Second act

The moment I stepped off that stage, the weight of the award in my hand felt like a joke. Public Favorite Female Model. Again.

It wasn't surprising. I had known since the nominations came out that it would be me. It was always me.

That wasn't arrogance it was just a fact at this point. Still, I hadn't felt a single thrill when my name was announced.

I just smiled like I was supposed to, gave my practiced speech, and walked off the stage to more applause than I could ever need.

Now, I was back at the table, surrounded by the industry's elite, but I didn't care. They were nothing more than noise, and I was tired of the noise.

My manager, Nicole, was sitting next to me, her eyes rolling dramatically as she downed the rest of her champagne.

"That speech was abysmal," she said, setting the glass down with a clink. "You could at least pretend to care, Zaya."

I didn't bother looking at her. "I said what I needed to say."

"What you needed to say was, 'Thank you to the public for your unwavering support,' not 'Thank you,' full stop," she retorted.

Nicole was always like this relentless, borderline sarcastic, and one of the only people who could get away with bossing me around.

She had been with me since the beginning of my career, and I tolerated her because, deep down, she knew what she was doing. She also knew I didn't listen to half of what she said.

"I'm here, aren't I?" I said, leaning back in my chair. "Isn't that enough?"

"No," she shot back, smirking. "But I guess that's the Zaya Swanson charm. You don't care, and somehow that makes people like you more."

I shrugged, eyes drifting over the room, scanning the tables like I was bored out of my mind which I was.

These events were all the same, filled with the same faces, the same hollow smiles, and the same insincere congratulations. The glamour of it all had faded for me a long time ago. It was just work now, and if I was being honest, it was exhausting.

My gaze stopped when the screen lit up with the next category the Best Progression Award. I watched lazily as the nominees' names and faces appeared, one by one. I wasn't really paying attention until I saw her.

Layla Nightshade.

The name triggered something in the back of my mind, a flash of a memory I hadn't thought about in years.

It was from that perfume shoot, the one I'd done ages ago. Layla had been so young then, so nervous. I remembered the way her hands had trembled when we were asked to get close for the camera, her flushed cheeks when the director called for a kiss.

I had done what I could to make her comfortable, but I hadn't thought much about her since. She was just another actress trying to make it in the industry.

But now, seeing her on the screen, I realized just how much had changed. Layla looked... different.

She wasn't that timid girl anymore. She had grown into something else someone else. Her face, shown in the brief footage, was confident, poised, and strikingly beautiful.

I found myself staring longer than I intended, watching the way she smiled, the way her eyes sparkled. 

"Layla Nightshade," I murmured, more to myself than anyone else.

"What's that?" Nicole asked, distracted as she scrolled through something on her phone.

"Nothing," I said quickly, turning my attention back to the stage. I didn't care. Or at least, I tried to convince myself I didn't.

Layla had nothing to do with me now, and whatever transformation she'd undergone was just part of the business. People evolved, got tougher, more beautiful. It was the natural progression of someone trying to make it in this world.

Still, I found my eyes wandering across the room, searching for her table. I spotted her sitting with her manager, the same woman from the shoot.

Maya, I think her name was. Layla looked different even in person more sure of herself, more aware of the power she held.

She wore a deep burgundy gown that hugged her body in all the right places, the color rich against her dark hair. She was stunning, and for a moment, I found myself thinking how much she had grown into the industry. 

"She looks good," I said, again mostly to myself.

"Who?" Nicole asked, raising an eyebrow at me as she finally glanced up from her phone.

"No one." I flicked my gaze away, but not before Layla glanced in my direction.

Our eyes didn't meet, but it was enough to make me shift in my seat, a rare feeling of discomfort curling in my stomach. I didn't like feeling anything, especially not over someone I barely knew.

Before I could dwell on it, the next nominee's name flashed across the screen, and my heart dropped like a stone.

Elena Vargas.

Even now, after everything, seeing her face sent a jolt through me. Elena was radiant, her dark skin glowing under the spotlight, her black curls framing her face in a halo of beauty.

She was wearing an emerald green dress that hugged every inch of her body, making her look like some sort of goddess. 

For one year, I had been in love with Elena. I had known her when she just begining, before she became a household name, back when we she was still in the modeling school.

But it had never been more than that just love from afar. Because Elena had always been in love with someone else since I met her. 

Carmen Steele.

Carmen was the CEO of Steele Industries, a business powerhouse who commanded respect wherever she went.

She and Elena had been inseparable, their relationship a well-known love story in the industry. They were perfect together too perfect.

There was never any room for someone like me in the picture, and I had known that from the start. 

So I had buried my feelings, kept my distance, and eventually, Elena and I had become friends.

Just friends. It had been better that way, even though every time I saw her, the old feelings would flare up for just a second before I stamped them down.

Now, watching her name on the screen, I felt nothing but a dull ache in the back of my chest. It was over. She had moved on with her life, and so had I. Or at least, that was what I kept telling myself.

The presenter was announcing the winner now, and I already knew what was coming. There was no doubt in anyone's mind.

"And the winner is... Elena Vargas."

The applause was immediate, and I joined in, though my hands barely touched as I clapped.

Elena stood up, her smile bright and genuine as she made her way to the stage. She looked... happy. Really happy. And that was enough for me. At least, that's what I told myself.

I could feel the air in the room growing thick, the energy shifting as people leaned forward to hear Elena's acceptance speech. But I couldn't stay. Not now. Not while everything inside me was screaming for some space, some air. 

Without a word, I pushed my chair back and stood up, ignoring the curious looks from Nicole and the others at the table.

"Where are you going?" Nicole hissed, grabbing my wrist.

"I need a smoke," I said flatly, shaking her off.

I didn't wait for her response. I didn't care. The applause was still going strong as I made my way through the crowd, slipping out the back door into the cool night air.

The sharp bite of the evening breeze hit my face, and I breathed it in deeply, reaching into my pocket for a cigarette.

The familiar weight of it between my fingers was comforting, and I flicked the lighter, watching the flame dance for a second before taking a drag.

The street outside was quiet, the muffled sounds of the award ceremony barely audible from where I stood. I let the smoke fill my lungs, the nicotine dulling the edges of the emotions I had been trying to ignore all night.

I leaned against the wall, the weight of everything settling into my bones. I thought about no matter what I did, love was always this distant, untouchable thing for me. It always belonged to someone else. Never to me.

"I hate love," I muttered to myself, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the cold night air.

And for once, I meant it.