The CEO's Crown

Rumors wear designer heels

Success had a funny way of making people forget how hard you worked.

By ten o'clock, my face was already plastered across three giant monitors in the creative department.

The campaign had turned out beautifully.

Every shot was exactly what we'd wanted.

Elegant.

Powerful.

Expensive.

I should have been celebrating.

Instead, I was standing in front of the coffee machine listening to two interns whisper about me as though I couldn't hear every word.

"...I'm telling you, there's no way someone gets this many campaigns naturally."

"Richard Knight practically built the agency around her."

"I heard she's the reason other models don't get opportunities."

I wrapped my fingers around the paper coffee cup until it almost bent.

Same rumours.

Different day.

I could've walked over.

I could've defended myself.

Instead...

I took my coffee and walked away.

People rarely changed their minds after gossip became entertainment.

"Ignore them."

Maya appeared beside me as if she'd sensed my irritation from across the building.

"I am."

"Liar."

"I said I'm ignoring them."

"You also crushed that poor cup."

I looked down.

Oops.

I'd practically folded it in half.

"I'll buy another."

"You'll buy therapy."

I laughed despite myself.

"You always know when I'm annoyed."

"You make this face."

"What face?"

She narrowed her eyes dramatically before copying my expression.

Eyebrows slightly raised.

Lips pressed together.

A look that screamed, I'm about to ruin someone's day politely.

I burst into laughter.

"I do not look like that."

"You absolutely do."

She looped her arm through mine as we walked back towards the studio.

"You know what your problem is?"

"I have several."

"You care too much."

"I don't."

"You do."

I sighed.

"Maybe."

Because the truth was...

The rumours still hurt.

Not because I believed them.

Because they erased everything I'd sacrificed to stand where I was.

The missed birthdays.

The impossible diets.

The swollen ankles after runway week.

The panic attacks before international campaigns.

People loved glamorous success.

They never loved the work behind it.

.....

The afternoon fitting was for the Autumn Noir collection.

One of the biggest luxury campaigns of the year.

Every senior model wanted it.

Every designer wanted their favourite walking the finale.

When I stepped into the fitting room, conversations paused for barely a heartbeat.

Then they continued.

That was normal.

Eyes followed me wherever I went.

Some admiring.

Some curious.

Some jealous.

Lena Moretti sat by one of the mirrors, crossing one long leg over the other.

She smiled when she saw me.

The kind of smile that looked sweet until you realised it never reached her eyes.

"Ariella."

"Lena."

"You look... tired."

"I worked."

"Oh."

She tilted her head.

"I thought queens didn't have to."

A few nearby models laughed awkwardly.

I smiled back.

"I wouldn't know."

"No?"

"I've never needed to pretend to be one."

The room went silent.

Lena's smile twitched.

Maya coughed into her hand to hide a laugh.

Score one for me.

The stylist hurried over before either of us could continue.

"Ladies, let's focus."

As assistants pinned fabric against my shoulders, I caught Richard watching from the doorway.

He looked exhausted.

Older.

His smile was there...

But weaker than usual.

Our eyes met.

He gave me a small nod.

Almost...

Like he was trying to tell me something.

Before I could walk over, his assistant whispered in his ear.

His expression changed.

He excused himself quietly and disappeared down the corridor.

I frowned.

Something didn't feel right.

Not with him.

Not today.

I am going to find out what the hell has been happening to Richard