Flare Ups

Flare Ups

Elona

The elevator doors slid open onto the fifth floor of VFS, and I stepped out with my gym bag slung over one shoulder. The polished white floors reflected the overhead lights so perfectly that it almost hurt to look at them. Everything inside this building was pristine, perfect, and spotless. Nothing inside me felt the same.

My body moved on instinct more than anything else. One foot in front of the other. I smiled when someone looked my way. I kept my shoulders back. I kept my chin level. This was me being a model, surviving on repeat.

My phone felt heavier than usual inside my bag.

Rowan Patel is dead.

No matter how many times I replayed Tristan’s message in my mind, the words refused to settle into something believable. Rowan had been alive two days ago. He had been sitting across the dinner table from us, having dinner while Tristan argued with him. Now he was gone.

I swallowed the lump growing in my throat and continued to walk towards the changing rooms. Heels were striking polished floors. Steam hisses from industrial garment presses. Stylists were laughing somewhere down the hallway. Someone was arguing over fabric colours.

Normally, the noise grounded me. Today, it only reminded me that the world never stopped moving, no matter who died.

“Elona!” I barely had time to turn around before Jasmine appeared beside me, coffee in one hand and two paper bags in the other. “There you are.” She looked relieved. She held one of the coffees towards me. “I bought yours before I knew whether you would actually show up.”

I couldn’t believe that she bought me coffee. I didn’t expect anyone to beside Cris. “You… bought me coffee?” I asked.

“You look surprised.”

“I am.”

She shrugged one shoulder casually. “You have looked like someone carrying the world on your back lately.” She studied my face thoroughly. The smile slowly disappeared. “Oh.”

“What?”

“You’ve been crying.”

I instinctively lifted my fingers to my face. “I haven’t.”

“Not today.” She spoke quietly. “But recently.”

I looked away. “I guess.”

Neither of us moved for several seconds. Then Jasmine gently nudged the coffee into my hands. “It’s vanilla.”

I looked down.

“It’s one of my favorites, and Chocolate cake is my all-time favorite if you want to get me anything with my coffee.”

“I know.”

“You remembered?” My eyes widened in surprise.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Elona…you order the exact same thing every other time.” Despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped me. It surprised both of us. “There she is,” Jasmine smiled. “I was wondering where she had gone.”

The warmth of the cup settled into my palms.

It felt ridiculous that something so small could make me feel slightly less like I was falling apart.

We started walking towards the studios together. “Have you heard?” I asked quietly.

Her expression softened. “About Rowan?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

She sighed. “The entire building is talking about it.”

I frowned. “They are?”

“You would be surprised how obsessed people become with stories involving rich CEOs, court cases and television cameras.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I asked.

“Because you’re living through something everyone else only watches.” She was right. People watched, they speculated, they created theories, they picked sides and then they went home. I had to keep living it every single day with every headline, every accusation, every photograph, every question, every reminder of the baby we had lost.

I tightened my grip around the coffee cup. “I don’t think people realize there are actual human beings behind those stories.”

Jasmine looked at me. “I think they forget.”

I nodded slowly. “Maybe.”

By the time we reached Studio Three, almost everyone had arrived. Upon my arrival, the conversations immediately lowered. I felt it before I even looked up. Their eyes were on me, watching me and judging me. They were wondering about these stories, yet still talking.

A few girls quickly looked away when they realized I had noticed. Others weren’t nearly as subtle. One girl whispered something into another model’s ear. The second girl’s eyebrows lifted, and then they both looked at me again. I pretended not to notice. It was becoming exhausting pretending not to notice.

“Ignore them,” Jasmine muttered.

“I’m trying.”

“They are cowards.”

“I know.”

“They would never ask you anything directly.”

I smiled weakly. “Probably not.” I didn’t feel like talking much because my emotions would probably give in, and I wanted to be strong and keep myself from breaking, from breaking for Tristan’s part.

Before either of us could say anything else, the studio doors opened. Every conversation died instantly when Madame Delance walked in.

