Loving The Flame

Chapter Two

I suppose it's been decided. I haven't received a call for that job, but I refuse to wallow in self-pity. I have already made arrangements for a private booking. Even after four days, that night continues to consume my thoughts. I am supposed to showcase a wedding dress on a mini runway for a private show.

As I tidied up my flat, my phone suddenly rang. Initially, it caught me off guard, as I had declined the designer's offer twice before. However, I couldn't afford to be picky when it came to work, so I couldn't refuse this opportunity. I'm eager to break free and move forward with everything. Right now, all I can think about is shaking things up. I am finally contemplating a change.

It must have been quite a surprise to witness one of the top performers in this field at such an intimate and exclusive event. Mia is widely recognised as a top hairdressing artist in the industry and the proud owner of Chez Mia, a renowned salon known for its ability to work wonders with hair. Additionally, her hair products are highly sought-after in the industry due to their exceptional quality. I've never had the opportunity to collaborate with her before, but right now she's expertly styling my hair, while Dan, an incredibly talented makeup artist, is skillfully enhancing my features.

Even though this is a big gig in disguise, I find myself lacking the expected level of enthusiasm. I can't seem to tear my eyes away from my phone. The night from four days ago completely drained me of any passion for the tasks at hand. In the midst of the commotion that my shock caused, I couldn't stop thinking about his intense gaze and how effortlessly he diverted attention to himself. The image of those piercing green eyes consumed my thoughts—the way he narrowed them whenever he glanced in my direction and how he seemed to be deliberately avoiding any further encounters.

I had always fantasised about meeting him, but that scenario caught me completely off guard. It's highly unlikely that our paths will ever intersect, but I can't help but wish for a different outcome. I never bothered to investigate anything about Liam's father or his family, and he used to appreciate that about me. With that knowledge, Liam's happiness became my priority, so I insisted on waiting for the perfect moment to meet his family. Honestly, that never happened for various reasons. These opportunities were repeatedly cancelled due to scandals involving Liam or because his father was frequently out of town for meetings. And for the first time, my focus remains unwavering on my phone as I desperately search for any information about him.

And men, talk about looks; he is stunning, proving the point that Liam's charm is hereditary. In stark contrast to his son, who seems to constantly make headlines for both positive and negative reasons, attracting gossip and media attention, he has a rather serious and private demeanour, which makes it difficult to gather much information about him. The limited details available are derived from just two interviews.

There is an air of mystery surrounding him; his smile is subtle, and his laughter is understated. He possesses wisdom in his words, yet he remains modest in his speech. It is evident that he has achieved great success through his diligent work, but he rarely speaks of his accomplishments, instead choosing to acknowledge and appreciate those who have supported him. Even during the second interview, he relinquishes control of the interview to one of his business managers.

“The Anderson’s are awesome,” Mia mentioned, and I look up to see her in the mirror as she takes a peek at my phone. There is a familiarity in her speech and smile that suggests she has in-depth knowledge of the family.

"Are you familiar with the family?" I ask without much consideration, but I am genuinely curious to find out if she does.

"She used to dress his wife before she passed," Dan clarifies, and I offer a sympathetic smile, remembering the story that brought me closer to Liam in the beginning. We crossed paths on a show, engaging in a conversation that stretched into the late hours. The depth of our conversation led me to believe he was the person I had been searching for.

Thanks to Mr. Anderson, I had it all. He is incredibly empathetic, compassionate, and encouraging.

"Which one, the son or..." Why on earth did I have to inquire? I pondered quietly.

“Liam is completely different from his father. Mr. Christopher is quite unique," she explains, and I nod, pursing my lips, fully agreeing with her observation. If I had no desire to gather further details about him, for unknown reasons, I might have mentioned that he possesses an air of arrogance and selfishness, as she suggested.

"Sweetie," the hairdresser continues. "Liam has quite an inflated ego. His sole passions lie in the realm of women and controversy." They both giggled at the obvious ridiculousness he possessed. "He seems to have a rather promiscuous lifestyle, and his cookies are models," he whispers dramatically as Mia laughs. That remark, unlike them laughing about it, forms a lump in my throat that I made it on the list.

"Are you finished yet?" Fiona, the designer, enters the dress room with haste. She appears slightly anxious.

