I stare at my face in the mirror, focusing all of my energy on my breathing. You've got this, I remind myself, hoping that if I repeat the words enough times, I'll begin to believe them. My brown, cat like eyes are ringed in bold, black liner, highlighted by my temporarily bleached eyebrows. The freckles are on full display, but the makeup artist put a decent amount of product under my cheek bones to hollow out my cheeks and give my face a sharper look. My blonde locks are pulled back so tightly I swear my eyes slant even more than they normally do, and I already feel the tingly sensation of my scalp going numb.

"Ready?" Alessandra, the model I chatted with during our shoot with Royale, leans back in her stool, the ring lights illuminating her wide set eyes.

I look to her, a soft smile on my lips. "No. You?"

She shakes her head, her wild curls barely moving, locked in place with insane amounts of product. "This is a far cry from waitressing," she grumbles as one of the assistants pulls her away for her first wardrobe change.

"Tell me about it," I sigh, the assistant in charge of my wardrobe greeting me finally. The fashion show approached much quicker than I thought it would and now that it's here, I can't stop imagining all the ways I can mess up walking the runway.

"This way," A petite girl rushes me to a rack of clothing all with my measurements, labeled "E.C." I notice the bright colors and bold patterns that are a staple in Royale's collection. Aware of the many people rushing around me, lanky models in various stages of undress and even more assistants with head pieces and clipboards in their hands, I slip out of my robe quickly, changing into my first design.

The assistant makes small adjustments to the wide legged pants and high collared sweater once I'm dressed and I scan the area for my shoe choices, the idea of strutting down a runway in heels having kept me awake for more nights than I'd like to admit. My stomach sinks when she hands me a strappy pair of stilettos, the highest I've ever worn. I look at her anxiously, but she only shrugs. "Royale likes his models tall,"

"I am tall." I feel bad for protesting, the shoes aren't this girls fault, but I can't help it.

Handing me the shoes, the girl mutters to herself. "Really tall," and I cave, painfully wedging my feet in the too tight straps. God, what I'd give for my worn out converse right now. "This way," The assistant shoves me into a line just behind the curtain to the stage, behind Alessandra. "You'll walk on my cue." Her eyes are nervous, too, and the thought is slightly comforting.

I hear the announcer introducing Royale, but I can't pay any attention to his welcome, too preoccupied with the frenzied beating of my own heart. Beau's out there and so is Gemma, I remind myself that at least two people are rooting for me and take another deep breath.

Music blasts from out on stage and flashing strobe lights illuminate the dark even through the curtain. My hands shake as the first model makes her way through the curtain to a roar of applause from the audience. The line moves quickly until only Alessandra is left in front of me, the rest of the girls back in the dressing room, tearing clothing off as assistants redress them in new outfits.

Alessandra steps out and I get a glimpse of the crowd, of the flashing lights from what seems like a million cameras. All I can hear is my own breathing as I feel my assistant nudging me forward for my turn.

Stepping through the curtain, I'm met with the same cheers from the crowd. My senses practically useless, the flashes and strobes too blinding to see and the music and applause too loud to hear, I rely on instinct, pushing one foot in front of the other, keeping my pace consistent and smooth.

Each step is deliberate as I make use of my long legs, swaying my hips just slightly to propel myself down the runway strip. I tilt my chin up and keep my shoulders back, lengthening my body even more, until I reach the end of the catwalk. Bringing my hands to my hips, I extend a leg, somehow remembering to adjust my facial expression in time. Camera flashes blind me as I look into the crowd, unable to make out a single face through the glare. Uncomfortably warm under all the of lights, I hold for what feels like a couple of seconds and strike another pose before pivoting on the heel of my stiletto and making my way back down the runway. Another model already struts down in the opposite direction beside me.

Once back in the changing room, I barely have time to breathe before a group of people surrounds me, removing articles of clothing and replacing them just as quickly. Adrenaline rushes through me as I'm rushed back to my place in line. "I can't believe I just did that," I breathe, the only one able to hear me the assistant beside me.

"Well believe it," she says, pushing me forward. "Because you're up again,"

***

I moan as I rub my bare feet in the back of the limo. "Emma, I can't believe you're a real model, like look at this," Gemma pushes her phone in my face, showing me the video she took of me on the runway for the millionth time.

Beau leans his spiky head closer to mine so he's whispering in my ear, "I wish we were alone,"

I meet his eyes and see hunger in them, the same hunger that mine showed when he got off stage at the charity concert. A shiver runs up my spine at his words and I feel the blush building in my cheeks but I play it off.

"How much longer till we're at the club?" I ask no one in particular. Beau came to support me and while Zach and Tyler opted to stay and work on preparing for their tour, Jace decided to come, never the one to miss out on a chance to party.

"About ten minutes," Gemma looks up from the maps app on her phone.

