The sun rose with a crisp golden sheen over the city, casting a soft brilliance across the plains. Ebony sat in the backseat of the sleek black SUV, wedged between garment bags and travel cases, watching the city unfold. Louis was at the wheel, confidently navigating the roads, while Sabine, poised and silent, sat beside him, sunglasses perched on her face like a crown. She hadn't said much since they left, but her presence, calm and commanding, was unmistakable.
They arrived at the photoshoot location just outside the city, a scenic reserve transformed into a fashion set: white tents billowed in the breeze, lighting rigs stood like metal trees, and stylists, assistants, and photographers moved like dancers in a well-choreographed routine.
The rest of the team had flown in for this shoot, and it showed. Everything was polished. Perfect.
Ebony stepped out, heart thudding. She wasn't just the outsider anymore. She was one of the models.
Antoine was already there, dressed casually in charcoal tones that made him look like he belonged in black and white film. He glanced up from a monitor and, catching sight of them, motioned them over.
"Louis, Sabine," he greeted curtly, giving Sabine an approving nod. "Ebony."
She straightened unconsciously under his gaze.
"Come," he said, leading them toward the other models.
Three of them stood near a makeup tent, laughing and sipping something cold. Antoine made quick introductions.
The first was Lin; petite, with glossy black hair cascading down her back and a glowing complexion with delicate, unmistakable Asian features. She was instantly warm, smiling at Ebony like an old friend.
Next was Jess, a brunette with a sculpted, almost aristocratic face and electric hazel eyes. She offered a curt but polite nod.
And then there was Damon.
Ebony had seen beautiful people before, but Damon was… different. With platinum blonde hair swept back and pale blue eyes that shimmered like sea glass, he looked more like a living artwork than a model. He gave a single, elegant nod in her direction.
Before Ebony could say anything, she noticed the sudden shift in energy.
Lin's jaw dropped slightly. Jess leaned toward Damon.
"Is that…?" she whispered.
"Sabine Moreau," Damon murmured in a reverent tone. "She used to walk all the major fashion weeks."
"She was the moment," Jess added. "And now she styles? Antoine really brought her here?"
Sabine gave a small, amused smile as she caught their stares and adjusted her sunglasses with unbothered ease.
Antoine turned to Louis for a brief exchange about logistics; timing, shot order, lighting, angles. Then he pulled Ebony aside.
"This is not a game, Ebony," he said quietly, but firmly. "This shoot will be in our lookbook. It is the spring feature. The best of the best will see this. I brought you here because I see something. But you need to bring your A-game. Today is about skill. You will shoot last. Observe. Learn. Then show me."
She nodded, nerves and resolve swirling in her chest like a storm.
The shoot began.
Lin went first. Off-camera, she was almost childlike; giggling with the makeup artist, twirling in the sunlight. But the moment she stepped in front of the camera, something shifted. She was a goddess. Her body moved like silk in the wind. She didn't pose she existed. The fabric of the spring dress clung and flowed like it had been made for her. She gave the camera her eyes, her angles, her soul.
Jess was next. More controlled, more statuesque. Her features were so sharply defined that every tilt of her chin looked like a portrait. She gave soft drama; whispers of movement, glances full of meaning. With a flower pinned behind her ear and a backless satin gown that rippled like water, she looked like an old Hollywood siren reborn in the African light.
Then Damon. The camera adored him. His presence was magnetic, androgynous, ethereal. One moment he was a prince, the next an angel. He barely moved, and yet every shot pulsed with emotion. A sheer shirt and pale trousers turned him into something otherworldly; part dream, part myth.
Finally, it was Ebony's turn.
They pulled her into the makeup tent. Her hair was slicked back, revealing her high cheekbones and fierce brow. Her makeup was bold but elegant; lines, earth tones, gold accents that made her skin gleam like polished bronze.
She stepped onto the set in a flowing green and ivory gown that kissed the ground with every step.
At first, she was hyper-aware of everything; the lights, the camera clicks, the eyes watching. But then she remembered Antoine's words.
Bring your A-game.