"Grab the dress; we're finished." Mia takes a step back, a contented smile playing on her lips.

" Fiona," I say, beckoning her as I remove the gown, and she turns her gaze towards me. "I would like to offer my sincere apologies; I was going through a difficult time and..."

"You have talent, no doubt, but it's crucial to realise that timing is a major factor in this industry. Moreover, I'm pleased to see your return." She casually acknowledges it with a slight nod.

"I am. I'm back," I nod, and she quietly helps me slip into the dress with the assistance of her team. "This seems like a significant client," I remarked, and she eagerly agreed. I sense her reluctance to share any details about this client, just like in the past, and I don't want to risk overstepping my boundaries. I need to restore the reputation I nearly tarnished for the business, and one approach is to be more reserved in my communication.

I pivot to meet my reflection in the dressing mirror just as Fiona effortlessly zips up the dress. I find it slightly unsettling to see myself in a wedding dress for the first time. Every intricate detail is meticulously crafted, giving it a sense of being tailor-made for me. If everything fell into place, this would have been the perfect gown for me to wear on my wedding day.

We... I had everything meticulously planned out—meeting his father, getting to know the rest of his family, and then diving into the exciting world of wedding planning. I couldn't stop thinking about it. Liam's latest idea was to inject a sense of hope into my dream. I was taken aback when he asked me to move in with him, and I didn't want to impulsively rush into his arms. I was eager to hold off until we successfully transformed the flat he purchased into a place that truly reflects us, a space that feels like home for the both of us. Meanwhile, events unfolded as they did, and I find myself still residing in my humble apartment and single.

Dan extended his hand towards me, and I obediently followed Fina's guidance as we made our way down the corridor. She's not rushing me, and the dress is causing me to feel overwhelmed. I appreciate the fact that I am not in a hurry at the moment. Although this isn't my show, it's making me reflect on all the aspirations I had.

"Here," she offers a warm smile as she holds a door open for me. I feel a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty about why she seems like she isn't going in with me. I enter the room, and the sound of the door closing echoes behind me. With confidence, I put my game on face expression as I take the three-step cat walk further in the room, my determination evident in my gaze.

"No way," I murmur softly as I cease my glide into the room with a poised and elegant sudden pause. I feel a lump in my throat as my eyes well up with tears, and a sense of bewilderment washes over me. I feel an overwhelming urge to release my emotions and express the depths of my despair. Yet, no solace can be found in this world to alleviate the immense anguish that consumes me.

"A chance," his voice whispered into my ears, and I closed my eyes, letting my tears trickle down my cheeks. "That's all I want." Liam is dressed in a tuxedo, exuding elegance. His imposing stature and commanding presence demand attention. His sleek black hair is subdued down on his head, perfectly complementing his chiselled rectangular face, which was accentuated by his warm brown eyes.

***

"What's happening?" I softly murmur, peering into his gaze as I slowly open my eyes.

"I wish this could be over," he murmurs, casting a thorough gaze from my head to my toes. I can still sense his overwhelming confidence in his gaze, as if he believes it's effortless to manipulate me into submitting to his desires. The smirk on his lips suggests that nothing happened.

"Are you making fun of me?" I inquire through clenched teeth.

"You appear to have overlooked the fact that I am Liam, the prince of Anderson's." His voice resonates with clarity, as if he has a purpose to convey. “You want to be chased, and I am chasing you the way you want.”

"You seem to be missing the point, don't you?" I softly murmur, gazing at him, gradually narrowing the distance between us.

“Really, it’s not rocket science. Every woman likes to be chased, and I am a resourceful man." He smiles partially, and I feel underestimated. I despise it. I suddenly smack his cheeks the hardest I can, and he takes some minutes as he bites his lower lip, taking some time to rub his cheek.

“Are you done?” He stands straight and blows his coat as he looks at me, and I once again strike for another slap, but he swiftly and effortlessly caught my hand in the air. “It’s not even a big deal.”

"Are you joking with me?" I quickly pulled my arm back while he casually returned to a single-seat sofa and took a seat, his right leg crossed. "You believe you have it all figured out, huh?" Of course he thinks he got it all from my own conscious scowls at me. "Not even a sincere apology." I let out a dry chuckle, lifting the dress off the floor with my hands.

