Sayir Slain's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Sayir left the pavilion with two wants pulling at her, but the runway one had a deadline. Her mentor summoned her that afternoon. So she drove to the boutique agency with white concrete and glass, where her mother's oldest friend ran the fashion world from a corner office. Valentina Summers had built empires there. Today she had called Sayir in for a fitting and a signature. Inside, black petal-shaped chairs flanked a low table with fresh flowers. Sayir sank into one. Valentina studied her over the rim of her glasses. "You walk in like you own the floor," she said, low and dry. "Your mother did the same. She never noticed she was doing it." Before Sayir could answer, the glass door swung open. Katina Marcull stepped through in a tight magenta dress, gold heels loud on the floor. Kaito's ex. The woman who blamed Sayir for losing him. She carried a folder like a trophy. "Valentina, darling," Katina said, sweet and flat. "I heard the French campaign needs a fresh face. I brought my portfolio. Sayir's look is everywhere. People get tired." She set the folder on the table beside the flowers. "I could carry her name into something new. Modernize it." Valentina didn't touch the folder. A young woman stood near the wall, coffee cup in hand, watching. Milan Cruz, Valentina's assistant, a model herself, nineteen and razor-sharp. She looked at Katina the way a cat looks at a moth. "You want to carry her name," Valentina repeated. She smiled without warmth. "Darling, a name isn't a purse. Sayir earned hers on ten runways before you learned to contour. You don't inherit a legend by standing near it." Katina's polish cracked. "She hides behind those clothes. Anyone could do what she does." "Then do it," Milan said from the wall. Cool. Even. "The billboard shoot is Thursday. Fourteen hours, no retouching on set. Sayir booked it last month." She sipped her coffee. "You'd fold by hour three." Sayir stayed quiet. She let them see it. Katina had come to take a shortcut, and the two people who mattered had already said no. Valentina slid a contract across the table to Sayir. "The French campaign is yours. I want your face on that billboard by Friday." She looked at Katina. "The door works both ways." Katina snatched her folder and left. Her heels snapped against the glass as the door closed. Sayir signed. The pen felt heavier than she expected. She had the campaign, the billboard, the name she'd built. But signing meant Thursday. Fourteen hours of cameras, of eyes on the surface she used as armor. Milan crossed the room and shook her hand. "I've studied you for years," she said. "You make it look effortless." Effortless. The word landed wrong. Nobody here had asked the real question either. Only Kaito had. And now she'd locked herself into the exact thing that kept him at a distance.