The Cheater [JenLisa]

Chapter 17

The hallway felt longer than it was.

The sound of my heels clicking on the marble floor echoed in the silence, each step amplifying the uncertainty I felt in my chest. Blake walked ahead, his strides confident and fast, while Alia trailed just behind me, her footsteps almost inaudible. I was stuck somewhere between fear and adrenaline, not quite sure which one was winning.

We passed by various offices, each one filled with people I would soon be working with, all of them doing their own thing. A stylist adjusting fabrics, a photographer rearranging lights, a manager making calls. I felt so out of place among them—like an outsider who hadn't been invited but showed up anyway, trying to blend in.
Finally, we arrived at the studio. The door opened with a soft whoosh, revealing a massive space lit up with soft white lights that made everything look almost surreal. There was a large backdrop with an intricate design, ready for the shoot, and various crew members already moving around, preparing for the session.

"Alright, Jane, let's get you settled," Blake said without looking back. He was already barking orders at the photographer as I stood there, feeling like a deer in headlights. The world around me was moving so quickly, and I was just trying to catch up.
Alia put a gentle hand on my arm.

"Don't worry. You're just here to be yourself. You'll be fine."

I nodded, but the words felt hollow. Could I really just be myself when I didn't even know who that was anymore?

Blake turned to me, his expression impassive. "Remember, Jane. You're not just a model here. You're an image. You represent this company now. Your look, your attitude, everything needs to be perfect. Got it?"

"Got it," I said, though my voice came out softer than I intended. He wasn't exactly the comforting type, but I had no choice but to listen. This was the job, after all.

Alia squeezed my arm. "You'll do great," she said again, though her voice was quieter now. It almost sounded like she was trying to reassure herself as much as me.
Blake didn't seem to notice the subtle exchange. He was already walking toward the photographer, exchanging a few words about the shoot's direction. Alia gave me a small nod and gently pushed me toward the styling area, where two assistants were already waiting for me.
One of them, a tall woman with red hair and a sharp jawline, smiled brightly as she approached me. "Hi, Jane! We're going to get you set up for the shoot. You look absolutely amazing, by the way."

Her enthusiasm was like a slap in the face, and for a moment, I wasn't sure if it was fake or if she was genuinely excited.

"Uh, thanks," I said, trying to return the smile.

She didn't seem to notice my hesitation. "Okay, we'll just get you into some poses, do a quick makeup touch-up, and we'll be good to go."
The other assistant, a guy with a buzz cut, was busy adjusting lights. His eyes flicked up at me briefly before returning to his task, like I was just another model to him. It made me feel even smaller.

I was led to the center of the set, and they began positioning me, placing me at angles that felt unnatural. The stylist instructed me to tilt my head this way, move my shoulders that way, and before I knew it, my body was contorted in a way that felt stiff, awkward.

"You need to be fluid," she said, her voice a little too sharp. "This is about selling the image. You're not just a person in a photo. You're the ideal. People are going to want to be you."
I wanted to ask what being me even meant anymore, but I kept my mouth shut and nodded. I tried to relax, tried to lose myself in the movements, but all I could focus on was how fake everything felt. The lights, the makeup, the way I was being molded into something I wasn't sure I wanted to be.

As I posed, my mind drifted to my life before all this. To the quiet, unassuming days in Japan, where I had my routine, my friends, my comfort. Everything was simple. I never had to worry about becoming an image, about fitting into someone else's mold. I could be myself.
But now? Now, I was trapped in a cycle where I had to keep up appearances, to be the perfect version of myself. And I wasn't sure I could do it.

"Alright, let's take a break!" the photographer called out, his voice snapping me back to reality. I blinked, shaking my head as if to clear the fog.

"Good job, Jane," he added, nodding his approval.

I wasn't sure if he meant it, but I smiled anyway, exhausted but relieved. I could hear the sound of shoes clicking against the floor as Blake approached me, his face unreadable.

"How's she doing?" Blake asked the photographer.

"She's doing fine," the photographer replied, giving me a small smile. "Just needs a little more practice with the poses, but she's getting it."

Blake nodded, his eyes scanning me briefly. I couldn't tell if he was pleased or if he was just evaluating me like a product on a shelf. It felt like both

"Let's make sure she gets it right,"
Blake said, turning on his heel and heading toward the rest of the crew.

"We don't have time to waste."

I wasn't sure what bothered me more—his cold efficiency or the fact that I didn't really have a say in any of this. I was just... a piece in his game.
Alia appeared by my side, her eyes softening when she saw the weariness in my face.

"You okay?" she asked, her tone low.

"I'm... fine," I lied, forcing a smile.

"Just tired."

She raised an eyebrow, not buying it.

"If you need a break, just let me know."
I nodded, but in truth, I didn't want a break. I wanted to get it over with, to prove to everyone that I could do this, even though part of me was still struggling to find my place in this new world.

As the photoshoot continued, I did my best to push through the discomfort. I posed, smiled, tilted my head, and tried to pretend that I was someone else. Someone confident, someone who knew exactly what she was doing. But inside, it felt like I was slowly unraveling, piece by piece.

At one point, the photographer asked me to do a shot where I was lying on the floor, looking up at the camera. The position felt too vulnerable, and I couldn't help but feel exposed. My stomach churned with a mix of nerves and something else—something darker, something I couldn't quite name.

But then I heard Alia's voice again, calm and steady.

"Just breathe, Jane. You've got this."
For the first time that day, I felt a little bit of relief. Maybe Alia was right. Maybe, just maybe, I could do this.
But that thought didn't last long. Blake was already moving toward the next task, pulling me along with him, as if I was a machine to be fine-tuned.

And so the cycle continued.