Prologue: RUNAWAY

PROLOGUE

RUNAWAY

Six years ago.

As the music starts thumping, Valeria started to step onto the runway stage with effortless elegance, her silhouette perfectly poised.  Her legs seemed to extend endlessly as her stilettos made a click-clack sound on that stage of the gallery hall. She was five feet and nine inches tall after all. She exudes confidence and grace with every flick of her hair and the tilt of her head. Her hips swayed as if she was gliding on clouds. Her facial expressions were fierce and edgy, yet feminine. She wanted others to see her as a work of art, a living canvas draped in fashion.

Valeria strikes a pose, arching her back, as their final walk for their practice ends. She can’t make a mess right now. She had taken too many steps just to get where she is. She is going to achieve her dream and nothing can stop her. Even if it means telling a lie.

“Okay, models!” the choreographer called out as she clapped her hands for their attention. “Tomorrow is a big day. Give yourselves a relaxing treat, but do not cut, straighten, or curl your hair. Tattoos are strictly off-limits. And remember not to be bloated by tomorrow,” she winked.

Valeria smiled as she headed back to their hotel on her own. Her co-models went out that night to enjoy the City of Light and probably laid with some French guy they just met. She never made any friends with them, and she never plan on making a new one. She already had Gwendolyn, and she is the only one that she trusts.

Gently, she strode the curtains of her hotel room to open a breathtaking scene. The Eiffel Tower stood on its mightiest, looking majestic inside the huge window frame. And what could be more dazzling when the lights from the tower began to sparkle when the clock strikes midnight? It was a sign that she is not dreaming anymore.

The next day was the biggest day of her life. It was the day that she will have her first real runway walk. It was not just some local event but an international one.

As she started to move, the fabric behind her was like a ribbon in the wind, showcasing the intricate details that make each piece unique. Every eye in the room is fixated on her, mesmerized by her beauty and magnetic presence. It’s almost as if the clothes were made for her, and not the other way around.

The other girls with their oozing confidence with every step, strut down the runway like fierce panthers.

As she reached the end of the runway, she paused for a moment, basking in the adoration of the crowd before turning her heel. When she finally disappears behind the curtains, the audience is left breathless, still buzzing with excitement from the show.

They were all rejoicing when the choreographer and the madame that designed their clothes stepped to gather them around.

“The show was a success and I personally would want to give you guys a treat,” the madame announced. “My brother owns a bar and you are all invited. Drinks, on my tab.” She looked into every eye of the girls, standing around her. “I wanted to thank you for a job well done.” And her gaze landed on her, making her stop breathing. “Especially to you. Companies were bidding on the clothing that you wore. I want to see you tomorrow in my studio. 10 AM. Sharp.” She smiled as she gave her calling card.

That was the most wonderful thing that she heard when she stepped into Paris. It was good news to her, but not to other girls who were in the field for years. She could feel the stab of their jealous gazes.

“Of course. She got a baby face that looks like a fifteen-year-old girl. What else could we do? If I was only younger,” someone mumbled.

The party for their success started and they needed to attend.

Wearing her black sparkly fitted dress, she stood nervously when the bouncer stopped her by the entrance of the bar.

“ID, ma’am,” the big man in a black shirt asked.

It is what she was expecting. She will be asked because of her teenage young face. She raised her passport, pointing to the birth date listed on it.

“I think, this will confirm that I am already nineteen,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

The man scowled, but let her in after that.

The loud pumping music greeted her that instant. She felt so grown up now, having the best days of her life. She was there to enjoy.

Straight to the bar counter, she goes. She ordered a drink, reminding the bartender that it was to be put in madame’s tab. She never knew what to choose from the beautiful and colorful liquids. She doesn’t even know what those taste like. So, she then settled on the prettiest name on the selection.

She took a sip from the glittering pastel blue on the cocktail glass and was shocked to taste something she never tasted before. It was sweet and at the same time, minty. It was icy cool but delivered a hot sensation down her chest.

She finished a drink and she thought that it was enough the moment she stood on her chair. Her head began to hurt but it felt like her body was as light as a snowflake. The happiness that she felt heightened. She realized it was done by the alcohol in her drink. She knew.

It was time for her to go back to their hotel. She must, while she could still manage. Besides, she has no friends in that place to socialize with.

