ELIANA
The headlines struck like gunfire.
"Supermodel Aria Dane Resigns as Brand Ambassador for Alaric Industries!"
"Speculation of Large Departure — Joseph Cristian Spotted Dining with Rivals."
My phone kept vibrating nonstop. Phone calls. Messages. Alarm.
After the fifth call, I ripped off the Bluetooth and snapped, "Who's up next?" The custodians?"
"Don't mess around, Eliana," my father's voice sounded stern over the speaker. "Half of our senior marketing team recently left." Fifty percent! Joseph is proposing to pay them twice the salary to come on board with his new partners.
I gulped, walking back and forth. "Dad, he's attempting to dismantle the companies." It's personal to him."
"Certainly, it's personal" You ended an engagement in front of five hundred attendees.
"I found out he wasn't good enough for me!" I replied sharply. "Pardon me for not expressing my gratitude with champagne."
Silence reigned, only the sound of his deep exhale. "I understand, darling. "However, the harm—"
"I'll take care of it," I interrupted him.
He paused. "You can't resolve this simply by doing a photo shoot when you're not an actual model, you've never even been interested in these things."
"Watch me fix things dad."
By midday, I arrived at the office — hair tied up, sunglasses worn, temper just contained. The structure vibrated with pressure. My father's aide, Mia, nearly raced after me.
"Miss Eliana—the media is impatient, the Vogue team is livid, and Mr. Carter just—"
"I'll speak to them personally," I stated, entering the conference room.
The chamber became icy.
Six executives, the Vogue representative, and our public relations manager gathered at the table. Everyone's attention is on me.
"Miss Alaric," the representative from Vogue started formally. "Given Miss Dane's abrupt exit, we are worried about moving forward with your campaign." The filming was scheduled for the following week.
"I get it," I replied, sitting down in the vacant chair at the top of the table. "However, we can still find a way to make it successful."
He offered a courteous grin that yelled impossible. "Considering everything respectfully, locating a substitute of her caliber at the last moment isn't feasible."
Mia coughed softly. "We contacted six leading models this morning." Three rejected it right away. Two requested three times their normal rate. One—" she flinched "—stated she doesn't collaborate with 'businesses engulfed in chaos.'"
My jaw clenched. "Charming."
The PR manager sought to ease the situation. "Eliana, this is only for a short time." "Once everything calms down, we can—"
"No," I replied, rising. "We don't pause for matters to be clarified." "We have them reach an agreement."
The Vogue representative blinked. "I don't understand?"
I locked eyes with him. "Which means I'll handle the shoot."
The space fell quiet.
"You'll do what?" Mia spoke softly.
"I will represent Alaric Industries," I stated distinctly. "The brand's daughter." The future of this. "Let's watch Joseph attempt to match that."
My dad's voice echoed from the entrance. "Eliana, this isn't a performance." "This is global exposure."
"I am aware." I confronted him. "And it's time I stopped allowing people like him to dictate my narrative."
He examined me — just like he did when I was young, sharing unbelievable thoughts such as aiming to scale the school roof. "You have never worked as a professional model."
I gave a slight smile. "No, but I've seen plenty of people act like me in magazines." Perhaps it's time I stopped watching and simply join in the fun.
The following days were a whirlwind enveloped in sparkles.
Hair, clothing, lighting, auditions, interviews — all merging into one another. Yet beneath the fatigue, there was something more. Something that is living.
The initial fitting almost shattered me.
"Red?" the stylist inquired, displaying a silk dress that gleamed like flames.
"Crimson," I stated resolutely. "Daring, unrepentant."
"Are the accessories made of gold?"
"Also black for the heels." Without glass, no gemstones. "Simply power."
They shared looks but agreed.
Mia stood close to the rack, murmuring, "You're actually going through with this."
I grinned at her image in the mirror. "I truly am."
On the day of the shoot, Vogue's team showed up — doubtful yet fascinated.
The director glanced at me from head to toe. "Have you ever done any modeling before?"
"Not at all."
He breathed out. "This ought to be intriguing."
I stood beneath the lights, the red cloth igniting like fire. Shutters snapped. Individuals whispered.
Yet as the flash struck, something transformed within me.
Each betrayal, each humiliation, every whispered condescending tone — I channeled it all into that lens.
The initial stance — strength. Keep your head up. Vision keen.
The second — resistance. Hand on waist, grin that implied challenge me.
The third — quiet. Only silence, power, and the silent cry of a person renewed.
Once it concluded, nobody said a word.
The director winked. "Holy—" He glanced at the cameraman. "Let me see those."
One by one, the images blinked on the display.
My father entered during the review — and froze instantly.
The woman appearing on screen was not the shattered fiancée from a month ago. She was invulnerable. Flames and riches and rage enclosed in fabric.
"Is that... my daughter?" he murmured.
Mia wept while smiling. "That is Eliana sir."
Three days later, the campaign was launched.
The internet surged.
#ThePhoenixInRed was trending for a continuous seventy-two hours.
Posts, clips, TikToks — all packed with identical phrases:
"She turned it off."
"She embodies the brand."
"She doesn't require a man for her to shine."
I was in my office, sifting through the comments, part amused, part in tears.
Mia rushed in, gasping for air. "You are omnipresent." Vogue just contacted. "They are looking for you for a complete feature spread — cover, article, all of it."
"What?"
"And also Harper's Bazaar!" And GQ aims to execute a combined campaign for the brand's new collection!
I reclined in my chair, astonished. "Are you for real?"
She smiled, nodding. "You shattered the internet, chief, you just saved us."
"Correction," I replied gently, "I saved myself."
He laughed softly, pride sparkling in his gaze. "That as well."
Certainly, Joseph made an effort.
He issued comments regarding "artistic disagreements" and "career changes." He hosted another gathering — this time for his new business, Paragon Enterprises.
However, the world had progressed.
Each mention of him was overshadowed by my campaign images — crimson silk, gilded sleeves, the caption stating:
"You cannot destroy what originated from flames."
Even the investors who had departed began to reach out again.
Mia glanced in one afternoon, carrying a fresh report. "We've increased our brand value by fifteen percent in just forty-eight hours." Joseph's firm lowered by seven.
I gave a slight smile. "Literary justice."
She smiled widely. "The Vogue team also mentioned that you were their most accommodating model in years."
"That's due to the fact that I wasn't acting like someone else."
That evening, I stood on my balcony, gazing at the city glow. The breeze played with my hair, bringing a slight smell of rain.
My phone vibrated. Unrecognized number.
I didn't answer.
Rather, I murmured to the breeze, "Do you see that, Joseph? You attempted to conceal me. "Yet I was the seed."
A faint chuckle resonated from afar — not Joseph's.
The hairs on my forearms stood up.
You glow brighter when you are angry miamor.
That sound once more. The one that appears in my dreams.
I shut my eyes, heart pounding. "Who are you?"
No response. Only the night's hum — and beneath it all, a peculiar solace in knowing I was no longer alone.
The following morning, the headlines stated:
"Eliana Alaric — The Lady Who Resurrected a Dynasty."
"The Revolution of Red and Gold."
I grinned at the Vogue magazine resting on my desk.
There I stood — strong, vibrant, and undaunted.
Perhaps Joseph could enlist all the officials, all the models, all the allies but none of them could ever affect my impact on the brand.