the IT girl

The Runway in Monaco

The lights backstage were blinding, the energy buzzing with last-minute fittings and hurried makeup touches. Lily Ralph moved through the chaos like a storm, her long legs carrying her with effortless grace. This wasn't her first show, and it wouldn't be her last. Monaco had become just another glamorous stop on her whirlwind career. She was used to the glitz, the flashing cameras, and the constant whispers that followed her every move.

Tonight, however, something felt different. There was a tension in the air she couldn't shake, like the calm before a storm. She tried to focus on her routine—one foot in front of the other, head high, a perfect picture of poise and elegance. But her thoughts were a tangled mess, lingering on the past more than she liked to admit.

"Five minutes until showtime!" a voice called over the noise, snapping her out of her thoughts.

She exhaled slowly, shaking off the unease. Lily knew how to put on a mask. Her life had been about survival—pretending everything was perfect when it wasn't. She had no time to reflect on her emotions now.

Her dress, a sleek, silver gown that shimmered with every movement, hugged her frame as if it was made for her. The designer had insisted she wear it, knowing she could command attention like no one else. The lights would hit her just right, and the cameras would eat it up.

As she moved toward the stage entrance, her focus sharpened. The world outside the show faded away. But just as she rounded a corner backstage, someone came barreling into her, and for a moment, the sharp focus shattered.

"Ow!" she hissed, stumbling back, her hand clutching the fabric of her gown to keep from tripping. She blinked, annoyed, her eyes darting up to the person responsible.

It was a man. Tall, dark hair slightly messy, wearing a casual smirk that made her blood boil instantly.

"Watch where you're going!" Lily snapped, regaining her balance. Her icy gaze met his, and for a split second, she thought she recognized him, but the irritation in her voice drowned out the thought.

His smirk didn't fade. If anything, it grew wider, as if he found her anger amusing. "You ran into me," he said, his voice calm, with the kind of confidence that only someone who was used to getting his way could pull off.

Lily's jaw tightened. She didn't have time for this—another self-absorbed, arrogant man who thought the world revolved around him. She was late, the show was about to start, and she wasn't going to waste another second arguing with him.

"Move," she bit out, stepping past him without so much as a second glance.

"Nice to meet you too," he called after her, the amusement still clear in his voice.

She ignored him, her heart pounding in her chest as she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. The runway was where she thrived, where she could block out everything else. The blinding lights, the audience full of A-list celebrities, none of it mattered once she took that first step.

The show had already started when she slipped into line with the other models, her expression unreadable, the encounter already fading into the background. As she stepped onto the runway, the noise of the crowd seemed to melt away. All that mattered was the rhythm of her steps, the feel of the spotlight on her, and the flashes of cameras capturing her every move.

But as she walked, something nagged at her, a shadow of annoyance from that backstage moment. The man's smug face kept flashing in her mind, as if daring her to confront it.

Who did he think he was?