She wanted to grab a taxi to take her back but suddenly, someone grabbed her arms.

“Belle, want me to drive you home?” a man asked in his very French voice.

She is already tall but this foreign man is like a skyscraper.  She could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“No. Thank you. I can go home on my own,” she declined, removing his hand but it held even tighter which she doesn’t like. “Hey! Let go of my hand.”

But the man just laughed. The next thing she knew was someone echoing her sentence.

“She said, let go of her hand,” a baritone voice came from her side.

Her gaze moves towards where the voice came from and was shocked when a fist kisses the French man’s face. The man was knocked down on the street but thankfully, he is still conscious.

“Salaud! [French: B***ard!]” the guy shouted at the man before looking at her. “You okay, beautiful?” he asked in his baritone voice, though he look like a young adult guy. Probably, in his early twenties.

Her heartbeat started to race as soon as she saw those beautiful dark chocolate eyes. They were almond shapes that compliment those bristly eyebrows. These eyes were hypnotizing her like a pendulum, but it expresses care rather than danger. He had Viking-gold hair that is neck-length but was formed in coordinated waves. He was fair, almost pale white. His signature branded black outfit fitted well with his muscular frame.

She knew that with her young age, she was already tall. But it was a shock for her to meet another person who was even taller than her. With his clothes and perfect height, he could probably be scouted as a male model.

A tingling feeling was delivered on her tummy, her hands began to sweat, and by hearing him say “Hi,” and a smile, made her lids blink several times like dumb. She didn’t even notice that the man who forced her a while ago ran off.

“Yeah,” she nodded, like a st***d person. Her tone even sounded like a cat seeking attention. “I mean, yeah. I am okay!” she unexpectedly exclaimed, almost losing her voice. She cleared her throat before saying her thanks.

A charming smile curved on his sexy natural pink lips. And oh! That smile could melt her legs that time.

“No problem. A pleasure to help a beautiful girl.” But then, he started to massage her neck. “But I think I got thirsty from running towards you. Would you care to buy me a glass?”

She nodded instantly without thinking, not knowing that she was pulled back to the bar where she came from. Besides, she can buy him a glass as payment for what he did for her.

“I’m Grant, by the way,” he introduced himself to her ears so she could hear clearly with the speaker blasting every corner of that building.

“It’s Ria,” she answered back with the name she was usually called.

“You should not walk alone near bars. French guys were lovable but different when they were drunk,” the guy explained. “You’re not from here, are you?” he asked as he sat on the stool by the bar counter.

“Is that obvious?” she asked, brushing her hair onto the back of her ear. She sat down too.

Their conversation was about to start when his phone started to ring. He excused himself to answer his phone to where the music could not reach.

She was left alone, thinking if she will drink the glass he ordered for her.

“Hi, girl! Are you alone?” said a familiar voice.

She turned around to see her co-model on the runway with her other friends. If she was not mistaken, her name was Bianca. They began to circle her seat and asked questions.

“Oh, I see you got yourself a guy to make out with tonight,” the girl on the left said upon seeing another glass beside her.

“You know. I’m a little bit jealous because you got yourself a pretty young face. But that is all in the past. I want to congratulate you for being scouted by a famous designer,” said Bianca with her puppy eyes.

Her attention was diverted to her.

“I just thought that maybe you can also tell my name to madame. I was hoping that you can work easier with someone you already knew,” she smiled. “We are now friends, remember?”

“Well, no problem. I will,” she answered.

They waved goodbye when Grant finally returned.

“Those were your friends?” he asked and took a sip of his glass.

She nodded. “My co-models.”

“You are a model?” he asked. “That’s amazing!”

They started to talk things about her career and some stuff when he felt a sudden headache.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he answered forcing himself to smile. He excused himself but she knew that something is not right; so, she followed.

She also wanted to help, so she presented to take him to the nearest hotel for him to stay. It all went well until she took him to his room. He is so drunk with just a glass of alcohol.

She was about to leave him when suddenly, his hands forcefully grabbed her hand and laid her down on the soft mattress.

“G—Grant. What are you doing?” she exclaimed when he started to pin her down.

His hands began exploring her body and it was hard for her to fight back. She doesn’t know what she got herself to. This was probably a punishment for someone who ran away just to chase her dream.

The only thing she knew was to let her tears fall from what happened in that very room. She will surely run off once again.