Ace came over the next day. He was always in our house—it felt like he belonged here more than I did sometimes.
He walked in like he owned the place, hoodie slung over one shoulder, backpack half-zipped. I was in the kitchen, trying to dodge Mom’s sudden obsession with planning future shoots.
When he saw me, his eyes narrowed. “Is it true?”
I raised a brow. “What?”
He held up a copy of the magazine, folded to my page. “That you’re famous now.”
I smirked. “Hardly.”
He tilted his head. “You look… different.”
“Good different?”
Ace didn’t answer right away. He stepped closer, his eyes scanning my face. “Grown up different.”
My stomach flipped.
“Guess that’s what makeup and lighting does.”
He shook his head. “Nah. That’s all you.”
For a second, neither of us said anything.
Then he added, “You really want to do this? Modeling?”
I nodded. “More than anything.”
He looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time. “Then do it. Don’t let anyone talk you out of it.”
His words stayed with me long after he left.
Later, I looked at the magazine again.
I didn’t see just a pretty face.
I saw a girl fighting for space. For her voice. For herself.
And maybe, just maybe, she was starting to win.
Chapter 3
Brittany
The Past (Age 18)
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From the moment I saw the wardrobe rack, my stomach twisted into knots.
"Brittany, darling, it's tasteful," my mom said breezily, thumbing through the sheer fabrics and lace lingerie like she was shopping for a brunch outfit, not parading her daughter half-naked in front of a camera.
I wrapped my arms around myself. "I don't want to do this."
"You’re being dramatic," she snapped, shooting a tight smile at the photographer hovering nearby. "This will boost your profile. You want to be successful, don’t you?"
I wanted to cry. No—I wanted to scream. But the words caught in my throat.
