CHAPTER 2: THE APPLICATION
694 Words
Ariel Hart slammed her apartment door, still tasting the humiliation from the gala. The tiny living room smelled of stale coffee and fabric dye. Sketches covered the coffee table like fallen leaves. Her phone kept buzzing with notifications—more comments calling her a desperate slut chasing billionaire cash.
Jordan Lee, her best friend and roommate, leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. “Are you okay? That video is everywhere.”
“No.” Ariel dropped onto the couch, blonde hair falling across her face. She pushed it back roughly. “But I’m not done.” Her light blue eyes burned with defiance. She opened her laptop, fingers flying over the keys. The Blackwell Design Challenge application stared back at her. Sponsored by the same man who destroyed her night.
“You’re really applying?” Jordan asked, handing her a mug. “After what he did?”
“Especially after what he did.” Ariel attached her portfolio—bold, raw designs born from sleepless nights and scraped-together materials. Each piece told her story: resilience stitched into seams, ambition cut against every bias. She hit submit at 2:17 a.m., heart hammering. “If he thinks one mistake defines me, I’ll prove him wrong on his own stage.”
Sleep came in fragments. By morning, rejection felt inevitable. Instead, her inbox pinged. Acceptance letter. Top 10 finalists. Orientation tomorrow at Blackwell Tower.
Ariel stood in front of her closet, choosing a simple black blouse and pencil skirt. Professional. Strong. No red dress tonight. She arrived at the sleek glass tower with her head high, portfolio tucked under her arm. The lobby buzzed with nervous designers. Madison Royce, a glamorous rival with sharp cheekbones and colder eyes, glanced her way and smirked.
The elevator opened to the 45th floor conference room. Damien Blackwell stood at the front, commanding attention in another tailored suit. His broad shoulders tensed the moment he spotted her. Dark eyes narrowed.
“You,” he said lowly, his voice carrying across the room as the session began.
Ariel met his gaze without flinching. “Surprised?”
He recovered quickly, addressing the group, but his stare kept returning to her. During introductions, he assigned mentors. Ariel got the toughest slot—working under a team known for brutal critiques, close to his inner circle.
After the briefing, he cornered her near the windows overlooking Manhattan. “This is no place for games. Stay out of my way, or I’ll have you removed.”
“Remove me then,” she shot back, voice steady despite the heat rising in her chest. “Or are you afraid I’ll actually win and show everyone what real talent looks like?”
His jaw clenched. Close enough that she caught the sharp scent of his cologne. Power rolled off him, but she refused to shrink. “Prove you’re not what that video made you seem.”
“I shouldn’t have to,” Ariel stepped closer, curving tensely under her blouse. “But I will. Watch me.”
The rest of the day passed in intense workshops. She sketched under pressure, her lines fierce and unapologetic. Every time Damien passed her station, tension crackled. He critiqued others sharply, but with her, he lingered, his voice low. “Too emotional. Fashion needs control.”
“Control is boring,” she replied. “Passion sells.”
By evening, exhaustion hit. Ariel packed her bag when her phone vibrated. A new article: the gala photo tied to her competition entry. Comments flooded again; slut, opportunist, fraud. One sponsor has already emailed doubts.
She deleted the notification, but doubt crept in. As she left the tower, Madison Royce blocked her path in the lobby. “Cute attempt. But girls like you don’t last here. Damien sees right through pretty faces.”
Ariel pushed past her. Outside, rain started falling. She pulled her coat tighter, walking fast. Her defiance felt strong, but cracks were forming. One more push and everything could crumble.
Back home, another email waited: urgent meeting request from Damien’s office first thing tomorrow. Private.
She stared at the screen, pulse racing. What did he want now? To ruin her completely?
- Writer
