Chapter 26 Cover Girl Wars III
\-Celeste-
I knew she was trouble the moment she stepped into the studio, and now her very presence in my booth nearly ruined me.
I took a deep breath and exhaled, reminding myself why I was here in the first place.
“I can’t let that psycho ruin that.”
With that, I headed to the changing room. So far, I had learned that the dresses for the shoot weren’t just randomly picked, they were from designers who wanted me to showcase their outfit.
I grinned at the thought, maybe being the Ashford heiress wasn’t so bad after all.
The wardrobe helped me into a bright emerald-green dress from Corvella—in this world, knowing brand names mattered. It was almost too tight and revealing, but the team said the color drew the sea out of my eyes, and that was enough to give me a little confidence I didn’t know I needed.
When I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt like a whole new person. I headed to the set, where a makeshift kitchen was already waiting. All I had to do was shine.
The shoot began, and even though Bianca’s presence lingered past the cameras and directors, I kept moving, tilting my chin when they asked, and holding a whisk midair as if I’d just stirred a batter, leaning against the counter like it was mine.
The lights flashed in bursts, the music pulsed through the studio, and I let my movement blend into the rhythm. For a while, it was just me, the camera, and the emerald dress catching every angle.
“That’s perfect, Celeste,” Mr. Miller clapped his hands, then told the crew to slide the counter aside. In its place, a glossy oven was rolled in. Then an assistant placed a tray with dessert props in my hands.
“Now, you’re going to bend forward, slide it in gracefully, chin toward us, eyes over the shoulder.”
I followed, lowering the tray into the oven as directed, back arched as the cameras clicked. The dress pulled tight across my hips, but I was too immersed in the moment to care.
That was when it happened.
Rip.
The sound sliced through the studio as the zipper split from the base of my back upward, fabric peeling open to reveal far more than it should. Before I could even collect myself, my thong flashed under the lights, leaving me momentarily exposed.
Gasps erupted.
Someone dropped a clipboard.
My heart crashed into my chest as the dress loosened around me. I jerked upright, hands flying back to cover myself, cheeks burning. I just wanted the earth to open and swallow me whole.
The wardrobe team rushed in, shielding me as they hurriedly led me off the stage. My heart pounded in my chest as I glanced at the mortified faces on their faces.
Behind the cameras, Bianca stood like a shadow, arms crossed, chin high with a smug expression on her face.
Did she do this? My mind reeled.
While I was still trying to process, Denise barked at the team, and even Director Grant Miller wasn’t spared.
“A malfunctioning dress? Do you realize how embarrassing that was?! You should fire everyone involved!”
She even threatened to sue him. But somewhere at the back of my mind, I knew this was exactly what Bianca wanted.
“That’s enough, Denise,” I said with fatigue. I rubbed my forehead, slumped into the chair, and leaned my cheek in my hand, trying to make sense of what had just happened. “Mr. Miller, no more shoots. Please move the interview up so I can get the hell out of here.”
His eyes widened, as he shuffled papers frantically. “Yes… yes, I’ll do just that!” He stammered, scrabbling to comply.
Half an hour later, I was seated across the interviewer, painfully aware of all the surrounding eyes, the same ones that had just seen me nearly naked.
The man began his questions, flashing a wide smile like he wasn’t laughing at me in his head. I smiled back as I answered them, composed and unbothered.
They were mostly safe topics, cake shop, schedules, rehearsed lines.
“Alright, Celeste,” he said, his eyes glinted with something I couldn’t quite place, mischief or interest, maybe?
“I’m going to ask the next three questions together. You might want to brace yourself, they’re personal.” He grinned.
Personal? My stomach dropped as the room went still. I didn’t approve of this.
He didn’t wait for my response, like he was too eager to know the answers.
“First, your family says your mother is dead, then how do you explain that photo of her in an asylum? Second, your public drunken scene, with your recent outburst. Thirdly, your sister once had a meltdown in public. Do you think mental illness runs in your family, and if so, shouldn’t the public know?” He spat out the words like they had no meaning.
He waited for a split second then mercilessly added, “Or are you going to keep hiding it for the family’s sake?”
The words cut through me like a blade as my throat went dry. Was this some kind of public humiliation? What were these questions? My heart pounded.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Denise surge forward, but then Mr. Miller held her back like a handler. Like this was exactly what he wanted.
Her faced twisted into a mask of fury and worry as she screamed in his face, but everything had suddenly gone numb. The only thing I could hear was the faint tinging in my ears.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came. Suddenly, the lights grew too bright, and sounds returned, this time sharp and sensitive, my breathing, the clicking of the man’s pen, the rustle of the program in his hands. I gripped the couch, trying to still myself, until my knuckles began to hurt.
“Celeste?” he called, snapping me back to reality. “A yes or no will do.”
Did people really enjoy watching me look pathetic? Why? Was this entire thing just a trap to disgrace me? To make me look like I was nothing without the Ashford name? Maybe those assistants were right, I didn’t deserve any of these.
At the moment, panic coursed through me in waves I couldn’t control.
My chest tightened. I gasped for air that didn’t come, and my breath turned shaky, fingers tingling till my limbs went weak, and till the room blurred.
The interviewer’s questions echoed in my ears, so much so that I had to press my hands against my ears. Next, I saw Denise struggling with the crew members, trying to rush forward. The sight made my panic spike higher, I just couldn’t hold it back any longer.
“Cut! Cut!” someone finally shouted. Lights flashed brightly, cameras turned, hands guided me up from the chair. My body trembled violently as I fought to catch my breath.
Then I saw Bianca, standing at the back, phone raised, recording everything. My heart stopped.
Before I could react, someone smacked the phone out of her hand. The sudden movement, the sound, the weight of everything crashing at once… I couldn’t hold on.
The world went dark and I fainted.