𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈 everyone knows who she is. Worldwide model, covered in many vogue magazines, walked catwalks, and runaway. But people don't know what happens behind the curtains. Despite the many scandals that have plagued her reputation...
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The evening air was thick with the remnants of rain, the dampness clinging to everything as I moved quietly through the house. The others were still downstairs, laughter and conversation filling the space as they dried off and settled back into the warmth. But I couldn't stay there, not now, not when my mind was spinning with thoughts that wouldn't let me be.
I slipped into my bedroom, the familiar comfort of my space feeling almost suffocating tonight. Everything here reminded me of the life I'd built, the life I was slowly distancing myself from. The walls, the furniture, the decorations—all handpicked by me, all pieces of a puzzle that no longer felt complete.
The dull ache of numbness was still there, but tonight it felt different, sharper somehow, like it was urging me to do something, anything, to feel in control again. I knew what I had to do. I moved to my closet, pulling open the doors and staring at the rows of clothes hanging neatly in place. Designer dresses, jackets, shoes—everything was perfect, everything was mine. But none of it mattered anymore.
I reached for a red leather jacket, the one Lucas had once said made me look like I belonged on the back of his motorcycle. I hadn't worn it in months. My fingers brushed over the material, the memory of that day flashing in my mind—his smirk, the wind in my hair, the freedom I'd felt, if only for a brief moment.
I took the jacket off the hanger, folding it carefully before setting it aside. Next, I reached for a pair of heels, the ones I'd worn to Chloe's birthday party last year. They were silver, studded with tiny crystals that caught the light with every step. I'd loved those shoes, the way they made me feel confident, powerful. But tonight, they felt like relics of a life I was trying to leave behind.
One by one, I started pulling things from the closet—dresses, jackets, bags, shoes—each item carefully selected, each one holding a memory. The blue silk dress from Bella's graduation party, the white lace top Chloe had insisted I buy, the black boots I'd worn during our trip to the city last winter. I piled them on my bed, the mountain of clothes growing as I worked in silence, the only sound in the room the occasional rustle of fabric.
When I was done, I stood back, looking at the collection in front of me. It was everything that represented who I was, who I'd been with them. But as I stared at it, all I could feel was the weight of how much I didn't need any of it anymore. These things didn't matter, not when I knew my time was running out.
I started packing the items into bags, the task mechanical, almost mindless. My thoughts drifted as I worked, back to the night we'd all spent in the rain, the way they'd laughed and played like we were kids again. That hollow smile I'd forced, the one that hadn't fooled Lucas, lingered in my mind. He'd seen through it, I knew he had. But even then, I hadn't been able to tell him the truth. Not when I was barely hanging on to it myself.
Once everything was packed, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the bags. They looked so insignificant now, just piles of fabric and leather. But I knew they held more than that. They held pieces of my past, fragments of the life I was preparing to leave behind.
