Beneath City Lights

Chapter 3: Overheard Conversations

𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒏

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The boardroom was suffocating in its sterile luxury, all glass walls and polished marble. Outside, New York City sprawled beneath the overcast sky, the city's rhythm a distant hum from up here. Inside, the tension was palpable. The sound of hushed voices echoed down the corridor as I paused just before stepping in, curiosity pulling me closer to the door rather than my original destination. I hadn't meant to linger, but one word stopped me dead in my tracks.

"Vogue Heights."

I've always hated eavesdropping—one of those things drilled into me by Jonathan, my father. But as I stood there, my back pressed against the cold wall, I couldn't pull myself away. The executives inside didn't sound like they were making small talk. Their voices were low, conspiring, with that same measured, calculated tone I've heard in countless business meetings. Except this time, there was an undercurrent of something darker.

"Unethical but efficient," one of them said. "We keep the models in the dark. It's better for business that way. And if any issues arise, we can sweep it under the rug. You know the drill."

My stomach knotted. I recognized that voice—it belonged to Thomas Fields, one of the most senior execs overseeing the Vogue Heights partnership. I'd been to enough of these events to know how the industry worked, but this? This felt like a new low.

I clenched my fists, jaw tightening as I listened. Something about model contracts, hidden fees, deceptive terms that would lock them into years of unfair agreements. And they planned to roll it out across the board.

"Think of the money," another voice chimed in, his tone almost gleeful. "We'll be raking it in. They'll never know what hit them."

I pulled back, feeling a bitter taste rise in my throat. The voices continued, but I was done listening. I pushed away from the wall and made my way down the hall, my mind racing, heart thudding in my chest.

What the hell was I supposed to do?

I could feel the weight of their words hanging over me like a storm cloud. If I stayed silent, I would be complicit. But if I spoke out... this wasn't just any gig. Vogue Heights was one of the biggest opportunities of my career so far. The pay was better than I could've ever expected, and I'd made connections here that would last a lifetime. But at what cost?

I made my way to the elevators, needing to get out, to clear my head. As I descended, the familiar buzz of my phone pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. I glanced at the screen and froze.

Natalia.

Her name felt like a punch to the gut, pulling me back into a chapter of my life I thought I'd closed. Natalia Reyes. The woman I thought I'd settle down with—the one who understood me better than anyone else. We shared so much: art, travel, late-night talks over a bottle of Rioja that seemed to last forever. But that was years ago.

I opened the message, my pulse quickening.

"Valerian, I've been thinking about us. Can we talk?"

She had reached out a few times over the past few months, subtle at first. But now... now it felt different. It felt real. I hadn't replied to any of her earlier texts, pretending that if I ignored her, the memories would stay buried. But it didn't work. Natalia was always there, a ghost of the past that refused to stay hidden.