She exhaled slowly. Let her shoulders drop. And stepped into herself.
Her movements turned fluid. Her eyes told stories of longing, defiance, wonder. The fabric obeyed her body, catching wind just when she wanted it. She gave the camera fire. And softness. And mystery.
The photographer murmured approval. Click after click, she felt herself come alive.
Sabine, watching from behind the lens, gave a small smile.
Antoine folded his arms but said nothing. His gaze was unreadable.
Then came the final shoot.
Ebony and Damon stepped in together. They walked onto the frame as polar opposites, he in white and dove gray, she in emerald and gold. The contrast was breathtaking.
Dark and light. Earth and cloud. Fire and mist.
But instead of clashing, they coexisted in harmony. Yin and yang. He stood, she moved. She grounded, he floated. Their energies fed into each other like opposites in balance. The contrast was immediate… stunning. His pale presence beside her dark radiance. Two beings on opposite ends of the spectrum, and yet not competing but complementing.
They moved in sync. A touch on the shoulder. A brush of fingers. Her strength, his softness. His stillness, her motion. A visual poem of balance.
When the photographer finally called "cut," the team broke into applause.
Ebony stepped off the set, her heart racing not just from the adrenaline, but from something else.
For the first time in a long while, she didn't feel like the outsider anymore.
She felt like she belonged.
The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting warm honeyed tones over the grasslands. The tents fluttered gently in the breeze, and the hum of camera equipment winding down was replaced by laughter, clinking glasses, and the low rhythm of a speaker someone had hooked up near the catering table.
With the shoot wrapped, the atmosphere shifted into something more relaxed.
Models slipped into comfortable clothes, oversized hoodies over couture, and sneakers replacing heels. The crew buzzed with post-job satisfaction, passing around wine, soda, and late lunch from buffet trays that had been untouched during the long hours of shooting.
Ebony sat on a fold-out chair near the edge of the main tent, sipping from a chilled glass of mango juice, still glowing from the rush of her session. She felt something unfamiliar but welcome settling over her.
Belonging.
Lin plopped down beside her with a plate full of grilled skewers. "You were amazing," she said, not even trying to hide her enthusiasm. "Like, honestly? You've either done this before or you were a goddess in a past life."
Ebony laughed, startled and flattered. "First major shoot, actually."
Lin paused, blinking. "No. Shut up."
"I swear," Ebony smiled. "Sabine taught me how to walk in heels… three weeks ago."
Lin put a hand to her chest in mock betrayal. "Okay, now I really hate you."
That made Ebony laugh even harder.
Across from them, Damon leaned against one of the poles, sipping wine and looking like he'd stepped out of a fragrance ad. Jess stood beside him, her arms crossed, watching the girls interact with a soft smile.
Then Louis approached, holding two glasses of soda.
"Thirsty, Lady boss?" he asked, offering one to Jess.
Ebony blinked. "Wait.. Lady boss?"
Jess gave her a smirk. "Yeah, Antoine is my older brother. I used to sneak into his castings when he was scouting models. That's how I got signed, he made the mistake of taking me along once, and someone else noticed me."
Ebony shook her head in wonder. "That's wild. You two don't look anything alike."
"That's the idea," Louis quipped.
As they bantered, Lin pointed at Ebony with her skewer. "You were asking about me earlier, sorry, I talk too much. I used to do ballet. That's probably why I pose like I'm doing pirouettes half the time."
"Oh," Ebony said, light dawning. "That makes so much sense now."
"Yeah, I only started modelling two years ago," Lin added, munching on her snack. "Before that, I was working backstage helping dress people, like Sabine level people."
Ebony turned to her, eyes wide. "Seriously?"
"Mhm. She once zipped up a gown on Naomi. I watched from behind a clothes rack and nearly fainted."
Sabine, overhearing this as she passed, arched an amused brow behind her sunglasses. "You didn't faint, but you did drop an entire tray of safety pins."
Lin grinned. "You remember!"
"How could I forget?" Sabine replied smoothly, before moving on, her presence leaving a wake of quiet awe.
