Sophie’s POV

Modeling wasn’t the ideal job I would have chosen, but it would give me something I couldn’t find anywhere else.

Protection.

I would be around people all the time, and that would make it impossible for Antonio to reach me.

Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.

Here I am in a tiny corset, so tight I can only take a half breath. Instead of the normal thong others had to wear, I opted for tight leather pants to match my corset. A woman did my hair and makeup, transforming me into a woman I could hardly recognize.

It took me thirty minutes to come to terms that I was doing this. The mascara was too heavy for my eyelids.

I look different.

I breathe in deeply. It soothes me, and I say a word of encouragement to myself, reminding myself that I’m only doing this for protection. The company will want to protect its brand and won’t let anything happen to a model under its watch.

You can do this.

What other option did I have? I’m making money with my body. But when you are running from a psychopath and you don’t have that many choices, you take what you are given.

The other girls are perfect, they’re tall, confident, and bold in their matching bras and thongs.

They are excited as they speak to each other. I’m the odd one out here, in my full clothes like on the day of the audition. They look like models, and I doubt I will be selected for this time.

“It’s time,” a woman in glasses announces. We are in an empty hall. It’s well-decorated, just like a runway show.

The girls file into a line, starting from number one. I am to go last. I wonder if it has something to do with the odd look I have.

We were about to file out when the girls started whispering amongst themselves. I had to strain my ears to hear what they were whispering about.

“He is here,” one of them says.

“Him, who?” the other answer, straightening to look ahead.

It turns dead silent in the hall; I don’t think anyone was breathing. The girls sucked in their stomachs, ready to impress whoever was coming.

I straighten my posture and mimic them as much as possible, but it won’t stop me from feeling like a fool. I don’t know how to be desirable like these women, it’s just a plain me.

The silence around me continues to stretch endlessly like everyone is afraid to breathe too loud. I haven’t seen a room become this tense in my life. It’s like they were waiting for a king.

Unbelievable.

The doors swing at the exact time, opening the entryway. The silhouette of a man appears, in a black suit. A man with broad shoulders and an endless powerful presence enters the hall.

I feel his presence from where I’m standing, he fills the air with his potent authority, and I feel it with every breath I take.

A petite woman runs quietly behind him, a clipboard in her hands. She stays just a few feet behind him and looks like a model too.

Once his face is away from the spotlight, his features become finally visible. His chin is chiseled and smooth, his hands rest in his pocket as he stands like he’s modeling himself.

He holds himself with more grace than all of us combined, and all eyes are on him. He knows it, but he doesn’t seem affected by it.

He takes a special seat reserved for him. Everyone is set in motion and ready to walk, but my eyes are stuck on him for a reason.

He is handsome.

He looks like the kind of man who will make you do anything, just by looking at you.

The woman in charge addresses us again; I snap my eyes away from him to focus on her.

“Now that Mr. Black is here, we can begin,” she says.

She rattles off instructions about numbers, but I can’t concentrate, not when a man as gorgeous as that is in the same room as me.

Music starts playing from the speakers. My eyes look at the spot where he sits, but I can’t make out much of his features. His gray eyes slightly reflect the lights coming from the hall, and it seems he’s staring straight at me.

That must be in my head.

The woman gestures for the models to start moving.

Number one goes, strutting to the edge of the stage. She doesn’t falter. She turns and walks back, her entire ass out is for the entire hall to see, and she doesn’t even feel remotely uncomfortable with that.

I keep my posture straight, but my feet were killing me now. I opted for the three-inch heels, and I couldn’t even wear the damn thing. How do models bear the discomfort and still maintain their confidence while walking?

Number two goes.

My eyes move back to the figure in the audience. His elbows rest on the armrests, and his hands come together in the center of his chest. His face is hidden in the shadows, but there is no mistake in what he’s looking at.

Me.

He’s looking at me.

The second model does what she can, and he misses the entire performance

Why is he staring at me?

The third candidate takes off, but his gray eyes are locked on mine, not even blinking. He stares at me with a gaze so intense that I consider it hostile. It isn’t clear if he hates me or wants me.

The fourth model leaves, yet his eyes are still on me.

I turn away, his heated gaze becoming too much. I feel so vulnerable, like prey in the den of lions. I can feel him watching me, even though I can’t see him.

I feel like he can see right through me, see all my fears and doubts. Like he can read my mind, feel every emotion wafting from me. He can sense my weakness from a mile away.

He may be beautiful, but his gaze is terrifying.

He’s a few feet away from me, but his presence projects so far that it seems like he’s standing in front of me, breathing down on my neck. The lights are not helping, they put me on display, so I can do nothing but stand and take his stare.

I was already too nervous to walk in these painful heels, not less when he is staring at me like that. I didn’t feel as bold as I felt earlier.

I feel like a mess.

Number six sets off, only that she doesn’t make it through the stage. I hear his loud voice as if he’s speaking with a microphone.

“You are dismissed,” he says simply.

They all look at each other confused, and I’m confused too. I wasn’t given a chance.

The woman in charge is shocked, so she jumps into action immediately.

“Please head back, thank you for coming,” she says.

I turn around to go like the others when his voice comes again, “Except number ten.”

I stand shocked, and so do the other girls before they all turn to look at me with murderous gazes.

I catch the woman in charge, whispering. “This has never happened before,” she says to herself.

Silence issues once again as I’m left alone on the stage. I can hear the sound of my heart beating.

And it’s too loud.