"What for?" he asks with a mocking tone, leaving me speechless with disbelief. "There is nothing more to it than s*x," he says, and as I close my eyes, I feel my anger rising within me.

“Of course, it’s not a big deal for you; what was I thinking?" I shake my head. I cautiously approach him, mustering a smile while holding back the tears welling up in my eyes. “You are too cheap to know the value of that,” I stated gently. His smile fades, and I notice the tension in his face as he clenches his jaw, trying to hide his frustration. "And I can't stand chip," I remark before swiftly leaving the room.

"Of course, that's why you chose me. After all, only you can identify cheap. You’re living it, right?” He says, and I pause in my tracks, contemplating a more forceful response, but I manage to restrain myself. I tightly gripped the dress in my hand, my knuckles turning white. I refuse to let him have the satisfaction; I must approach this situation strategically. I refuse to look back at him, yet I can sense the presence of a smile on his face. “This is your last chance, your very last chance, Alora." As I open the door, he warns me with a sense of urgency. However, I choose to disregard his words and exit, closing the door behind me.

As I make my way down the corridor towards the dressing room, I notice Fiona, Dan, and Mia gathered by the door. Out of nowhere, the sound of breaking glass echoes through the room where I left Liam. I observe Dan and Mia with a smile, but it's evident that they are both feeling uneasy. I can sense their discomfort, and it seems Fiona is fully aware of what he was attempting to accomplish.

Well, I suppose so. I didn't make his list," I mutter, biting my lower lip with a hint of frustration. I am content with this moment of triumph. I hesitated going out and asked, "Oh, and can I expect my payment arrangement as usual?" I inquire with Fiona, and she responds with a subtle nod, indicating her agreement. "I can leave the dress here," I propose.

“I say you should rock it,” Fiona explains. “It’s bought for you,” she says with a smirk, and I smile back but rush into the room. Just as I close the door, I fall to the ground. I muffle my lips behind my hands and scream the loudest to relinquish the pain I feel.

I paused to shed a few tears, allowing myself a moment of vulnerability. With closed eyes, I focus on finding inner peace and regaining composure. I carefully remove the hills from my feet and hurl them into the corner of the room, then I rise from the ground. I admire my dress, which is the most luxurious garment I have ever possessed; it exudes such elegance and refinement. I leisurely stroll towards the dressing mirror, coming to a stop in front of it. My makeup is a complete mess. The eyeliner has streaked down my cheeks, mingling with my tears. And it seems that I accidentally smudged my lipstick onto my right cheek as well. I carefully released the pins from my hair, allowing my hair to cascade down my back. I gently ran my fingers through the strands, giving my scalp a soothing massage.

“You exhaust yourself for nothing.” I converse with my own reflection. I pick up the dress from the ground and, with the last of my strength, tear it to pieces. That's not exactly a relief, but it does bring a slight sense of satisfaction. I plop down on the ground once again, more like flopping onto my rear, and I shut my eyes. "What a shame to see such a gorgeous dress go to waste!" I laughed. I believe I am experiencing a moment of sheer madness.

I was eager to leave the building as soon as possible, not wanting to spend any more time there than necessary. So, once again, I summon my strength to rise and prepare myself to depart as swiftly as possible. I quickly grab my backpack and haphazardly cram my T-shirt, jeans, and the trusty pair of high heels that I always bring along for events like this. I slipped into the jeans jacket over the stunning dress, which I unfortunately marred ever so slightly. Just as I reach the door, the ringing of my phone fills me with annoyance, knowing I'll have to dig it out from the depths of my backpack. I casually exit the room.

I try my best to brush it off, but after the third persistent ring, I can't help but think that whatever is on the other end must be significant. I search diligently, my hand reaching out in hopes of finding it. After a considerable amount of time, I finally reach the source of the sound, only to find that it abruptly ceases. Anyway, I take it out and examine it. Seven missed calls—two from Luna and five from Olivia.

Olivia is the sole focus of my life right now. I have no interest in listening to Luna. Her words hold no power to alleviate the immense pain caused by her betrayal. Not today, of all days. I can't help but dial Olivia as I stride out of the building and hurry to the parking lot to hop into the car.