I watch Jace eyeing her like prey and remind myself to keep an eye on her tonight. "Shots when we get there?" Jace hoots. "Shots?" He looks to Gemma and she nods enthusiastically, always up for anything. "Shots? Who am I kidding, fuck yeah we're doing shots," he smacks Beau's head playfully. "Emma, shots?"

I shrug. "We'll see,"

"We're celebrating you, Em," Beau nuzzles into my neck and I let out a raggedy breath.

"In fact," Jace pulls a flask from the inside of his suit jacket. "Let's get started now," he tosses the flask to Gemma first.

She takes a long swig and wipes the pink lipstick from the rim before handing it over to me, a playful pout on her lips. "Please? Emmy, we never get to have any fun!"

I shake my head but grab the flask from her hands anyways. "Oh, what the hell?" I mutter, throwing my head back and taking a long drink.

The nightclub is packed with dancing bodies, many tall and made up. I recognize the other models from tonight, all sporting the same tight hair-do's and lightened brows. Royale had booked the club for his after party and it seems most people took him up on his invitation, I note the many guests crowding the dance floor and hanging over the bar at the far end.

Already feeling warmth spreading through me from the few shots of whiskey in the limo, I pull Gemma to the bar and wait for the bartenders attention. "So how do you feel?" Gemma smiles hazily at me, eyes glassy.

"I don't know," I admit, shouting over the music. "Once I got up there, I just... walked? I didn't even think about what I was doing, I just did it. And now... I don't know, I guess it hasn't set in yet." I thank the bartender and slide a fruity cocktail over to Gemma.

"And him?" She winks at me as Beau approaches, Jace close behind him.

I bite my lip, soaking in his appearance in the dark club. The red lights cast a wicked shine over him, making him darker and more mysterious than ever. My heart skips at the sight and I ache for him until he is finally beside me, his arm circling around my waist. "Later," I smile at Gemma who smirks knowingly.

"We're gonna get drinks," Beau tells me. "Then I'll see you on the dance floor?" I agree and tug Gemma along with me. A smack on my backside makes me jump, but when I look back, Beau's devilish grin puts me at ease.

Waiting for the guys to join us, Gemma and I sway our hips to the music on the dance floor, the liquor gradually loosening us up as we throw our hands above our heads. Giggling, Gemma hugs me tightly, bumping heads with me slightly as she continues dancing. "I'm so happy you're happy, Emma." She kisses my cheek lightly before twirling away, nearly bumping into another girl in the tightly packed space.

We dance to a number of songs before I start to wonder what is taking Beau and Jace so long. Right as I'm about to suggest we go find them, Gemma grabs my arm tightly, yanking me down to her level. "Isn't that Beau?" She points frantically to the bar and I peer around the other club-goers to see what she sees.

Oh my God. I look up in time to see Beau's fist crunch down on some guys nose, Jace behind him on the ground with another man, limbs flying wildly. I do a quick scan around the club and notice the massive security guards making their way to the scene. Heart beating faster and faster, I rush over to the commotion, yelling for Beau to stop.

"Beau!" I scream over the music, as he pulls his fist back another time, only to stumble backwards when the other man lands a hard punch on his jaw. "Beau, stop!" I try to grab his arm, but he escapes me, tackling his opponent to the ground and hitting his face, sending blood across the floor. Gemma yelps beside me. After a few seconds that feel like years, the bouncer yanks Beau off and throws him backwards, while a male bartender finally separates Jace and the guy he was fighting.

I grab Beau's arm wordlessly, trying to pull him from the scene. "All of you, out, before we call the police," the bartender points to the door. Security escorts us out, including the other two men, and I can barely lift my eyes off the floor as we leave. Feeling every pair of eyes on us, I flush in embarrassment, preparing to kiss my modeling contract and the one with Beau's label goodbye.

Uncharacteristically quiet, Gemma holds my hand tightly as we wait in the cool air for the limo to pull around. Fuming beside me, Beau doesn't say a word, only texts furiously on his phone. His eye is already bruising and there's blood coming from his nose and lip but I can't think of what to say just yet, my anger like a brick in my throat.

"Well this fucking blows," Jace grunts, wiping blood from his own face. I glare at him, knowing somehow this has to be his fault. Beau wouldn't do this, not now. He couldn't have.

After a silent limo ride, we arrive at our hotel and I pause at Gemma's room. "I'll be right back," I promise before following Beau to our suite.

Once inside, I grab my pajamas and toiletries, aware that Beau is ignoring me, too. Finally, he looks up from his phone when he hears me opening the door. "Where are you going?" His green eyes are blank, dark hair nearly covering them completely.

"I'm going to spend the night in Gemma's room." Somehow I manage to keep my voice level. I meet his eyes, not knowing what he could say to make things better, but hoping he'll say something. Emotionless eyes stare back at me and after a few seconds, I return to the long hotel hallway and let the door to our suite click softly behind me.