CHAPTER 26

Celine Dion: My heart will go on

~One of the greatest diseases is to be nobody to anybody~

UNKNOWN POV

"Three down, ten more to go." I tapped the marker against the forehead of the target.

"She's the problem." R stood beside me, staring at the picture with the same calculative gaze. She's the barrier between us and the main target. She was too smart and observant.

"She has to be annihilated before it gets too late," Q affirmed.

I sighed and flopped down on the leather chair, pondering on my next move.

"Killing her proved harder than I expected you know."

I just wish Q would shut up. I wasn't in the mood for small talk.

"What did you get from the room?" 

It was a waste of time asking this question.

He wouldn't dare to return from a mission empty-handed. Otherwise, he could kiss life goodbye. I won't hesitate to blow his brains out. I've been on edge all these days, one wrong move from anybody and death will follow suit.

"It's locked." I took the case from him and smirked. A lifelong store of dark secrets. Just what I've been looking for.

"You could destroy her by merely using this. The only issue is her friends."

"They won't be anymore. Three is almost down, and with this, consider another two off the list." I swirled the case on the table and gently tapped my index on it.

I'm coming for you Seraphina, and nothing would stop me this time around.

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SERAPHINA'S POV

Breath. Breath. Breath. You can do this Seraphina. She's just an ordinary person. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, giving myself affirmations.

It was my official first day of training with Peyton and I couldn't help being a nervous wreck. I inhaled and exhaled one more time before leaving the bathroom.

I sat in the lobby, waiting for Miss guide to arrive. Thirty minutes and still no sign of her. I manipulated my phone to kill time until I felt a presence beside me.

"Hi." It was a brunette about my age, with chocolate-brown eyes.

"Hey." I returned her greeting with a smile.

"You're new here?" She stated rather than asked, and I nodded in response.

"How about you?" God, why was I terrible at initiating conversations?

"Nope. I've been serving this company for five years." She laughed. 

What do I say or ask next?

Damn it, girl, just talk.

How awkward could I get?

"Peyton's your guide." How did she know that?

"She trains the newbies here. No offence. " She winked.

"None taken." I laughed. A question that I've been dying to ask suddenly popped into my mind.

"Are you a model?"

"Was." She nodded with a sad smile. Maybe it was something she doesn't want to talk about. She opened the folder in her hands and placed it on my lap. It contains pictures of her in different fashion shows, and one particularly grabbed my attention. It was that of her on a magazine cover.

"You're th...

"The face of Saint Paul's, yup." She nodded in confirmation.

"Except I'm not anymore."

"Why? I mean if you don't mind telling me."  I'm not being nosey. I was merely seeking advice from an experienced fashion personnel.

Girl, do you even believe in that lie?  Trust her to talk at the wrong time.

"Why would I tell you something that's all over the media?" She laughed.

Huh?

"I'm just a google search away, girl." She gestured with a finger towards my phone for emphasis.

"I want to hear it directly from you. I'm certain whatever google will tell me won't be near as authentic as the victim's narrative."

"You're one stubborn girl, but anyway, if you wish."

She rubbed her eyes and cleared her throat. Whatever this might be, must've had a huge impact on her life. It was evident from her suddenly distorted features, contrasting her previously splendid one. She was having an inner battle within herself. Struggling to repeal the memory without breaking down. I could relate.

"Are you sure about this?" I placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Yes, I'll be fine. It's already been year's, and I've never talked about it to anyone. My therapist suggested letting it all out to induce healing, but it's difficult you know." She sniffed, dabbing a tissue under her eye.

"From a young age, my sole dream was to become a model. Something so stupid thinking back now. Anyway, when I was sixteen, I started attending modelling classes at my Aunt's studio and even posed for some renowned magazines. Much to my mother's disagreement, but my rebellious sixteen-year-old immature brain wasn't having it, so I packed and left home to my Aunt's. She and my mom weren't each other's favourite, relating back to some family feud. I wish I'd cared enough and listened to my mom.

I was so thrilled with the fact that my lifelong dream was finally coming true, and was anticipating to delve further into the business. My aunt took me shopping almost every day, after which we'll usually hit the gym, to keep our bodies in shape. Three months later, and the real shit began. Recruitment of young models for Saint Paul's fashion magazine in Italy. The agency was renowned for its remarkable Fashion icons and class-A supermodels.

Excitement, thrill, anxiety, coursed my body as I got called for auditions. It was a bumpy ride but despite everything, I managed to pull through and landed myself the golden ticket to Saint Paul's. My Aunt, relatives and friends were overjoyed, except for my mother of course.

I left for Italy a week later and was directly taken to the agency the same day I arrived. I was given a warm welcoming, after which I met with the executive and was given an insight into the rules guiding the agency. The do's and don't's.  That same night, I received my first allowance. A hefty cash amounting to approximately, five thousand Dollars. I was simultaneously dumbfounded and scared, for I wasn't used to having such amounts to my name. That was literally my three-month rent back home.

