HATE TO LOVE YOU❤️

Lara’s POV Hi, I am Lara Devin. Yes, that’s Devin with an E, not divine like the word. Although, honestly, same energy. I’ve got good hair, better ideas, a degree in fashion writing, and I didn’t even cry that much over it. And exactly one connection that got me a job at the biggest fashion house in the country. Do I feel like I deserve it? Honestly, not all the time. Do I care? No. Because this is Amandelle Luc, baby 💎. And I’m about to own it. Anyways, back to the moment. It was 6:45 a.m. I had a full white clay face mask drying over my forehead and chin 😶‍🌫️, pink satin bows dancing across my favorite pajama set 🎀, and a cup of coffee balanced in my perfectly moisturized hands ☕✨. If you think I was sipping like a princess while romanticizing my life under the framed Be Mine wall art, you’d be correct. I was dramatic. Sorry—I am dramatic. I know. But when you grow up daydreaming about sketching runway gowns while folding your school uniform in your bedroom, you earn the right to be dramatic 💭. Plus, this wasn’t just any day. This was the day. The first day of my career. The first actual job at Amandelle Luc. And I was absolutely terrified 😳. “God,” I muttered into the steam of my coffee. “Please don’t let me fall on my face. Or worse… sweat.” I took a sip—burned my tongue 🔥, wiped my lip 💋, sat back against my pillows, and sighed. So here’s the thing: people say connections don’t matter. Lie. If my mom hadn’t gone to secondary school with Mrs. Agatha Calvin—the wife of the actual CEO of Amandelle Luc—I would still be updating my LinkedIn bio and crying into a bag of chin-chin 🍟. Mrs. Agatha apparently saw one of my sketches of my mom posted on her w******p story 📲. Yes, w******p story of all places. And, “Oh, this is lovely. Let her come in. Maybe she’ll intern with someone.” Intern? My left earring. Next thing I know, I’m sitting across from a man in a black suit who didn’t smile once but nodded when I handed him my sketch portfolio—and that was it. He nodded. They emailed. I screamed 😱. And here we are. My phone buzzed 📱. It was my sister, Trisha. Better not choke today, superstar. Wear the outfit. THE outfit. I rolled my eyes and grinned 😏. She meant the look I had planned the second I got the offer. The one I laid out on my mannequin like a museum piece. We’ll get to that. Right now, I was still in my pink-bow pajamas, sipping coffee, and overthinking like it was my birthright 🌀. I swung my legs off the bed and stood, looking around my room—aka my personal kingdom 👑. Pink throw pillows, white shag rug, a clothing rack with my capsule wardrobe, a cork board painted with sketches and quotes like Dress like you’re already famous. A mirror with sticky notes that say things like: You’re a fat girl. Don’t beg for a seat. View the table. I walked over to the mirror, checking my reflection. The face mask was drying and cracking. My curls were clipped back with silver hair clips. My skin had that glow-from-within ✨. Yes, I drank water and minded my business, vibe. I looked expensive—even if I was still technically broke 💅. Then came the pep talk. “You are Lara Devin,” I told the girl in the mirror. “You got this. You’re that good. You’re talented. You’re smart. You’re wearing a s**t mask and still eating the girls up.” I peeled the mask off in one go (I do that when I’m feeling bold 😌). Then I did my morning skincare routine: toner, serum, moisturizer, sunscreen, lip balm with a hint of tint. And then perfume. Two spritz behind the ear, one on the wrist. Dab, dab. The scent: Scent of Bloom 🌸. Soft, spicy, feminine, unforgettable. Just like me. “Lara!” came my mom’s voice from downstairs. “Breakfast is ready, darling!” “Coming, Ma!” I yelled. Downstairs, the smell of plantain and eggs met me at the stairwell 🍳🍌. Mom was in the kitchen, humming to Asa and flipping pancakes. “Look at you,” she beamed when I walked in. “My baby’s going to work today!” “Don’t make me cry, Ma,” I said, reaching for a glass of orange juice 🧃. “I’m barely emotionally stable.” “You’ll be fine.” She pulled me into a hug. “You are going to shine.” ✨ I ate quickly, stealing a slice of plantain straight from the pan—only to get escorted with a wooden spoon tapped on my wrist 🍴. We laughed. I needed that laugh. Back upstairs, it was go time. Cue the outfit reveal 💃. I walked to the mannequin, where the outfit awaited. Sharp structure, zero nonsense. I slipped into a blue-and-white cropped pinstripe shirt—slightly boxy with gold shoulders. Next, high-waisted black tailored pants that hugged my waist like they were custom-made. Then came the long, solid black necktie. Tied to perfection. Corporate, but fashion. Business, but make it runway. Black heels. Minimal gold jewelry. Finally, my favorite black purse 👜. Hair pulled into a neat, soft low bun, with two side strands kissing my cheeks. I turned to the mirror again. Professional. Chic. Powerful. I looked like someone who didn’t just work in fashion. I was fashion. I grabbed my tote bag—a faux-leather one monogrammed with LD in gold—and stood by the door. One last breath. This was it. “Give them something to talk about,” I whispered to myself, smiling 😌. And with that, I stepped out of my room. Ready to walk into Amandelle Luc. And into the rest of my life.