A little later, Antoine wandered into their circle, no longer giving instructions, just watching the group from the edge. His shirt sleeves were still rolled, his stance relaxed, but his eyes were sharp.
"All right, everyone," he said. "Tomorrow we pack and head back to Paris, but tonight you can relax. You earned it."
The crew began to drift toward the tables for dinner, the sounds of clinking silverware and easy laughter growing louder as the sky turned lilac.
Ebony lingered just a little behind the others, watching the team she was now a part of. Her heart was full, her mind spinning, but in the best way. On the side she saw Antoine approach her.
"Walk with me," he said.
They moved away from the cluster of tents, their footsteps soft against the earth, the sounds of laughter and plates clinking fading behind them.
After a beat of silence, Antoine spoke, his voice low and measured.
"Louis told me your travel documents should be finalized within three weeks."
Ebony blinked. "That soon?"
"Yes," he said with a crispness that left no room for uncertainty. "Things move fast in this business. You need to be ready."
She nodded slowly.
"You'll be coming to France," he continued, "and when you do, I expect you to have taken your French lessons seriously. You'll be working in a country where the language isn't just culture, it's currency."
Ebony swallowed. "I've been practicing. Every night."
"Good. Keep going. Learn everything you can. Watch, listen, absorb." He turned to look at her fully now, and his eyes were focused, cutting past the nerves she was trying to hide. "You have something rare. But raw talent only gets you through the door. To stay, you sharpen."
Ebony's heart pounded a little louder in her ears, but she kept her eyes on him.
He gestured subtly toward the vast, dusky sky. "Once the lookbook is out, people will start to notice. In a country where almost everyone is light, your presence won't be quiet. You'll stand out whether you like it or not."
She lowered her gaze slightly, unsure how to respond.
"And that visibility," he added, "isn't just attention, it's weight. You need to carry yourself like someone who belongs in every room she enters. Not with arrogance. With certainty."
Ebony exhaled, the corners of her lips lifting faintly in something between awe and disbelief. "It still doesn't feel real."
Antoine's voice softened slightly. "It will. And when it does… don't waste it."
She looked up at him, the golden haze of the setting sun casting a soft glow around them. "Yes," she said quietly, almost to herself. "Okay."
Then firmer: "Yes."
He gave a small, approving nod. "Good."
For a moment, they simply stood there in the quiet of the twilight, the conversation pressing down on her shoulders like a cloak.
And when he finally turned to walk back toward the others, Ebony remained a moment longer, staring out into the horizon where her future had just become a little clearer and a lot more real.
***
The airport buzzed around her; polished tiles reflecting the blur of footsteps, scattered voices layered over the mechanical announcements echoing from overhead. Ebony sat near the departure gate, passport tucked between her palms like it might disappear if she loosened her grip.
Louis was nearby, phone to his ear, confirming arrival details in France. Everything had moved so quickly. Too quickly.
It was easier than she'd imagined, only because Louis had handled most of it. Paperwork, appointments, fast-tracked clearances. He made it all look effortless, like she was just checking boxes on a form instead of rewriting the direction of her life.
Her mind wasn't in the terminal. It was drifting backward, carried by memory like dry leaves on a breeze.
This place had never felt like home, not really. Not the way it should have.
In the village, she'd been reduced to a shadow. The "too tall" girl with "strange" eyes and "no worth." Her own mother had called her lucky that anyone would take her. Then the marriage, the rejection, the whispered insults that felt like screams. When she was cast out, no one came running. Not even her mother. Not her siblings.
Did they think of her? Wonder where she'd gone?
Or had they considered her removal a blessing? A closed chapter. A problem solved.
Ebony stared out at the tarmac, the sun glaring off the metal skin of the plane that would soon carry her to another world. She didn't feel triumphant. She didn't even feel bitter. Just… hollow in places she hadn't realized were still bruised.
What was left for her here?
Only one good memory came to mind, and even that wasn't a memory so much as a turning point. A moment when someone had looked at her and seen something she couldn't even name. Not pity. Not charity. But potential.
