Styled | h.s |

FOURTEEN

The moment my foot touched the carpet, I was met with a dazzling flurry of camera flashes. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat louder than the last. I tried to match Amanda's confident stride, but my nerves felt like live wires beneath my skin. The shouts of photographers and the constant clicking of cameras began to overwhelm me. Each burst of light felt like an electric shock to my already jittery nerves.

"Smile, Aubrie, and keep moving," Amanda whispered over her shoulder. I nodded, forcing a smile onto my face, hoping it looked genuine despite the anxiety churning in my stomach.

The band moved gracefully ahead of me, their movements fluid and practised. They all seemed so... accustomed to this. To the constant flashing as if they had long since grown used to the relentless attention. Niall, in particular, stood out among them, his face beaming brightly, his infectious grin lighting up his entire face. It was as if he thrived under the attention, basking in the spotlight soaking in the energy of the crowd.

Harry, on the other hand, maintained his usual unreadable expression, with his lips occasionally curling into a subtle smirk that revealed the that revealed his dimples. It was hard to tell what he was thinking his green eyes seemed to conceal his thoughts.

As we approached the end of the carpet, a voice suddenly pierced through the chaos, calling out to me. "Excuse me, miss!" I paused, were they talking to me? Turning around to see who it was, only to find Amanda engrossed in conversation with another reporter.

The voice called out again, more insistent this time, "Excuse me, can I have a quick word with you." I felt a pang of guilt at the thought of ignoring them.

With a reluctant sigh, I turned back, stepping away from the group to talk with the reporter.

"Hello," the reporter greeted me with a warm smile, his microphone at the ready. "And who might you be?"

"Hi, I'm Aubrie," I introduced myself, trying to keep my voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in my stomach. "What's your name?"

"My name is Dexter," the reporter replied. "I must say, that dress is spectacular on you." Dexter was a small man, probably in his mid-twenties, with a slight stubble and his hair pushed back from his face.

"Thank you so much!" I said with a bright smile.

"No worries at all, and who are you here with tonight, Aubrie?" he asked, his eyes bright with curiosity.
"Oh, I'm here with One Direction," I replied, automatically, the words rolling off my tongue before I could fully think about what I was saying.

The reporter nodded, opening his mouth to ask another question.
"And what-" he tries to continue but is cut off.
"That's enough." A voice spoke from behind me, as I felt a strong grip on my arm, pulling me away from the reporter's eager gaze. I turned to see Harry, looking up at his expression filled with anger.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he hissed, his grip tight on my arm.
I tried to break free of his grasp. His fingers only dug deeper into my arm.
"That hurts, he wanted to talk to me, and I felt bad ignoring him," I explained, feeling a knot of anxiety forming in my chest.

"Are you stupid?" Harry's frustration was obvious, his grip tightening on my arm. "he doesn't want to talk to you. These people only want to manipulate your words and sell fake stories for money. What did you say to him?"

"I just introduced myself and said I was with you guys," I replied, my voice trembling.

"Fuck's sake," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "You do realize what that sounds like, right? 'You are with us.' They're going to have a field day with this one."