Today she wasn’t wearing one of her usual black colors. She wore an impeccably tailored charcoal suit that somehow made her seem even more intimidating. There was a leather portfolio resting beneath one arm. Her heels echoed sharply across the studio floor.

Click.

Click.

Click.

She stopped directly in front of everyone with no greeting, no smile… nothing. She simply looked at us. One by one, like she was assessing merchandise.

“I assume everyone has seen this morning’s headlines.” She finally said. Nobody answered. “I wasn’t asking.” Nobody dared to speak, the studio remained in silence. She placed the portfolio onto a table and then placed all her attention on us again, she clasped her hands behind her back.

“Whether you like it or not, VFS has become attached to this story.” She looked around the room. “Which means every photographer entering this building is now looking for mistakes.” She paused. “They are looking for exhaustion. They are looking for tears.” Her gaze landed on me. My heart raced immediately, my body stilled. “They are looking for weakness.” I couldn’t breathe for a second. “But,” she continued calmly, “They won’t find it.”

She addressed the entire room again. “You are professionals. You perform regardless of your personal circumstances. You walk regardless of heartbreak. You pose regardless of loss. You work regardless of public opinion.” Her eyes briefly met mine again. “It isn’t fair. It never will be.” Something about those words caught me off guard. She wasn’t being cruel, she wasn’t even being cold, she was simply being honest.

“Today,” she continued, “We rehearse the Autumn International Showcase from beginning to end.”

A collective groan almost escaped the room. “I heard that.”

The room was instantly silent again. Madame scanned the room. “Excellent.” She moved to the table again and opened her portfolio. “Jasmine.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Opening sequence.”

“Yes.”

“Elona.”

My stomach tightened. “Yes?”

“You will be closing.”

Several girls looked towards me. Closing the show wasn’t a small position, that was trust. Madame closed the portfolio. These girls thought that I was just going to be first or in between on the runway and campaigns or whatever else. But being last in closing is a huge thing, and that also makes me a showstopper, which I can understand how envious the girls can be…they are already envious.

“I expect perfection.” She turned towards the mirrors. “Music.”

The opening beat echoed through the studio. Everyone moved into position. I inhaled slowly with my shoulders back, my core was tight, my chin was level, and I walked, just as she taught me…us

My body knew what to do even when my mind didn’t. I put one foot in front of the other as I walked, pivoted, held my pose, turned around, and walked again. The movements had become instinct after the training we had from Madame. But today… my concentration fractured. Halfway through my second walk, Tristan appeared in my mind. His exhausted face, then the news about Rowan being dead. The courtroom, Grace, and the baby. My heel landed half an inch outside the tape marker.

“Stop.” Madame Delance’s voice cut cleanly through the music. Everything stopped. Every eye turned towards me.

Heat rushed into my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“No.”

She stepped closer. “Don’t apologize.” I frowned. She looked directly at me. “Explain.” She demanded.

“I lost concentration.”

“Why?”

I hesitated. The room waited for my answer. “My mind is somewhere else.”

She studied me for several seconds, long enough that I thought another lecture was coming. She nodded. “I know.”

The answer surprised me. “You do?”

“I read newspapers too.” She leaned in a bit and spoke quietly enough that only I could hear. “But newspapers don’t excuse poor technique.”

I nodded. “No.”

“They explain it.” She took one step back. “Again.” There was no humiliation, no insults or screaming.

I took my place once more. This time, when the music started, I forced every thought from my head. They couldn’t stay in my mind when I was a model on a stage. Madame was correct. The runway demanded everything. Anything less, it would expose you.

Before rehearsal resumed, Madame gave everyone exactly three minutes. There was no rest, and no chatting to reset. According to her, there was a difference.

The music stopped, conversations slowly returned, and the tension that had settled over the room loosened just enough for everyone to breathe again. Models drifted towards the water station, some stretching their calves while others checked their reflections in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, smoothing hair that hadn’t moved an inch.

I stayed where I was. My pulse was finally beginning to settle after stumbling over something as simple as a runway marker. My abdomen still had its dull ache, but I pushed through it, like always.

“Are you okay?” Jasmine appeared beside me with a bottle of water already in her hand. She twisted the cap off before holding it out to me. “You look pale.”