"Where have you been?" She lets out a sharp bark, causing me to furrow my brow, pondering what could have possibly gone awry.

“That's a long story. Are you alright?" I inquire as I casually open the rear door of my car and toss my backpack onto the back seat.

“You didn’t know. You i***t,” she says, and I nonchalantly climb into my car. "You should go to Blooming immediately." She has a piercing voice.

"The hotel? Why?" I'm perplexed about the necessity of my presence, but it must hold significance. “I’m dressed for hell, trust me, but if it's an emergency, I am only ten minutes away." I explain it for her.

“I don’t care if you are naked; you only have ten minutes, and if you get here as soon as possible, you should know that we are one of the top four.”

“For what?” I don’t understand her when she is on edge.

"I attempted to reach you as soon as I found out, but it seems you were occupied." She once again expresses her frustration. I can imagine her rolling her eyes as she says that I am busy. “We made it to the top four, for the bright star,” she giggles, and I let out a gasp of excitement.

"No way," I whisper, feeling a sudden rush of exhilaration and astonishment flowing through my entire being. "Are you certain?" I inquire, considering the possibility of her being mistaken.

"Ten minutes!" she reprimands me, and I can't help but smile in disbelief, reflecting on how it all unfolded.

"I... I can make it!" I emitted a sharp cry. "I will definitely be there." As I consider the fascinating intricacies of my story, which become more and more enthralling with each turn, I chuckle and then experience a sudden surge of excitement. What is going on? How is this happening? I ponder; nevertheless, I begin to accelerate.

With every step, I stumbled over the torn split of the dress that I tightly held in my hands, desperately trying to keep it off the ground as I attempted to pick up the pace. Luckily, I arrived promptly, and Olivia was already there, eagerly anticipating my arrival. It's good that I warned her that I wasn‘t dressed for it, and she confirmed it the first moment she laid eyes on me.

“I got wiper,” she proposes, taking charge of the situation and forging ahead, while I can only manage a tired nod as I struggle to catch my breath. As we enter the hall, we quickly join the two models already seated. We make an effort to appear composed, exchanging smiles and nods with them glancing our way, despite the astonishment on their faces, particularly towards me. We enter the room with a slightly uncomfortable smile and choose seats next to the first two models who arrived before us.

Olivia retrieves a wiper from her purse while I rummage through my backpack, which I nonchalantly tossed at my feet. I retrieve the purse mirror and proceed to gently cleanse my cheeks, removing the smudged eyeliner that, in collaboration with my tears, creates a despondent appearance.

"Oh no!" Olivia leans in close and sits up abruptly, giving me a subtle signal that he has arrived. "It's beginning," she remarks, causing me to raise my gaze and locate the source of the approaching footsteps.

There he is. Two men and one woman, all of whom are holding files, are with Christopher Anderson. As they follow closely behind him.

He is wearing a chocolate brown suit, which makes his complexion appear slightly paler than when I first met him. His arrival commands attention, with the scent of his perfume wafting through the air, and his stride exudes a strong sense of self-assurance.

He obviously knows what he wants, but it's also clear that my presence has surprised him a little. Everyone in this hall may be surprised that I show up here looking like the walking dead for an important event that hasn't ended yet. But the truth is, we both know that he is surprised that I made it to the top four selections in the first place after the incident from that night, which makes it clear that he didn't have anything to do with the selection process.

I silently gazed at him, pondering whether or not to continue wiping my face, my right hand gently pressing the wiper against my cheek, and my lips involuntarily parted in a small gasp. Although it would have been ideal to arrive looking presentable, I find myself in my current dishevelled state. Attempting to tidy up in front of these individuals would only exacerbate the situation. I am unable to look away since his eyes have already made me his focal point.

"I suppose we're set," he remarks while taking a seat, yet his unwavering gaze remains fixed on me, causing a sense of unease to wash over me. With a gentle motion, Olivia guides my hands downward, causing me to cast my gaze upon myself. A sense of disappointment washes over me as I contemplate my appearance for the grand occasion, one that I never imagined I would have the opportunity to attend. "Though some of us have just arrived from the chaos of the apocalypse celebration," he adds, and a collective smile spreads across the room. The two women glance at me, as if silently confirming that his comment was directed at me.

