The Devil's Favorite

Morning Disaster

7:18

I woke to the relentless vibration of my five phones against the bedside table.

At first, I smiled.

I assumed it was another notification.

Another congratulatory message.

Another brand ambassador offer.

Another opportunity.

I reached for my phone without opening my eyes.

Then I saw my manager's name.

CLAIR

47 missed calls.

My smile disappeared. It was the first time I'd ever seen this many missed calls from her.

Without a second thought, I immediately called her back.

She answered on the first ring.

“Hey, just woke up,”

I said as I fixed my hair and headed downstairs, a cup of coffee in my hand.

“Don't open social media.”

The tone of her voice made me want to open my socials even more.

“What happened?”

“Elara, for the love of God, I'm coming upstairs.”

My heart began pounding.

“Can you just tell me now what happened?”

She didn't answer immediately.

That silence frightened me more than anything she could have said.

“There is a video of you circulating online, the media wants to interview you.”

My stomach dropped.

“Seriously, what kind of video?”

“Just wait for me.”

“Clair—”

“Don't watch it alone.”

The call ended.

I stared at my phone.

My hands suddenly felt cold.

“Fuck.”

I opened my laptop.

I couldn't wait for my manager to arrive. I needed to see it for myself.

The moment the browser loaded, I knew something was terribly wrong.

My name filled the screen.

It is everywhere.

Not because of Dior or the thirteen other brands I was an ambassador for.

Not because of the thirty million views.

Not because the video of my runway walk had become one of the most-watched moments of London Fashion Week.

Because of a scandal.

ELARA SAWYER INVOLVED TO SHOCKING SCANDAL AFTER LONDON FASHION WEEK.

My breath caught.

Another headline appeared beneath it.

TOP MODEL'S SECRET MEETING EXPOSED

Then another.

PRIVATE VIDEO LEAKED

“No, this can't be happening.”

My fingers trembled as I clicked.

The video began playing.

Thirty-eight seconds.

That was all it took.

Thirty-eight seconds to make strangers believe they knew everything about me.

The footage showed me entering a private hotel suite after the Dior show.

I remembered that night.

I had gone there because Clair had asked me to deliver some documents to a client.

That was it.

Nothing more.

But the video had been edited.

The first few seconds showed me entering.

Then came a different angle.

A man walked into the frame.

Someone I recognized immediately.

He was one of the most influential executives in the fashion industry.

Then the video cuts again.

A close-up of me.

A shot of him.

The door closing.

And then—

Black screen.

That was it.

No context.

No explanation.

Just enough footage to make it look like I had been hiding something.

Like I had been meeting him secretly.

Like there had been an affair.

Like I had s*x with him.

My breathing became uneven.

“This isn't real.”

I replayed it.

Again.

And again.

The more I watched, the more obvious it became.

Someone had carefully selected those clips.

Someone had removed everything that could prove my innocence.

Someone wanted people to believe exactly what they were seeing.

My phone buzzed.

A message.

Then another.

Then ten more.

Are you okay?

Please tell me this isn't true.

Girl, what did you do?

Dior just deleted your campaign post.

I stopped reading.

I opened another page.

The video had already reached five million views.

I refreshed.

Six million.

Another refresh.

Seven.

My hands went numb.

Yesterday, thirty million people had watched me walk for Dior.

Today, millions were watching me fall.

A new headline appeared.

ELARA SAWYER'S PERFECT CAREER CRUMBLES OVERNIGHT.

My eyes burned.

I closed the laptop.

A knock came from the door.

“Elara.”

Clair.

I didn't answer.

She knocked again.

“It's me.”

I finally stood.

When I opened the door, Clair walked inside and immediately froze.

She looked at me.

Then at the laptop.

Then back at me.

“I didn't do it. Where the f**k did they get this information?”

I whispered.

Her expression softened.

“I know.”

“I swear, I didn't.”

“I know.”

“I was only there because you asked me to deliver those documents.”

“I know.”

“Then why—”

My voice broke.

“Why does everyone believe it?”

Clair didn't answer.

She didn't need to.

Because we both knew the answer.

The internet didn't need proof.

It needed something entertaining.

And yesterday, I was everyone's favorite model.

Today, I was everyone's favorite scandal.

Clair crossed the room and sat beside me.

“Your agency called.”

I wiped my face.

“What did they say?”

“They're temporarily suspending your contracts.”

I stared at her in disbelief.

“All of them?”

“For now.”

“And Dior?”

She hesitated.

My chest tightened.

“Dior is reviewing their partnership with you.”

I looked away.

The words hurt more than I expected.

Dior had been my dream since I was 13.

London Fashion Week had been my dream.

Thirty million views had been my dream.

And in less than twelve hours, all of it had become something I was terrified to look at.

My phone buzzed again.

This time, I didn't check it.

Clair reached over and turned it face down.

“You need to disappear.”

I looked at her.

“What?”

“For a while.”

“I can't disappear.”

“You can. Your career is burning and practically on the line right now.”

She paused.

“And if you stay in the spotlight, they'll keep feeding it.”

I hated that she was right.

“No interviews. No appearances. No social media. Nothing that gives them another reason to talk about you.”

I swallowed.

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“Stay somewhere quiet.”

“For how long?”

“Until we figure out who did this.”

I looked at her.

“You think someone did this deliberately?”

“I don't think.”

She held my gaze.

“I know.”

The room suddenly felt colder.

“Who?”

“That is what we're going to find out.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a folder.

I stared at it.

“What is that?”

“A temporary job.”

I blinked.

“A job?”

“You need income while you're lying low.”

I almost laughed.

“I'm a millionaire.”

Clair gave me a look.

“Not at the moment and it can't save you.”

I sighed.

“What kind of job?”

“Personal secretary.”

I stared at her.

“You're joking.”

“No.”

“I'm supposed to go from walking for Dior to answering someone's phone calls?”

“Not someone's.”

She opened the folder.

“Caleb Vale's.”

The name immediately silenced me.

I knew who he was.

Everyone did.

Caleb Vale was the billionaire CEO behind one of the biggest luxury corporations in the country.

He rarely gave interviews, rarely appeared at public events, and reportedly went through personal assistants.

Faster than most people changed phones.

I'd seen his photograph in business magazines.

Sharp features.

Dark eyes.

An expression that made smiling seem like an inconvenience.

“You want me to work for him?”

“Temporarily.”

“Why would he hire me?”

“Because his office needs a secretary.”

“And because?”

Clair smiled faintly.

“Because I asked.”

I stared at the folder.

There was something strange about the situation.

Too convenient.

Too sudden.

But what choice did I have?

My reputation was collapsing.

And the world was waiting for me to make another mistake.

I picked up the folder.

“Fine.”

Clair exhaled in relief.

“But I'm only doing this until the scandal is over.”

“Of course.”

I opened the folder.

The first page contained his company name.

VALE GUILLERMO CO.

For some reason, the sight of it made my stomach twist.

I didn't know why.

I had never met him.

I had never spoken to him.

And I certainly had no idea what kind of man he was behind those magazine covers.

I closed the folder.