Beneath City Lights

Chapter 4: Fraying Threads

𝑨𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒊𝒓

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The lights blazed down on me like an unforgiving sun, hotter and more oppressive than usual. I shifted in front of the camera, but I couldn't get the pose right. My body felt stiff—unnatural—and I knew Charles wasn't pleased. His face, a permanent mask of dissatisfaction, twisted into a deeper frown.

"Avenoir," he snapped, pausing the shoot. "You're stiff. You need to relax. Look at yourself—this isn't Vogue Heights material. We need more from you."

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, feeling the familiar sting of his words. The tension that had been building inside me since Gabriel and I split threatened to spill over. I could hear whispers, not just from him but from others in the room—the crew, the makeup artists.

"She hasn't been the same since the breakup."

"Radiant Talent's starting to notice..."

My hands clenched at my sides as I fought back the rush of insecurity. Breathe, Avenoir, I told myself, but the mantra was losing its effect. Gabriel's voice echoed in my mind, criticizing, nitpicking, reminding me that I was never enough—not for him, not for this industry. I looked over at Maya, who stood just beyond the set. Her eyes were filled with sympathy, but there wasn't much she could do. Not today.

Charles' sharp tone interrupted my thoughts again. "Let's take five," he muttered, throwing his camera down with an exaggerated sigh. "Fix yourself, Avenoir. We're not here to babysit."

The silence that followed was deafening. The entire room felt like it was watching me fall apart. My chest tightened as I stepped off the set, retreating into the shadows where I could breathe without everyone dissecting my every move. But even there, the whispers chased me.

I found a quiet corner, leaning against the cool wall, my heart racing. Why couldn't I just pull it together? Why couldn't I be as flawless as they needed me to be? As I stood there, struggling to hold myself together, I felt someone approach.

Valerian.

He didn't say anything at first, but his presence alone was grounding in the chaos. His tall frame cast a shadow across the wall, his eyes scanning the room before finally landing on me. His expression was calm, maybe even empathetic, but there was something else there—something secret.

"You're not as bad as he makes it seem," Valerian said, his voice low and soothing. "Don't let him get into your head."

I looked up at him, feeling exposed in a way I hadn't expected. "Easier said than done."

Valerian didn't push. Instead, he stepped forward, a quiet confidence radiating from him as if the weight of the world didn't faze him. He glanced over at Charles, who was still fuming at the setup, clearly frustrated with me.

"If you need a break, I'll take over," Valerian suggested, glancing back at the crew. His offer startled me—he was just the assistant. But something in the way he said it, like he knew more than he was letting on, made me feel like maybe he could handle this. Handle me.

I nodded, too exhausted to argue, too overwhelmed to care. Valerian turned to Charles, who was more than eager to throw the responsibility onto someone else for a moment.

"Fine, Sinclair," Charles huffed, waving him over. "Let's see if you can salvage this."

Valerian took his place behind the camera, and the tension shifted. He directed the crew with a quiet authority that felt different—calmer, more controlled. The lights softened, the atmosphere eased, and I found myself breathing a little more easily.