Despite my reluctance to attend last week’s art gallery opening, it did break my self-imposed ban on not leaving the house.
I also hadn’t heard a peep from my stalker since the first note, which helped. By the time the following Wednesday rolled around, I’d relaxed enough to venture into public on my own again.
That was the thing about humans. We were hard-wired for survival, and we took every opportunity to convince ourselves that our problems weren’t as bad as we thought they were.
Hope and denial. Two sides of the same coin. They kept us from falling into a well of despair even in the darkest of times.
I visited Maura, shopped for groceries, and met Lilah for coffee, where I picked her brain about everything fashion design-related.
The only person I didn’t see was Christian, who was busy with work. At least, that was what he said. Maybe he was as discomfited by our interaction at the gallery as I was.
My pencil paused at the memory. The roughness of his voice, the heady scent of leather and spice, the way his touch seared through my clothes and into my skin…
Restlessness bloomed in my chest.
I shifted in my seat and shook my head before I channeled the ceaseless buzz into the task at hand—a stack of unfinished fashion sketches I’d dug up from the depths of my drawer after my meeting with Lilah.
I’d collected dozens of them over the years. I started each one intending to finish and make it the piece that would launch my brand, but inevitably, self-doubt and imposter syndrome would hit, and I’d abandon it for another photoshoot or a blog post. Things I knew I was good at and that had a track record of success.
But not this time.
Trying and failing is better than not trying at all.
Lilah’s words from our meetup haunted me. It was the first time someone had ever told me it was okay to fail.
Failure hadn’t been an option growing up. It was straight A’s or nothing. Once, I’d been so anxious about an eighty-nine percent I got on a math test I broke out in hives and had to go to the nurse’s office.
Thayer hadn’t been much better; the school swarmed with Type A overachievers. As for D.C. Style…well, look what happened the last time I made a mistake.
But I didn’t live at home anymore, I wasn’t in college, and I didn’t work for anyone except myself.
I could do what I wanted, especially with the partnership deals I was getting now.
I didn’t want to fail, but the idea that I could without the world ending unchained my creativity.
I’d been stuck the last time I tried to sketch, tracing and retracing the same lines until I tossed the entire thing out of frustration.
Now, my pencil flew over the page as I detailed the lace patterns of a blouse and the elegant silhouette of an evening gown.
It was a different type of creative outlet than my blog and social media.
Those, I did for other people.
This, I did for me.
I’d loved fashion since I snuck a copy of my mom’s Vogue into my room at age eight. It wasn’t just the clothes themselves; it was the way they transformed the wearer into whoever they wanted to be.
An ethereal princess, a glamorous CEO, a badass rocker,f or a vintage icon. Nothing was off limits.
In a household where rules were ironclad and the path to success cut straight through the Ivy League toward any one of a dozen “acceptable” careers, the chaotic, colorful world of fashion had called to me like a siren song in the dark.
I finished my first sketch and moved on to the second.
A tiny seed of pride sprouted with each sketch I completed. To others, they were just drawings, but to me, they were proof of perseverance after years of holding myself back.
Sometimes, victory was as simple as finishing.
I was so engrossed in my work, I didn’t realize how much time had passed until my stomach growled in warning.
A glance at the clock told me it was already two in the afternoon. I’d been sketching nonstop since nine.
Part of me was tempted to skip lunch and keep drawing so I didn’t lose my momentum, but I forced myself to change and pick up some food at the cafe next to the Mirage.
It was past lunchtime, but the tiny shop bustled with activity.
Since I didn’t feel like venturing further for tea and a sandwich, I took my spot behind a scowling woman in a gray suit and waited.
Out of habit, I pulled out my phone and tapped into my profile.
My last photo was the one the photographer took of me and Christian at the art gallery. It was doing even better than our debut picture, and my follower count was already at 950K. At this rate, I’d hit the million-follower mark by summer.
Instead of excitement at the prospect, all I could focus on was the image of Christian’s arms wrapped around me.
We looked so much like a real couple. Sometimes, like when he’d comforted me the night I found the note or pulled me into his lap after I told him about my stalker, we felt like a real couple.
Unease squirmed through my gut.
The stalker situation had thrown a wrench into our arrangement. It connected me and Christian more than we’d originally planned, and I—
An incoming call notification replaced the photo of us on my screen.
