Chapter 5

The flash of cameras had long ago become something I learned to endure.

Photographers lined the entrance of the studio like soldiers preparing for battle, their cameras already raised before my car had even come to a complete stop. The moment the door opened, bright white lights exploded in every direction.

“Bella! Over here!”

“Miss Smith, look this way!”

“Bella, give us a smile!”

The voices overlapped in excited chaos, each photographer fighting for a moment of my attention. In this world they knew me as Belvania or Bella Smith, the name my agency had chosen as my stage identity.

I stepped out of the car slowly, allowing Bethany enough time to smooth the fabric of the cream-colored coat resting over my shoulders. My heels touched the pavement with practiced elegance as I lifted my chin slightly, offering the cameras the composed smile they expected.

It was a performance. Every movement, every glance and every step. Modeling had taught me how to move like someone the world admired. Inside, however, I often felt like an actress playing a role I did not entirely understand.

Bethany leaned closer to me as we walked toward the studio entrance.

“After the fitting today we have a press interview scheduled at two o’clock,” she reminded me quietly while scrolling through the tablet in her hands. “Your uncle also called this morning. He wants confirmation that security will stay with you the entire day.”

Of course he did.

Michael always confirmed that.

“I understand,” I replied gently.

Two large security guards followed several steps behind us as we entered the building. Their presence had become so normal that sometimes I forgot most people lived without someone watching them every moment of the day.

Inside, the studio was alive with activity.

Stylists hurried between rooms carrying fabrics and accessories, while assistants rushed past with makeup kits and racks of clothing. The scent of perfume, hairspray, and freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air.

“Miss Smith!” a designer called the moment he spotted me. “You are finally here.”

I greeted him politely before allowing the staff to guide me toward the fitting area.

Within minutes I stood on a small platform surrounded by mirrors while several stylists adjusted the red gown prepared for the Milan show.

The fabric was breathtaking.

Deep crimson silk flowed smoothly to the floor like liquid light, elegant yet simple in its design. It was not revealing or provocative.

Instead, it carried the quiet power of something timeless.

The designer stepped back to admire the final result.

“Magnificent,” he murmured.

Someone adjusted the lights.

Another photographer raised his camera. “Miss Smith, could you look toward the window?”

I turned slightly as instructed.

The city stretched beyond the glass in a blur of steel towers and soft sunlight.

For a brief moment everything felt strangely distant. The noise. The lights. The voices. All of it seemed to fade as a quiet unease settled in my chest.

The strange feeling returned again, it was the same feeling that has been appearing more often lately as though something unseen was shifting just beyond the edges of my world. Watching and waiting.

“Bella?” The designer’s voice broke through my thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Are you feeling well?”

I blinked and forced a small smile. “Yes, of course.”

But the feeling remained, even after the fitting ended, after the interview and after the photographers finally allowed me to leave the building.

By the time evening arrived, exhaustion had begun settling heavily into my body.

Bethany closed the car door after I climbed inside.

“You handled the interview beautifully,” she said with a satisfied smile. “The Milan show is going to be extraordinary.”

I nodded politely.

Outside the window, the city lights began glowing as evening slowly replaced the fading afternoon sky. Traffic moved steadily through the streets while people hurried along the sidewalks, each one absorbed in their own lives.

Everything looked normal. It was peaceful and safe but yet that strange feeling refused to disappear.

My gaze drifted toward the dark reflection staring back at me in the car window.

Sometimes I wondered if the memories I had lost were trying to return. Because I could see small fragments appear in my dreams, there was rain, the roar of an engine, the feeling of strong arms wrapped around my waist and eyes, it was cold and intense eyes watching me as though I were something important and something worth protecting or perhaps something worth destroying.

A quiet shiver ran down my spine.

For reasons I could not explain, the world suddenly felt as though it were preparing for something inevitable and dangerous.

Then I frowned in surprise when the car slowed to a stop in front of a place I did not recognize.

Wait… This was not our hotel.

“What?” I asked the woman who sat beside me.

Bethany turned her head toward me.

“Remember, you have dinner with Mr. Carlo Nostra,” she reminded me calmly.

I sighed… Of course.

Apparently my exhaustion meant nothing for them.

Slowly I stepped out of the car after it stopped and before I could fully look around, a man approached with a confident smile already spread across his face.

“Finally,” he said. “I thought you were not going to come, Bella.”

He appeared to be in his early thirties, dressed in an expensive suit that suggested wealth and confidence yet something about the way he looked at me felt… wrong.

I notice how his eyes lingered far too long. Not on my face but lower and make a faint discomfort settle in my chest.

“Hello, mister Nostra” I greeted him politely.

“Please, just Castro,” he said smoothly, gesturing toward the restaurant entrance. “Come inside.”

I forced a polite smile and allowed him to guide me toward the elegant restaurant.

Before stepping inside, I glanced back to see Bethany was gone. That the car had already disappeared into the traffic made me suppress the urge to sigh.

Whatever this dinner was meant to be… It was clearly not my choice.

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