Chasing Her Discarded Ex-husband

The Show

VANESA STERLING'S POV

A swarm of paparazzi surrounds us, their cameras flashing relentlessly as soon as we step into the hall of Blue Havana Hotel, where Maison's fashion show is being held. I flash a polite smile for their cameras, but they don't let go, they follow, shouting questions about my pathetic husband's stealing scandals.

"Miss Sterling! How do you feel about the copyright allegations?" one persistent reporter yells.

I ignore them, knowing they are fishing for a response or a reaction that will make the headlines. The security steps in to form a barrier, guiding us through the throng.

The crowd behind erupt in cheers as they spot other celebrities and fashion icons arriving, and the paparazzi finally let go.

The venue inside is already packed to the brim. Beyond the reserved seating area, a velvet rope barricade has been set up to keep the raucous public crowd at bay.

"Wow, look at the crowd! This model must be a small god," William remarks, adjusting his tie.

"Who wouldn't want to see him? The man is a walking perfection!" Amanda answers. Considering how much praise she has heaped upon the model, I will be surprised if he turns out to be made of fresh and bones.

As we reach the front row, the host of the show, Mr Richards, who I had also hired for some of my brand’s previous fashion events, hurries over a broad smile on his face. “Miss sterling! Thank you for coming. Our new collection is worth every second of your time.”

Obviously I am not here to see Maison's brand new collection, I am here to scout the male model for my brand.

"I'm looking forward to seeing what you have in store," I tell him nevertheless.

He gestures toward the front row and guides us to our seats at the very front row, ensuring we will have a prime view of the well lit runway.

"I promise his beauty is literally going to blow you away," Amanda gushes as we take our sits.

"Let's hope he lives up to the hype you are giving him." I tell.

Minutes later, the show opens with a perfomer covering "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together" by Taylor Swift. When it ends the lights dims and the first female model struts onto the runway in a froral dress, the crowd roars its approval. More follow, each look drawing louder applause. I clap politely, the cut and drape of the fabric are quite impressive.

After the end of the floral dress collection, a group of dancers comes out and does a performance. Then there is an announcement that it's time for the men's collection which is a relief since I was getting tired of waiting.

The lights dims once more, and from the side where the models emerged, the crowd goes wild as the first male model steps onto the runway. I see a striking figure but the photographers rush forward holding cameras over their heads blocking my view of the runway.

"It must be the Runway Angel!" Amanda shouts to me over the noise.

Even the posh guests in the front row stand up, craning their necks to catch a glimpse. Seriously, is it really that hard to wait for him to walk down the runway? It's not like anyone is being awarded for seeing him first.

At the back, security is struggling to keep the excited fans from jumping the rope barrier. This model must be oxygen!

"There he is." Amanda nudges pulling my attention back to the runway. My eyes take time to adjust to the bright flashes, and then I see him striding confidently down the runway.

I immediately feel my breath catch in my throat as I recognize the familiar face.

No way! It can’t be . . . . him!

"Damn, look at him! He’s so freakin’ hot!,” Amanda exclaims but her words barely register, as my eyes are glued to the beautiful man on stage.

His smooth face bears a striking resemblance to that of my ex-husband, Abel.

He wears a deep blue outfit. It's tight and stylish. When I say stylish, I mean, baffling kind of stylish. The coat is a full neck and long sleeved. But the shoulder blades has been intentionally left out and one can see the flawless skin beneath. It is longer on one side but instead of looking awkward, it looks uniquely designed.

The pants are a little tight but not too much as to make one stand out in the wrong way. They too are missing something, the front parts of the knees. It's the most beautiful design I have seen today.

The crowd is going mad around him, screaming all kinds of praise words. But his face remains stolid, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

He reaches the end of the runway and does an impressive stunt before turning back. I lean forward, straining for a better look at his face, but the relentless camera flashes make it nearly impossible to focus. Just when I think I might catch a glimpse, the photographers flanking him on either side block my line of sight again.

"Breathtaking, right?!" Amanda mutters as he disappears backstage.

"Yeah." I agree absentmindedly as I try to replay the last sixty seconds over and over again in my mind. There’s no way that was Abel. He looked just like him, but it couldn’t be.

"What’s your problem?” Amanda frowns. “Don’t you think he’s hot?"

I swallow hard, forcing a smile. "He is," I say. "Let's go talk to him after the show. He'd be perfect for my brand."

I had not planned on attending the show's after-party, but now I feel an overwhelming need to see that man up close. I have to know if he’s really Abel or just someone who happens to look exactly like him.

ABEL'S POV

I step back into the dressing room shaking and felling sick to my stomach. Being first on the runway when the crowd is behaving that manically is so f*****g terrifying. I dash to the restroom with my Boss, Aubrey, calling after me, “Abel! Where are you going? You’re on in a few minutes again!”

All I had eaten comes out in the restroom. I take a moment to breathe deeply, and after a few seconds I feel good and ready to go back out. I have one more piece to present and I'll be done.

Rushing back after washing, I see Aubrey and Mrs. Maison, the brand owner, let out sighs of relief.

"Give them that you’re the most beautiful man alive so those that are watching you will think they will look like you if they buy the clothes you’re wearing.” Mrs Maison advices as my second outfit is quickly checked, shoes slipped on and out I go again. Just like the first time I get blinded by camera flashes and the shouts from the crowd makes me feel like a trapped animal. I keep glancing down to make sure I don't trip. I get to the end, do some poses and give a big smile, forgetting that I am not supposed to, then I walk back, again checking the floor every so often.

Once backstage I receive a hand from my stylist as another poor model is shoved out.

“Amazing job, Abel! You did so wonderful,” Aubrey tells me a wide grin on her face.“That’s why I asked them to send you first.”

"Yeah right,” I laugh. That's only because no one out there knew that their Idol on the runway, me, puked his guts out minutes before he went on stage.