Delamonte New York.
The breath stole from my lungs, and all thoughts of Christian fell to the wayside as I answered the call.
“Hello?” My calm greeting belied my nerves. Hope peeked out from behind the churning mass, but I forced it back into the shadows.
I didn’t want to get my hopes up only to be disappointed when—if—Delamonte told me they were going in a different direction.
“Hi Stella, this is Luisa from Delamonte. How are you?”
“I’m good. How are you?” I wiped my free hand against the side of my thigh.
“I’m good,” Luisa said. “I apologize for calling you out of the blue like this, but I figured this would be a good follow-up to the email we sent this morning.”
My stomach swooped. I’d been so busy with my sketches I hadn’t checked my email since waking up.
Of course the one day I didn’t check it obsessively was the day I had an important message waiting for me.
“I’m not sure if you’ve seen it yet. In case you haven’t…” I could hear the smile in Luisa’s voice. “I want to formally extend an offer for you to be Delamonte’s brand ambassador in the upcoming year. We didn’t officially announce the selection process because we wanted to choose our ideal candidates without getting swamped with unsolicited pitches, but after much deliberation, we think you would make a wonderful addition to the Delamonte family…”
A loud buzz drowned out the rest of her words, and I stared blindly at the chalkboard menu as the line inched forward.
Formally extend an offer…Delamonte’s brand ambassador in the upcoming year…make a wonderful addition to the Delamonte family…
I wanted to pinch myself, but I wasn’t ready to reenter reality in case this was a dream.
The campaign meant a ton of money, which meant I could easily pay for Maura’s care and fund the startup costs for a fashion line, which meant…
The loud whir of the coffee machine dragged me out of my racing thoughts soon enough to catch the end of Luisa’s statement.
“…look over the contract and let us know. The deadline for acceptance or refusal is next week, so take some time to think about it.”
I don’t need to think about it! I’ll take it!
“Thank you so much. I will.” The logical part of me knew I shouldn’t agree to anything without reading the fine print first, even if it was for a dream deal.
“Excellent,” Luisa said warmly. “I hope we can work together. Your aesthetic is the epitome of our brand, and your account is doing amazing. Fifty thousand new followers in just a few weeks! That’s incredible. And…before I say this, I want you to know this had nothing to do with our decision…but Christian has always had exquisite taste. I’m not surprised that extends to his love life. He’s never had a real girlfriend before, so the fact you’re dating is quite revealing.”
My smile dimmed. Guilt slowed the tiny effervescent bubbles of giddiness that had been hurtling through my veins until a second ago.
I’d gained those followers because I’d been lying to my audience. Granted, it wasn’t a malicious lie, and it didn’t hurt anybody, but guilt ate at me all the same.
“Like I said, that had nothing to do with our decision. But it’s a bonus.” Luisa cleared her throat. “Anyway, I have to run to a meeting, but look over the contract and discuss it with Brady. We sent a copy to him as well, so let us know if you have any questions.”
“I will, thank you.” I hung up in time to place my order. I’d finally reached the front of the line, but I was so buzzed I was no longer hungry, so I just ordered a tea and a croissant.
By the time I returned to the Mirage, I’d drowned my guilt over my fake relationship with justifications and euphoria from landing the Delamonte deal.
I was going to be their new brand ambassador. Me, Stella Alonso, the face of one of the world’s top luxury brands.
Not only was it a six-figure deal, but it’d open doors to more opportunities than I could dream of. I could up my base rates, network with—
The turn of my doorknob sent me crashing back to earth.
It was locked, which meant it’d been unlocked before I put my key in.
My high evaporated, replaced with an eerie crawling sensation up the back of my neck.
I was ninety percent sure I’d locked my door on my way out. Was I remembering wrong? The Mirage had never had a break-in, but…
I glanced around the empty hallway, the eerie sensation intensifying. I grabbed my taser from my bag before I unlocked the door and inched through my apartment. Part of me felt ridiculous; the other part screamed at me in warning.
I found nothing amiss in the living room, kitchen, bathroom, or Jules’s old room. The only place left to check was my bedroom.
I slowly pushed open the door.
At first, everything looked normal. Untouched bed, closed windows, no open drawers or upended furniture.
I was on the verge of relaxing when my gaze snagged on the item waiting for me on my nightstand.
And I screamed.
