Chapter 8 : The Disruption
1987 Words
Ariana woke up in a pastel linen room. It felt unfamiliar.
Her hand was attached to something.
An IV drip.
The bag was empty. Finished.
Her brows knitted together as she carefully pulled the needle out, wincing slightly.
What happened last night?
Faint laughter drifted from another room, followed by soft music humming in the background. This didn’t feel like a hospital.
Where was she? What time was it?
She pushed herself up, a wave of dizziness hitting her instantly. Her phone sat on the bedside table. Just as she reached for it, the door opened.
A woman stepped inside.
A nurse?
“You’re at Island Record,” the woman said calmly. “We detoxified you and treated your dehydration.”
Ariana blinked. “Detoxified? What happened?”
Her clothes were still on—thank God—but they clung damply to her skin, soaked with sweat.
The nurse began checking her vitals.
“You don’t look like you’re from this industry,” she said quietly.
Ariana frowned.
“Your face could easily appear in the media if you’re not careful,” the nurse continued.
“God’s Ark is famous. I assume you already know that. Everyone involved with them—including me—is watched.”
She wrapped the blood pressure cuff around Ariana’s arm.
“No girl just gets close to them. They’re always guarded by security. Especially during concert season.”
Ariana swallowed.
“Yesterday was different,” the nurse went on. “They requested no guards. They wanted to live like normal civilians for a night.”
The nurse jotted something down on her clipboard.
“And someone took advantage of that. Your drink was spiked.”
The words hit harder than Ariana expected.
“But I’m their soon-to-be designer!” Ariana squeaked, her throat dry and raspy. She's not that some--any random girl..
The nurse handed her a glass of water.
“I know,” she said gently. “But you won’t be an exception. People in this industry—including their fans—aren’t always happy seeing someone get close to them. They can be jealous.”
Jealous.
Ariana gulped down the water slowly.
It hadn’t even been a month.
And look what happened.
She understood what Willy meant.
This wasn’t her first contract with a big celebrity—but this was her first time working with mega stars like God’s Ark. The scale, the exposure, the obsession—it was different.
“Don’t worry,” the nurse added softly. “This industry is harsh. But it also gives you joy. You just have to be careful.”
As soon as she finished speaking, the doorknob turned.
The door opened.
Aston and Andrew walked in.
Aston stepped in first.
He didn’t look like the polished man the public adored. His hair was messy, his jaw tight, his eyes shadowed with something darker than exhaustion.
Then he smiled.
“You good?” he asked.
Ariana forced a small grin. “Never been better.”
He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “I thought we were going to lose you. That was a mess. We’re sorry.”
“Don’t worry,” Ariana replied quickly. “It was my own decision to go with you.” She paused, then added awkwardly, “But I guess I ruined your stylist’s wardrobe. I’ll check the gallery later and find the same model.”
Aston blinked at her.
“Oh yes,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips, “after you threw up on it.”
Heat rushed to her face. “Why would you even say that?”
He laughed softly, and for a second, the tension broke.
Ariana cleared her throat and quickly changed the topic. “It’s chilly, by the way.”
The room was cold—and her outfit, now that she noticed, was far too revealing for hospital-level air conditioning.
Without hesitation, Aston slipped off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.
Andrew’s phone rang.
He glanced at the screen, expression shifting instantly. “I’ll take this,” he muttered, stepping out into the hallway.
Aston looked back at Ariana. “Let’s go home.”
Home.
The word felt heavier than it should.
She slid off the bed carefully and walked beside him. As Aston opened the door, Andrew’s voice carried faintly through the hallway.
“…make sure no articles come out about yesterday,” he said sharply. “…No. I’d appreciate your help, Mr. Roy. The girl—”
His eyes suddenly met Ariana’s.
He stopped mid-sentence and turned his face away, avoiding her gaze.
Aston noticed.
Without saying a word, he gently but firmly guided Ariana away from the door and down the corridor.
But it was too late.
The words were already echoing in her head.
The girl.
A dozen questions buzzed in her mind.
______
Julie arrived that morning, barely an hour after Ariana got home.
She didn’t even sit down before shoving her phone forward.
“You were very famous yesterday,” Julie said flatly. “The article’s been taken down, but I screenshotted it.”
Ariana’s stomach dropped.
“You were lucky your face wasn’t clear,” Julie continued, studying her. “Their PR team is top notch, so you’re safe. But I’m not stupid. I can tell that’s you.”
Every word landed like a stone.
Ariana looked at the screen.
The photo wasn’t HD—but it wasn’t blurry enough either.
Andrew was bridal-carrying her--so it was Andrew.
Not Aston.
Aston was in the background, running toward them.
Her breath caught.
Another picture.
Even with blurred faces, she could recognize herself—leaning weakly toward Andrew while Aston stood close behind. Staff swarmed around them.
It reminded her of the chaos at Island Record.
Andrew on the phone.
Managing damage.
Aston looked messy that morning—like he and his bandmates had just received bad news.
The headline had been dramatic.
God’s Ark Member Spotted With Mystery Woman After Private Night
Private night.
Mystery woman.
Ariana felt suddenly small.
“This industry is scary,” she murmured.