I accepted it with a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I know.”

“So?” She pushed.

I took a sip of water before answering. “I just… lost focus.”

She gave me a look that told me she wasn’t buying it. “You have been losing focus since you walked through those doors this morning.”

I lowered my eyes. “I know.”

“You haven’t eaten, have you?” I hesitated a fraction too long. Jasmine sighed dramatically. “I knew it.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“That’s not the point.” She folded her arms. “You need energy.”

“I had coffee.”

“Coffee isn’t breakfast.”

“It counts.”

“It absolutely does not.”

A tiny smile pulled at my lips. “You sound like Tristan.”

Her expression softened immediately. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

She nudged my shoulder gently. “Come on. Lunch break is in an hour. You’re eating whether you like it or not.”

“I will try.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You will.” The certainty in her voice made something warm settle inside my chest. People always talked about finding family. I never expected to find pieces of one inside a modeling academy. I always thought that Cris would always be my best friend, but with everything that has happened, she is unpredictable.

The next rehearsal ran smoother. It wasn’t because my mind had suddenly become lighter. It hadn’t, it still wandered every chance it got. My mind went to Tristan, Rowan, the hearing that Tristan is preparing for, our baby, and to the apartment that suddenly felt far too empty without Tristan in it. But every time my thoughts drifted, I dragged them back.

One step, I turned and paused, I rolled my shoulders back and kept my eyes forward and fierce. Most importantly, I breathed. I did this again and again and again.

Nearly two hours passed before Madame finally clapped once. “Lunch.” She called out.

Relief swept through the room. The girls immediately reached for phones, water bottles, and tote bags. The atmosphere shifted almost instantly from professional to normal like the rehearsals didn’t happen.

Jasmine caught my wrist before I could disappear towards my locker. “I already ordered.”

“You what?” I asked surprised.

“I know you by now, I’ve been observing you.” She smiled proudly. “If I let you choose lunch, you would buy another coffee.”

“I might’ve done that.”

“I know.” She pointed towards the cafe downstairs. “We are eating.”

“I don’t really-”

“We are eating.”

“Okay.”

She grinned victoriously. “I love it when you’re reasonable.”

“I’m not reasonable.”

“Today you are.”

We made our way downstairs, weaving through staff, models, and photographers carrying equipment from one studio to another. The cafe buzzed with conversation, coffee machines hissed, cutlery clinked against ceramic plates. Someone laughed loudly near the windows. For a moment, it almost felt normal.

We found a quiet table tucked into the corner. Jasmine placed two toasted chicken sandwiches onto the table before sliding one towards me. “You already paid?” I asked.

“I did.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

“I will pay you back.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please, let this be my treat, you can get the next one.”

I let out a sigh. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” She smiled to herself with the deal.

I looked down at the sandwich. My stomach wasn’t asking for food. If anything, it felt twisted into impossible knots. But yet I still picked it up and took one bite and then another.

Jasmine smiled without saying a word. “What?”

“I’m pretending I didn’t have to force you.”

“I would’ve eaten.”

“When?” She asked.

“Eventually.”

She laughed. “Exactly.”

For a few peaceful minutes, neither of us spoke. We simply just ate. It was nice and comfortable until voices from the neighbouring table drifted across the cafe.

“Did you see him outside court?”

“I saw the videos.”

“They say he could lose everything.”

“I heard she was pregnant.”

“No, apparently that’s just a rumor.”

“They looked so in love in those paparazzi photos.”

“That’s always how these stories start.”

“I wonder if he’s actually guilty.”

My hands froze around my sandwich. Every muscle in my body tensed. Jasmine heard it too. I knew she had because her jaw tightened. She slowly looked towards the group of girls. There were four of them. They were not part of our group. They seemed young and completely unaware that the person they were discussing sat barely three metres away.

One of them noticed me. Her face drained of color. “Oh…”

Another followed her gaze, and then the other girls’ gaze fell on me. Silence spread across their table. One girl looked genuinely embarrassed. “I’m… sorry.”

I offered a small smile. “It happens.”