I cleared my throat and sat up straight, gazing upwards, attempting to hide the current bout of self-doubt that plagues me. If there's one thing I excel at, it's maintaining a high level of performance even in the most challenging circumstances. I casually exhale while crossing my right leg, fixing my gaze directly at him. I want him to perceive me as completely focused on my professional responsibilities.

“Hello ladies, I’m Tiffany Bernard; you can call me Tiff." She introduced herself with a smile. She greeted me warmly, a smile lighting up her face. Her blonde bob hair accentuates her adorable smile and chubby cheeks. “You four are our top-selected models whom we expect to work with for the next three years, but we expect you all to be sharp about the major competition and that being the face of our company,” she says, glancing at her colleague who is already seated beside Christopher, silently encouraging her to continue.

I once again turn my attention to Mr. Anderson, whose eyes are still on me. For a moment there, I secretly get jumpy, but I realise that his gaze is not just a passing glance but a thorough examination of every aspect of my being. His eyes are studying each and every single part of me. He takes his time staring at my sinker and slowly looking up at my dress, as if he is asking himself if I was at an event as he guessed or if something went wrong. Just as his eyes reach my face, he deepens his furrow lines as he tilts his head to the right, probably focusing on my makeup and my gaze. He seems to be hit with mixed feelings like a hurricane: a little bit of concern, a little bit of excitement, and a little bit of disappointment.

"And the competition," Tiff's voice that was faint in my ear regains clarity once again. "It begins now with an interview we are about to conduct with you," she gestures towards her colleague standing behind her. "Well, before we begin, I'd like to inquire if Mr. Anderson has any thoughts to share." Her smile widens, mirroring his gaze as he rises from his chair and approaches her.

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Tiffany." He acknowledges her with a nod and positions himself in front of all of us. However, his eyes remain fixed on me, as if he has a message specifically for me. "This time, I will be the one making the selection," he declared. It seems like I'm not his preferred option, and reaching the top might not be on the cards for me. "It won't be an easy task, even though the question may appear straightforward. Give it your all and pour your heart into it. Best of luck to everyone," he said bluntly, pivoting towards a long table that was set up for them to occupy.

"You should head towards the rear of the hall. Once you hear your name, kindly proceed to the chair," Tiffany informs us, gracefully making her way around the table to take a seat beside Mr. Anderson.

I feel discouraged and as if there is no purpose in remaining here, but in reality, I am determined to persevere. I silently retrieve my backpack and trail behind Olivia, who is already taking the lead, as she follows the two other women. Once again, my gaze drifts towards the table where they are seated. I shift my focus to Olivia, who is sitting nearby, and settle into a chair beside her.

"You really should tidy up your face," she remarks while rummaging through her purse. It seems evident to everyone that he is not happy with my appearance. I brush off her apparent disappointment in her voice and retrieve the wiper and purse mirror from my backpack to freshen up my face.

"He appears quite challenging to work with," I whisper to her, observing the other candidates who are glaring at me with discontent.

"It doesn't matter; we're here, and we'll find a way to make it work." Olivia responds to my thoughts with a pleasing thought. "Use this." She passes me a makeup kit, and I can't help but smile as I gaze at her.

"Thank you."

"What happened exactly?" She finally asks me, and I roll my eyes.

"You know," I said, pointing to the end of the hall where Mr. Anderson and his employees are waiting for us.

"Oh, boy," she said, shaking her head. "How did he get you in this dress?"

"You won't believe it," I answer.

"Evelyn!" One of the guys projects his voice, calling for one of the models, and in an all-black bodycon jumpsuit, he stands and starts walking down the aisle like she is on a runway.

"She is something," Olivia whispers. "I heard she came from the UK just for this," she explains to me about Evelyn. "Go on," she says, eager to hear about me.

"He used Fiona, booked a private show, and thought being in this wedding gown would change my heart." I shake my head, and she gasps.

“I guess you made it clear,” she says, pressing her lips in a thin line.

“It didn’t go as he planned. We're at a point we can't comeback from." I dab my lips with brown lipstick. "I need to find a way to get back at him," I whisper.