Chapter 53: filler
"I love you too, babe." He said it without even looking at me, then stood and turned in my direction with a warning tone. "You’ll both be shooting together shortly. Make sure you coordinate with Amara. And Amara, don’t stir up trouble either. We can’t afford to embarrass ourselves any further. Understood?"
Amara smiled sweetly. "Liam, don’t you know Valerie by now? Isn’t causing trouble exactly why she’s here? Don’t worry, I’ll keep a close eye on her."
I said nothing throughout all of it. I simply switched to English and quietly directed the stylist and makeup artist to continue their work. Liam left the room looking irritated, and on his way out he stopped to ask some of the staff how the shoot had gone. For Amara, they had plenty to say: promising, vibrant, going places. When they got to me, they just smiled and said nothing at all. Not because they had nothing to think, but because there weren’t easy words for it. Liam, of course, took the silence as a sign that Amara had made the stronger impression.
As the joint shoot approached, the stylist laid out two cheongsams, one black and one white, intending for us to look like a paired set. Given our personalities, black naturally suited Amara’s boldness, while white would have complemented my quieter image. But white was the more striking choice, and Amara knew it. She rushed over and grabbed it before anyone could say a word.
The fashion designer looked visibly uncomfortable, caught in the middle.
"Give it to her," I said, completely unfazed. "As long as Miss Amara is certain she won’t regret it."
Behind me, Nicole wasn’t nearly as composed. "Are you addicted to snatching things from other people?" she shot out.
Amara lifted the white cheongsam with a satisfied smile. "Valerie already agreed. What right do you have to disapprove? You’re just an assistant."
Nicole stomped her foot, but I turned to her quietly and said, "That piece really does suit her better."
She caught on immediately. There was no way I would hand something over without a reason, and the tension in her shoulders eased. So the two of us ended up swapping, black for white and white for black, though in truth, both were cheongsams and the difference wasn’t as dramatic as Amara imagined. She put on the white one and looked bright and fresh. It was actually a pleasant sight.
The detailed embroidery on the white cheongsam made Amara look stunning, almost goddess-like. It really did suit her well, and she knew it too. She wasn’t foolish enough to think otherwise. Light colors drew the eye, and that was exactly why she had gone for white in the first place. Who in their right mind would choose black? It was dull and flat and lifeless. But then again, she thought with a quiet laugh, that made it absolutely perfect for Valerie.
"Black suits you well," she said, and I could hear the smugness underneath the pleasantry.
I just smiled and returned the compliment. "White also suits you."
Before anything else could be said, the photographer’s assistant called us in from outside. It was time.
Amara shot me a quick glance as we prepared to walk onto set, and even though she hid it well, I could sense the nervous energy beneath her confidence. This was the first time she and I would be photographed together, side by side, and she had clearly been waiting for this moment. She wanted to prove something, to show everyone that I was an outdated model and that she had already surpassed me in every way that mattered.
We stepped into the studio one after the other. The backdrop this time was a modern street scene, textured and weathered, carrying a quiet, melancholy feel to it.
The photographer watched us take our places, and something clicked in his mind as he studied me. He could tell from the way I chose my angles and worked with the light that I understood more than just posing. He thought I might actually understand photography itself, the relationship between subject and setting, between color and contrast.
His reasoning was simple. The backdrop was old and dim, and the sky in the scene was white. If you placed something white against that pale sky, it would dissolve right into it, invisible and forgettable. But if you placed something dark, even something small, it would stand out no matter what. It would demand to be seen.
He leaned over to his assistant and asked quietly whether I had seen them bring in the new backdrop. The assistant told him I had only caught a glimpse of it being carried in. That was enough for the photographer to understand. I had read the set in seconds and made my choice accordingly. A model with that kind of instinct deserved to be famous, and if she wasn’t, something was deeply wrong with the industry.
Amara, on the other hand, was thinking on a much simpler level. She planted herself in front of me because she believed standing closer to the camera meant standing out more. That was the full extent of her strategy.
I let her have it. I gave her whatever position she wanted and arranged myself around her without complaint.
The photographer gave us our direction. Amara would stand in the foreground, holding my hand, pulling me forward, both of us meant to look like two women excited about being out on the streets for the first time. Amara heard "foreground" and her smirk deepened. White clothing, front position, a major magazine shoot. She was absolutely certain this was the moment that would make her famous. She grabbed my hand without warmth and struck her pose, leaning forward with an expression of eager impatience.
And then there was me.
I let my gaze drift to a small street vendor painted into the corner of the backdrop, a stall draped in bolts of beautiful, colorful fabric. I let my face go soft with fascination, like I had spotted something I desperately wanted to stop and look at, like being pulled away from it was almost painful. One side of my body curved naturally into the frame, and without trying, I drew the entire scene together, pulling Amara’s movement into something that felt real and alive.
My expression was so genuine that every eye in the room followed it.
And just like that, without a single word or deliberate move against her, Amara faded. She was still there in the frame, still in the foreground, still wearing her white cheongsam.
She had simply become part of the backdrop.
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