“No,” she said quietly. “It shouldn’t.”

Nobody spoke after that. They gathered their trays and left much more quickly than they probably intended. Jasmine watched them disappear. “I should’ve said something.”

“What would’ve been the point?” I shrugged.

“They were talking about your life.”

“I know.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?” She asked, concerned.

I stared down at my plate. “It does.” My voice came out quieter than I expected. “It hurts.”

She reached across the table, resting her hand gently over mine. “I can’t imagine.”

“I don’t think anyone can.”

My eyes drifted towards the window. Cars continued moving outside. People walked past carrying shopping bags. Life carried on. “I keep wondering when we will get our lives back.”

Jasmine squeezed my hand. “You will.”

“I hope so.”

“No.” She smiled gently. “You will.”

“I don’t even know what normal looks like anymore.”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she looked at me with an expression full of quiet understanding. “I don’t think life gives us our old normal back.”

“What then?”

“It gives us a different one.”

I swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I’m ready for different.”

“You won’t have a choice.”

I laughed softly through my nose. “You sound wise.”

“I’m always wise.” That earned another genuine laugh from me. I don’t know her that much, so maybe she was wise all the time.

“You know,” she said after a moment, “I’m really glad you laughed.”

“I forgot what it sounded like.”

“It sounds nice.”

“So does yours.”

She smiled. “Good.”

We finished lunch slowly, talking about anything except court. She told me one of the makeup artists had accidentally sprayed dry shampoo all over a designer’s black suit that morning. I laughed. She reenacted the horrified expression on the designer’s face so dramatically that I nearly choked on my drink. For five whole minutes, I wasn’t thinking about grief, headline, lawyers or Rowan. I was simply…Elona.

The afternoon rehearsals were more technical. We did turns, timing, partner positioning, and lighting cues. Every detail mattered. Madame walked continuously around the studio, making notes on her clipboard. Occasionally, she would stop someone, adjust a shoulder, correct a hand position, and tell another model to breathe. She rarely raised her voice, she didn’t need to. Her presence alone commanded attention.

Halfway through the final run, my ache settled low in my abdomen. I tried to ignore it. At first, it was nothing more than a dull pressure, an uncomfortable heaviness, something I had lived with for years. I shifted my weight slightly before stepping onto the runway again.

I walked, turned, and smiled. The ache lingered, and then it spread across my pelvis, down my hips, and into my lower back. It was a slow burn, it wasn’t an unbearable ache, it was just persistent. The kind of pain that quietly stole your concentration one piece at a time. I inhaled carefully.

Don’t let it show.

I refused to let anyone see it.

By the time rehearsal ended nearly two hours later, my lower back felt stiff, and every step carried a faint reminder that my body was once again demanding attention I wasn’t ready to give it.

“Everyone dismissed,” Madame announced.

The room immediately erupted into relieved conversation. I bent slowly to pick up my gym bag. The simple movement made the ache flare just enough for me to wince. It disappeared almost as quickly as it came. I hoped nobody had noticed. All I wanted to do was get out of here, take a shower, and get into bed.

Author's Note:

Hi, with my full time job, I’m the only person that has to sit with a backlog and unfortunately my manager is not recruiting more staff, I have pressure, so automatically it does affect my ability to update. Trust me I want to, but my full time job is my first priority. Updates for this story won’t be each day only when I get the chance to. This book is far from being done, but I’m thinking of finishing the “book 3” with an epilogue and if you want to read book 4, it will be available on Zon probably next year, book 4 will focus on their married life. On platforms this book is one book, but on Zon its split into a 4 book series with a novella which I will add here as the bonus when I complete the story on here. You can also join my F@cebook group “Straight to the forbidden point” for last minute announcements because I hardly get the time read comments on platforms. I love Tristan and Elona and I strive for this to be perfect but also I cannot control the amount of work I get for my full time job and that is something I do not wish to lose because they do monitor me on the system. So thank you for understanding and for your patience. I appreciate it. Much love. PS I will schedule two more chapters already written for tomorrow and Wednesday and then it's to find time again to write the next chapters.