Love Unmasked

Go Dark or Go Home

Monica strutted into the audition space, the click of her heels echoing in the high-ceilinged room. She exuded confidence, her blonde hair cascading like silk over her shoulders, her bright blue eyes scanning the room full of hopefuls. Today was important, not just for the paycheck, but for her next big step. The job could place her in the spotlight of Sydney’s fashion world—money, fame, attention—all within reach. And Evelyn Chen's upcoming lingerie brand, Velvet Noir, was the hottest thing in fashion, a surefire way to get noticed.

Evelyn stood at the far end of the room, talking to one of her assistants, a measuring tape slung around her neck. Monica noted her appearance: young, petite, and focused, with a sharp attention to detail. As Monica approached, she could feel Evelyn's gaze sweep over her figure.

"Monica Novokov, right?" Evelyn said, her voice professional, yet kind.

"That's me," Monica replied, flashing her signature smile, the one that made photographers swoon.

Evelyn nodded, her eyes assessing every inch of Monica's body—perfect curves, tiny waist, and round butt. The kind of figure that sells lingerie. But Monica could sense a flicker of hesitation.

"You're stunning,” Evelyn said, almost absentmindedly, as she flipped through her design notes.“Your measurements are spot-on for the designs. But…" she paused, raising her gaze to Monica’s face, "your hair."

"My hair?" Monica's smile faltered, just slightly.

"For this collection, I needed all my models to have jet-black hair. It's the aesthetic I'm going for. Think dark, sultry, timeless," Evelyn explained, flipping through a set of sketches. “I want to put you in two of my best designs, both white lace. You'd look phenomenal. But... you'll need to dye your hair.”

Monica froze for a moment. Dye her hair? Her entire image was built around her Barbie-like beauty—blonde hair and blue eyes. Changing that felt like stripping away a piece of her identity. She had worked hard to stand out in the modeling world with that look. How many men had called her "perfect," admiring her for it? Would she still hold the same appeal?

Evelyn waited patiently, her expression unreadable but hopeful.

"Could you think about it? I'll need your decision by the end of the day," Evelyn added.

Monica nodded, but her mind was already racing. She couldn't just jump into this. What would Marcus think? Men loved her blonde hair. Especially Marcus. Would he even find her attractive if she dyed it black?

She left the audition with her heels clicking even louder this time, the sound matching her growing frustration. She pulled out her phone and texted Marcus:

Hey love, I need your advice on something big. Can we meet for dinner?

She hit send and stared at the screen, expecting the familiar buzz of his quick response. He never kept her waiting long. But as minutes turned to an hour, and then another, no reply came. Her fingers itched to text him again, but she resisted. He'd probably say he was busy with work.

Monica sighed, scrolling through the day's conversations with Marcus. How had he gotten so busy lately? He used to reply within minutes, and now, it seemed like she was always the one chasing him. The thought gnawed at her, but she quickly pushed it away. He'd come through, he always did.

Still, as she stood in front of her bathroom mirror, picturing herself with jet-black hair, a wave of uncertainty washed over her. Would she still look like the version of herself she had so carefully crafted? Would the men she dazzled still fall at her feet?

And Marcus—she had to admit, his opinion mattered the most. She bit her lip, imagining his reaction. Would he call her , his little girl, in that teasing, possessive way he did when she pleased him? Or would he look at her differently, with less interest? The thought unsettled her.

Her phone buzzed. She snatched it up, hopeful, only to see Marcus's name flash across the screen with a message that made her heart sink:

Sorry babe, I'm tied up with a client tonight. Maybe another time?

Of course. He was having dinner with a client. Again.

Monica tossed her phone onto the bed, feeling a mix of disappointment and anger. He could make time for his so-called clients, but not for her? She stared at her reflection, torn between wanting to keep her Barbie-perfect image and the opportunity of staring her in the face with Evelyn's offer.

By the end of the day, she sent Evelyn a message:

I'm in.

As soon as she hit send, a strange mix of thrill and uncertainty filled her. She would be on that runway, dyed hair and all. And Marcus? Well, he'd just have to deal with it. But deep down, she couldn't shake the hope that he'd still want her, no matter what she looked like.