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4.35% Second chance runaway / Chapter 16: You're really beautiful. Are you a model?

Chapter 16: You're really beautiful. Are you a model?

Five days had passed since the heated argument with my mother, and while our relationship had always been rocky, the current silent treatment felt like a cold war. Surprisingly, I didn't mind the quiet; it meant she wasn't breathing down my neck every minute. 

Standing in front of the mirror, I focused on getting ready for my appointment with Alexei, the photographer I had worked with recently. He had called to inform me that he'd selected the photos, and despite it being a trial run, he had been so impressed that he decided to use them for the perfume ad campaign.

I chose a simple yet chic outfit: a pair of fitted jeans, a white blouse with delicate lace detailing, and a soft grey blazer. My hair was styled into loose waves, and I wore minimal makeup, just enough to highlight my features.

Feeling satisfied with my look, I headed downstairs to the living room. My mother, still fuming, was seated on the couch. She glanced up as I walked by and, for the first time in days, spoke to me.

"At 10 a.m., Daniel is expecting you for a meeting. Don't be late," she said, her voice icy.

I didn't bother to respond. Instead, I walked out of the house, pulling out my phone to check the time. It was 8:30 a.m., and I needed to be at Alexei's studio by 9 a.m.

As I hurried to the bus stop, I briefly thought about Carmen, wondering if I might see her again. I quickly pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.

At the bus stop, I bought a ticket from the driver and found a seat near the middle. People were glancing at me curiously, though I couldn't quite figure out why. After a few minutes, a girl around my age approached me, her eyes wide with admiration.

"You're really beautiful. Are you a model?" she asked, her voice filled with awe.

I chuckled lightly, a bit flattered. "Yes, thank you."

The rest of the ride was quiet, and I watched the city pass by through the window. When my stop approached, I stood up and made my way to the door, stepping off the bus and taking a deep breath. I was a few minutes early, which was perfect.

I walked into Alexei's studio, greeted by the faint smell of coffee and the sight of the receptionist, who smiled warmly at me. "Good morning, Elena. Alexei is expecting you. I'll take you to his office."

She led me down a hallway filled with framed photographs, each one a testament to Alexei's talent. We stopped at a door, and the receptionist knocked before opening it. Inside, there was a flurry of noise as Alexei shuffled papers and adjusted his camera equipment.

"Alexei, Elena is here," the receptionist announced.

"Ah, finally! Come in, Elena," Alexei called out, his voice slightly muffled by the clutter.

I stepped inside and was immediately struck by the chaos. Alexei's office was a whirlwind of creativity: photos were strewn everywhere, pinned to corkboards and spread across the floor. There were cameras and lenses on every available surface, and Alexei himself looked like he was trapped in a maze of his own making.

He turned to face me, a broad smile spreading across his face. "Elena, it's good to see you. I've been looking forward to showing you the photos."

I carefully navigated my way through the mess, trying not to step on any of the photos. "It's great to see you too, Alexei. I'm excited to see what you've chosen."

He gestured to a cleared space on a large table where several photos were laid out. "Come, take a look. These are the final selections."

I approached the table and gazed at the photos. They were stunning, capturing not just my image but an essence, a mood that was both alluring and sophisticated. Alexei had truly outdone himself.

"These are amazing," I said, genuinely impressed. "You've made me look better than I could have imagined."

He laughed, a deep, warm sound. "You made it easy, Elena. You have a natural presence in front of the camera."

We spent the next half hour going over the photos, discussing the campaign and his plans for the advertisement. As we wrapped up, Alexei gave me a hard copy of the selected photos, neatly packed in a folder.

"Thank you so much, Alexei," I said, feeling a sense of accomplishment. "I can't wait to see the final product."

He smiled, handing me the folder. "You're very welcome. Let's work together again soon."

I left the studio, feeling buoyed by the successful meeting. But as I walked back to the bus stop, reality set in. I still had that meeting with Daniel at 10 a.m., and I dreaded the thought of it. I reached the bus stop just in time to catch the next bus home.

The ride was uneventful, and I used the time to mentally prepare myself for the confrontation I knew was waiting for me at home. When I walked through the front door, my mother was already waiting, her expression hard and unforgiving.

"You're back just in time," she said curtly. "Get ready for your meeting with Daniel. He's expecting you at 10."

I sighed, feeling the weight of her disappointment. "I know, Mom. I'm going."

Clara appeared in the doorway, her smirk firmly in place. "Try not to mess this up, Elena."

I shot her a glare but decided not to engage. It wasn't worth it. Instead, I went to my room, changed into something more formal, and tried to mentally brace myself for the upcoming meeting. I checked the time; it was 9:45 a.m. I had just enough time to get there.

As I walked to the door, my mother's voice stopped me. "Elena, don't embarrass us again. Daniel still wants to marry you despite everything. Don't give him a reason to change his mind."

I sighed deeply, feeling a pang of sadness. "I'll try, Mom," I said, knowing full well that this wasn't what I wanted. As I stepped outside, I took a moment to collect myself. 

Standing in the driveway, I muttered under my breath, "Since Daniel looks in love with Clara, I should just make Daniel revealed to me that he likes her."

With that thought in mind, I headed off to meet Daniel, already forming a plan to ensure that Clara and Daniel ended up together, freeing me from this unwanted engagement.


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