The hidden crown.

Chapter Two: The Audition

The next morning, Zara woke up before dawn, determined to avoid both Mrs. Marie and Genellia. She hurried through her chores, moving quietly as though her footsteps could betray her. The torn gown from last night still lay in the wastebasket, its shredded fabric mocking her.

“Forget it, she told herself. It’s over. Just get through the day.”

At college, the air buzzed with unusual excitement. Students clustered in groups, chattering, giggling, rushing toward the event hall. Zara frowned.

“What’s going on?” she asked Aenna, the most studious girl in her class.

“You don’t know?” Aenna blinked in disbelief. “Sasha’s managers are here. They’re holding auditions for the ramp show—right now.”

Zara’s breath caught. Her letter. Her dream. Here? Today?

Before she could reply, Aenna was swept away with the crowd. Zara stood frozen, her heart thundering in her chest. The chance she thought she had lost forever… was unfolding a few steps away.

Her feet moved on their own, carrying her toward the event hall.

⸻

Inside, the atmosphere was electric. Music pulsed through speakers, spotlights swept across the polished runway, and girls in shimmering dresses strutted one after another. Some wobbled nervously, others walked with too much arrogance, but the air was thick with ambition.

Zara hovered near the doorway, clutching her notebook to her chest as though it could shield her. I shouldn’t be here. If Mrs. Marie finds out…

“Zara!”

She spun around. Ms. Braganza, her dance teacher, was waving her over with an excited smile. Standing beside her was a tall man in a sleek black suit, his sharp eyes assessing everything around him.

“This is Bruce,” Ms. Braganza said. “He’s Sasha’s assistant. Zara, this is the moment I told you about.”

Zara’s cheeks heated. “What moment?”

“She’s one of my best students,” Ms. Braganza explained to Bruce. “She won our college’s ramp competition last year. You should let her walk.”

Bruce tilted his head, studying Zara with a critical gaze. “She doesn’t look prepared.”

“I—I’m not,” Zara admitted, her voice trembling.

Ms. Braganza leaned closer, her tone softer. “Zara, you were born to shine. Don’t hide now.”

Before Zara could protest, the students around her began chanting: “Zara! Zara! Zara!”

Her heart pounded in her ears. She wanted to run. She wanted to disappear. But something inside her—something fierce—rose up instead.

She stepped onto the runway.

⸻

The lights blinded her at first, but the noise faded, replaced by the rhythm of her own breathing. She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and took the first step.

The floor felt solid beneath her heels, each click echoing like a heartbeat. With every stride, the fear melted away, replaced by something electric coursing through her veins. She wasn’t just walking—she was commanding the room.

Gasps rippled through the audience. The spotlight seemed to cling to her, brighter than before. For a fleeting second, Zara thought she saw a faint shimmer crown her reflection in the mirrored wall—like a halo of light resting above her head.

But she didn’t falter. She walked as if she had been waiting for this moment her entire life.

When she reached the end of the runway, she paused, turned, and let her eyes sweep across the crowd. They weren’t just looking at her. They were spellbound.

The applause erupted before she even stepped back.

Bruce rose from his chair, his usually impassive face now glowing with excitement. He approached her, extending a hand.

“Congratulations,” he said firmly. “We’ve found our showstopper.”

For a moment, Zara couldn’t breathe. The hall exploded with cheers, students calling her name, Ms. Braganza clapping with tears in her eyes.

But inside, Zara’s joy twisted into dread. Mrs. Marie’s warning echoed in her mind: You can never grow. You are nothing without my permission.

Yet, when Bruce continued, she couldn’t bring herself to say no.

“You’ll walk the finale with Zyan Roy,” he explained. “Training starts tomorrow at five. You’ll be under the personal guidance of our modelling tutor, Lili. Don’t be late.”

Zara nodded shakily. “Y-yes. Thank you.”

As he turned to leave, her knees almost gave out. Zyan Roy—the superstar, the country’s most adored icon—she was going to walk beside him? It was beyond imagination.

When Bruce left, Ms. Braganza squeezed Zara’s hands. “Do you see now? This is your gift. Don’t let anyone steal it.”

Tears stung Zara’s eyes. For the first time in years, someone believed in her.

⸻

Later, when the crowd dispersed, Zara lingered by the empty runway, staring at her reflection in the mirrored wall. She touched her hair, her cheek, her trembling lips.

The faint shimmer was still there, almost like a soft crown of light glowing just above her head.

“What are you?” she whispered to herself.

A breeze brushed through the hall though the doors were shut, carrying with it a strange whisper: The Crown is yours…

Zara spun around. No one was there. The hall was empty.

Her skin prickled, her heart racing. Maybe it was just nerves. Maybe exhaustion.

But deep down, she knew this was only the beginning.

⸻

That night, as she walked home beneath the stars, Zara didn’t feel like the girl who scrubbed floors and obeyed commands. She felt like someone else entirely—someone powerful, someone chosen.

Yet the weight of fear pressed on her shoulders. Mrs. Marie would never forgive her if she found out. Genellia would make her life even worse.

Still… Zara couldn’t erase the image of her reflection crowned in light.

For the first time, she wondered—maybe her father had been right when he whispered to her, years ago, You were born for something greater, my little queen.