Antoine had walked in, dark-eyed and unreadable, and in his blunt way, handed her a lifeline. He didn't coddle. He didn't flatter. But he chose her.
And somehow, in a country where she'd been overlooked, erased, and dismissed, that had been the only time she felt seen.
She closed her eyes briefly, letting herself imagine what might wait for her on the other side. France. Fashion. A career. A name.
Would she ever come back?
She wasn't sure. Maybe someday. But not for long. Not to stay. She had nothing to prove to anyone here.
Maybe home wasn't a place at all. Maybe it was the feeling of being wanted, of being chosen, and maybe, for the first time, she had a shot at finding it elsewhere.
Louis returned with a reassuring smile and a nod. "They're ready for us."
Ebony stood, fingers tightening on her passport one last time before she slipped it into her bag. She took one final look around the terminal, then walked toward the gate.
She didn't look back.
***
The air in France felt different.
Cooler. Crisper. As if the sky had been rinsed of all the weight she'd been carrying.
Ebony stepped off the airport shuttle, her breath catching slightly as the city opened before her. Paris was a collage of white-stone buildings, lacework balconies, and soft, hurried footsteps on cobbled streets. Everything felt layered and old, yet alive. She didn't know what she expected, but it wasn't this strange combination of beauty and movement. It wasn't how quietly loud everything was.
Louis hailed a cab with a raised hand, and they slid into the back seat with her single suitcase nestled between them. He didn't speak much, letting her take it in.
It was almost evening when they pulled up to the apartment complex.
The building wasn't grand, but it had charm; tall, elegant, weathered in a dignified way. Ebony followed Louis through the narrow hallway and up in a creaky elevator to the fifth floor. Her new home sat behind a dark green door with a gold number 5C.
When Louis opened it, her breath caught.
The apartment was small, yes, but impossibly tidy. Warm wooden floors, white walls, and soft yellow light from a corner lamp. A compact kitchenette stood ready with sleek appliances, the fridge already stocked. There was a narrow bed, a desk by the window, a tiny round table with a single chair, and a narrow balcony that opened to a view of rust-coloured rooftops.
It wasn't luxury, but it felt… safe. This was her very first home.
Louis turned to her, hands in his coat pockets. "Rest this weekend," he said in his usual calm tone. "On Monday, you'll begin at Étoile de Verre. Until then, go out. Walk around. Get used to the streets, the sounds. Practice your French. The storekeepers are usually patient, well, most of them."
Ebony nodded, still clutching the strap of her bag.
"Oh," he added, stepping out, "and don't forget: people will start recognizing you soon. Better to start carrying yourself like someone who belongs."
With that, he left her in the doorway, and she stood there in the fading light, barely able to believe it.
That night, she didn't unpack right away. She sat on the edge of the bed, shoes still on, hands resting on her knees. Through the open balcony doors came the faint sound of a violin from somewhere below and the smell of baking bread.
Is this really my life now?
The next two days blurred in quiet steps. She wandered the neighborhood, sometimes getting lost on purpose, staring at shopfronts and bakeries, listening to the lilt of a language she barely grasped. She rehearsed greetings in her head and eventually bought a baguette from a corner boulangerie, blushing through every word. The cashier smiled gently and corrected her pronunciation.
It was small, but she took it as a win.
By Sunday night, she was restless.
And then Monday came.
Louis picked her up at 9 a.m. sharp and they took the Metro together. She wore plain black pants and a soft blue blouse. Her braids were pulled back neatly, lips glossed, spine straight.
"Not too big," Louis had said of Étoile de Verre.
He had to be joking.
The building was massive. Towering glass and silver panels caught the morning light, reflecting clouds and sky. The name Étoile de Verre shimmered elegantly on the entrance.
Ebony paused, lips parted slightly.
Louis glanced at her. "Impressive, huh?"
She nodded slowly. "It's like a palace."
He smirked. "Well, it's fashion. Let's hope you're ready for it."
Her fingers twitched at her sides. She didn't know if she was ready. But she was here. And there was only one direction left to move: forward.