The Fallen King | ✓

Chapter 11

~Chapter 11~

People picked at my dress and hair, fixing any slight imperfections before the show started in fifteen minutes time. The crowd of people could be heard chatting outside, eager to see the latest fashion trends. Journalists, magazine editors and high ups in the industry always sat at the front, looking stern and from where I was standing, hidden out of sight, today was no different.

I breathed in and out, calming my racing heart that felt like it was knocking about in my rib cage. I always felt nervous before a show, everyone did. You didn't want to be that person who screwed up and tumbled on the runway or had an awkward wardrobe malfunction.

I let my eyes scan over my appearance in the mirror opposite me, happy with what I saw; everything looked perfect. The last of the people swarming me nodded in approval, telling me that I was ready and to get in line to go on stage.

I moved carefully, avoiding the masses of people running about, not wanting to ruin the pristine condition of my outfit and hair or smudge my makeup; little things like that could easily end your career.

I didn't pay too much attention to my surroundings as I got in line, focusing on myself and not messing up and because of this I didn't notice who was standing in front of me until she turned around, a scowl on her face. Moira Ross, fantastic model but complete bitch.

"Well well, if it isn't Harper King," she sneered and I rolled my eyes.

"It's good to see you, Moira," I smiled, trying my best to remain civil.

She wasn't a bad person, in fact we used to be good friends a couple of years ago but when we were both nineteen I got casted for a Vogue cover and she was extremely bitter about the rejection even if she was still in the magazine. I did understand where she was coming from but if it was the other way around I would've supported her and that was what I couldn't fathom at the time.

That was the day I learnt that most people didn't actually care about friendship and they only stuck with you to boost their own careers. People were selfish but I guess that was just human nature.

She looked me up and down, a scowl on her otherwise pretty face. "You're looking a bit big, aren't you?" she jeered.

I shrugged, doing my best not to snap back. That was what she wanted: a reaction. I wasn't fat. I was a healthy weight. In fact, I was almost underweight.

I wasn't fat. Her and mother were not going to get to me on this.

I wasn't fat.

Plastering on my best smile, I replied sweetly like my mother always taught me. "If not being a sickly twig is considered big then I suppose you're right."

She glared at me, her pretty green eyes narrowing into slits. "At least I can fit into clothes."

I wasn't fat.

She was just delusional.

"Besides, we both know the only reason someone like you even made it into modelling is because of your mother. You'd be nowhere without Camilla King's name behind you," she taunted. "You're worthless."

I clenched my jaw subconsciously and I could feel my right hand tightening into a fist. Stay calm, Harper, I reminded myself. You were a professional unlike her.

I scoffed, waving her off with my hand. "Really? Is that the reason I've been in more issues of Vogue than I can count and you've only made it into three editions. Not even one cover."

She ground her teeth together and I noticed her stretching her claw-like fingers, ready to scratch my eyes out no doubt. Luckily, before she could act out and ruin the show, someone clapped loudly behind us, silencing everyone.