Few months into the training, and the boss started attending the sessions, throwing in compliments when necessary. On one of my free days, I received an unexpected visit from him. I'd mixed emotions, but the dominating one was excitement. We had coffee, and he gave me advice regarding fashion and modelling. Overall, I felt motivated and inspired.  This continued happening for two months until we started getting comfortable with each other. He referred to me as his daughter, and I referred to him as my dad. Everyone envied our relationship in the agency. Some models even started hating on me. I walked several fashion shows, and eventually became the face of Saint Paul's.

Anyway, fast forward to when things started going downhill. During a collaborated photoshoot with vogue,  I received a call from my manager, informing me that Paul needed me  Asap. I was forced to leave in the middle of a shoot and travel back to Italy. I was taken to his mansion and escorted by a bodyguard to his personal bedroom. I was broken by the sight I saw. He was laid in bed and covered all the way to his neck, only his head was visible.  I drew closer and felt his forehead to check his temperature, which was shockingly normal. I was about to remove the covers when he caught my wrist and swiftly yanked me down on top of me. Shock, fear and paranoia overpowered me, yet I couldn't scream for he covered my mouth. Paul did unspeakable things to my body that night and threatened my career if I mentioned it to anyone.

Out of fear of losing my career and possibly life, I decided to remain silent. After the traumatic encounter, I wasn't myself anymore and almost regretted signing up for modelling. But, motivation and confidence kept me going. The fashion night arrived earlier than expected and rendering all models a nervous wreck. It was going to be our first time walking down a celebrated runway. A runway walked by legendary supermodels, like Naomi Campbell.  I enthusiastically stood backstage, as my fellow models took turns down the runway. I was so busy cheering them that I didn't notice someone sneaking up on me, and the next thing you know, darkness took over.

I woke up to an unfamiliar room, with my hands tied to a bedpost. My vision adjusted, and I whimpered upon realising that I was in his house, his room.

The devil himself emerged from the bathroom, naked as day, with his signature smirk. I screamed and thrashed but to no avail. That night, he had his way with me. He had what he'd always yearned for. He raped me non-stop for two hours and threw me out of the mansion afterwards. At 2 am. I roamed the streets of Milan that faithful night, half-naked with torn clothes, looking like a homeless child.  I sat on the steps of a clothing boutique and cried my heart out. I felt numb, broken, and empty.  A lady walked out of the shop and took me inside. She offered me fresh clothes and a warm coffee.

I narrated everything to her, and she offered to help, but first affirmed that I'd to leave the country. As Paul was very dangerous and could kill me if I spend as little as an hour in Italy. Together we flew out of the country and landed here the following day by 3 pm. However, before doing anything, I pleaded with her to allow me to visit my mother, and she agreed. In fact, offered to go with me. I arrived at my born home and broke down in my mother's arms. Bawling like a baby, and like the compassionate mother that she is, she comforted me.

On that same spot, I received the most shocking news of my life. I was all over the news as the girl who ran away with Paul's money, during Milano fashion night and was nowhere to be seen.  My decision right then and there was to go out in public and sue him, but I was stopped by the young woman. After all, how can I make an allegation without a single piece of evidence? This newfound information turned my entire life into turmoil.

It was hard in the beginning, receiving insults from anonymous people on the media and getting shamed in public. I was forced to delete all social media accounts and changed my looks. I attended therapy and surprisingly it helped. I began my life afresh and started working as a junior designer in the Shop of that same lady who helped me. I offered to work for her for as long as she'd like for free, but she turned down the offer, and instead paid me five hundred dollars per week. That was how I knew Peyton. Albeit, we weren't fond of each other at the beginning, we ended up being best friends. Much to my astonishment.

Few years later, and I'd gotten over the entire ordeal. Now, here I am."

I stared at this lady with so many emotions coursing through me. Left me questioning my contract with Vogue.

"The industry materialises models sis." It surprised me that she didn't shed a single tear, the entire time she recounted.

"You're brave," I whispered, taking her hands in mine.

"It felt so good telling someone you know." She sniffed and tucked a loose strand behind her ear.

"Yeah, it always does."

"Bu... " I started, only to be interrupted by the lady, whose name I later knew to be Aurelia.

"This is the meaning of "I'm five minutes from the building" really?"

"Fuck off." Peyton hissed and handed us each a cup of coffee. I thanked her before taking a sip of mine. Cappuccino, heavenly. Aurelia left us shortly after, leaving me behind with the devil's spawn. Great.

"Let's go to this room." She pointed to a closed-door opposite Susan's desk.

I placed my bag and coat on a long, before closing the door. Peyton drew the curtains closed and pulled her hair into a messy bun.

"I believe you've got an experience in  cat walking?"

"Yeah."

"Show me what you've got." She ordered in a strict tone.

I took deep breaths and stood straight, squaring my shoulders.

Show her what you've got girl.

I walked up to where she stood, rounded the corners of the spacious room, before going back to my previous position. Peyton's face was blank.

I stared at her expectantly. Wasn't she supposed to comment or say something? Like, do whatever the crap trainers do on your first rehearsal.

"We have a long way to go."  She sighed and shook her head.

Well damned.

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Your thoughts on this chapter?

Practise the tradition, yeah.

Xoxo,

Mina.