes.” My voice cracked. She smirked, clearly amused. “Well… good luck with that.” She turned back to her group, whispering loud enough for me to hear. Laughter followed. I gripped the edge of my chair, fighting the heat rising to my face. “You’ll be fine,” another contestant, softer in tone, said from the corner. She was strapping on her dancing sho