Julie crossed her arms. “You’re not just working in fashion anymore, Ari. You’re working around mega stars.”
Ariana swallowed.
She had worked with celebrities before.
But this—
This was different.
Fashion felt structured. Predictable.
Entertainment was a battlefield.
She sank onto the edge of her bed, staring at the screenshot again.
Let me just work in fashion, she thought. Entertainment is only a part of it.
But deep down, she knew.
Once you step into their orbit—
You don’t stay untouched.
______
Brand D’s main design studio was bright that afternoon.
Tall windows. White mannequins lined near the wall. Racks of fabrics arranged by color palette. On the central table, printed sketches and tablets were neatly placed for presentation.
Ariana sat at the head of the table, looking around and trying to hear 'rumours'.
Whoa, their PR team really top notched. Not even single words coming out from their mouth about the mess happened yesterday.
Tina sat on her right, flipping through the printed draft sheets. Julie leaned back on the left, arms folded, studying Ariana more than the designs. Three Brand D designers stood near the screen, ready to present.
“Okay,” one of them began, clicking the remote. “This is the updated version for God’s Ark’s opening set.”
The screen displayed a series of stage outfits.
Structured jackets. Metallic accents. Dark navy and black base tones. Silver embellishments that caught light dramatically.
Technically strong.
Stage-ready.
Safe.
Ariana blinked.
“Since their image is powerful and exclusive,” the designer continued, “we kept the silhouette sharp and dominant. We enhanced the shoulder structure and added layered panels for dramatic movement.”
Julie nodded slightly. “It’s very… them.”
Very them.
Ariana’s pen hovered above her notebook.
Her mind drifted for half a second—
Andrew’s voice in the hallway.
The girl—
She blinked again and forced herself back to the screen.
“And for the encore,” the designer added, turning to another slide, “we softened the tone slightly. Removed some metallic elements, added sheer layering for emotional impact.”
Ariana stared at the design.
She couldn’t focus.
The lines blurred for a moment. Her head felt heavy—not physically, but mentally.
“You okay?” Julie whispered quietly.
“I’m fine,” Ariana replied automatically.
The designers finished presenting.
“So overall,” one of them concluded, hopeful, “we think this elevates their stage dominance while maintaining Brand D’s signature tailoring.”
Silence.
Everyone looked at Ariana.
She looked at the screen again.
Then at the printed sketches in front of her.
Then back at the screen.
Something wasn’t landing.
“I’m not satisfied,” she said finally.
The room stilled.
Tina straightened. “Which part?”
Ariana inhaled slowly, choosing her words carefully.
“It’s strong,” she said. “But it feels… disconnected.”
“Disconnected how?” one designer asked.
“It feels like we’re designing for their reputation,” Ariana replied. “Not for their current narrative.”
Julie’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“Explain,” she said.
Ariana stood up and walked closer to the screen.
“These shoulders are too aggressive,” she pointed. “The layering is heavy. It creates distance. Those guy are playing instruments! You ain't kicking drums with it! It's stuffy.”
“They’re mega stars,” one of the designers defended gently. “Distance is part of their brand.”
Ariana’s jaw tightened.
“Not anymore.”
The words slipped out before she could soften them.
She paused.
The room waited.
“Did you listen to their latest job? They’re entering a new phase,” she continued more calmly. “Their last concert was about dominance. This one should feel… closer. Controlled power, not loud power. Listen to their latest drop."
Tina crossed her arms thoughtfully. “Are you suggesting a concept shift?”
“We were agreeing on lighter concept, remember? That day when I was in their office."
Julie watched her carefully. “Is this about the recent situation?” She's afraid Ariana got on her softer taste.
Ariana’s fingers curled slightly at her side--not sure which scene Julie's talked about.
“No,” she answered smoothly.
It was partly about that.
About vulnerability.
About how fragile reputation could be.
About how easily people turned musician into untouchable statues—then attacked anything human around them.
She looked back at the designs.
“These look like armor,” she said quietly. “I don’t want armor.”
Silence.
“What do you want then?” Tina asked.
Ariana met their eyes.
“I want them to look powerful without looking unreachable.”
The designers exchanged glances.
“That’s… a thin line,” one murmured.
“I know,” Ariana replied.
And for the first time since the meeting started, her focus sharpened.
“Redo the structure,” she instructed. “Reduce shoulder height by two centimeters. Remove one metallic layer. Replace it with textured matte fabric. Keep the tailoring sharp—but let it breathe.”
Now she sounded like herself again.
Confident. Precise.
Even if her thoughts were still tangled.
Julie nodded slowly. “Alright. We revise.”
The meeting began to dissolve into technical discussions.
Julie lingered.
When everyone else focused on adjusting the draft, she leaned slightly toward Ariana.
“You’re distracted,” she said quietly.
Ariana kept her eyes on the sketches.
“I’m working.”
Julie didn’t push.
But she didn’t look convinced either.
As the designers gathered their drafts and started reworking the concept, Ariana stared at the original design one more time.
Armor.
Distance.
Untouchable.
Maybe she wasn’t just redesigning their wardrobe.
Maybe she was trying to rewrite what closeness looked like.
And she wasn’t sure if that was professional—
Or personal.
- Writer
