Chapter 1 Drama

"No! No! No!" Hazel reached for her phone lying in the drawer. Her hands trembled as she scrolled through her contacts until she found his number-Mr. Rodgers.

It rang until it dropped. No answer.

"Pick up, please." She wiped away the tears blurring her vision. On the second call, he answered.

"Good morning, sir-"

"Is there a problem, Miss Hazel?" Mr. Rodgers sounded irritated. "Didn't you get the email?"

"I did, sir. But the fashion line-you loved it."

"I did. But I'm no longer interested in funding your project. Good day." The call ended.

His words pierced her heart like a double-edged sword. The phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor. She had hoped to reason with him, but he had already made up his mind.

Hazel dropped to her knees, her body shaking with silent sobs. What was she going to do now? Her lease had expired. The landlord would throw her out any day.

"Mum!" a little girl with chestnut brown pigtails ran into the room. Hazel quickly wiped her tears, but Pearl had already seen them.

"Mum," her daughter called gently, "you're crying."

"Oh," Hazel said, forcing a smile. "Some dust got in my eyes while I was cleaning."

"Sorry, Mummy." Pearl hugged her. "When are we leaving?"

Hazel had completely forgotten about the fashion show she was supposed to attend.

"Come on," she stood up, brushing herself off. "Let's get going."

ROWEN'S FASHION HOUSE

The building buzzed with classical music that echoed through the night. Luxury cars pulled up at the entrance, where valets waited to collect the keys. Paparazzi lined the red carpet, their cameras flashing relentlessly.

Hazel stepped out of the taxi, straightened her dress, and began making her way through the crowd. She almost bumped into a couple who had paused to take pictures.

"I'm so sorr-" Her voice trailed off as soon as her eyes met his.

Anger and bitterness surged through her.

"Hello there," he said, smiling wide enough to show off his pearly whites. "Hazel, right?"

She clenched her fists by her side. This was the last man she wanted to see tonight.

Damiete Torres. The city's most eligible bachelor. Famous for his playboy lifestyle. A new woman on his arm every week.

Tall, short, dark, light, curvy, slim-he didn't discriminate.

"Excuse me." Her voice was tight and cold as she brushed past him into the building.

"How rude!" the woman with him hissed.

"Forget her," Damiete said, wrapping his arm around the lady's waist. He grabbed her behind, making her giggle.

Calm down, Hazel, she told herself. She forced a smile as she stepped into the room where Mr. Alexander, the stylists, and the models were gathered.

"Not too much makeup, mademoiselle," Mr. Alexander said in his thick French accent.

"Mr. Alexander!" Hazel called, walking toward him. "Traffic was hectic. I'm sorry I'm late."

He turned sharply. "What are you doing here?"

She looked around, wondering if someone else was behind her. No one.

"I'm talking to you." He pointed. "You're not on my model list. Why are you here?"

"Sir, I didn't receive any call or message." Her voice shook slightly.

Mr. Alexander sighed. His incompetent P.A. had clearly failed again. He'd have to fire her.

"Your slot has been taken by her," he said, gesturing toward Anika, Hazel's long-time rival in the industry.

"Sir, please." Hazel dropped to her knees. "I've worked hard for this."

"You were good. Anika is better." He walked away, wiping his trousers with a handkerchief before tossing it into the trash can.

"Mr. Alexander!" she called after him, but he didn't turn around.

Hazel didn't cry. She couldn't. Her emotions were frozen. In the span of three hours, her life had crumbled-her sponsor had pulled out, her lease had expired, and now her modeling slot had been taken.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Theresa, one of the models. "You can't give up now."

"Theresa, there's no way out of this."

"Says who?" Theresa crouched and whispered into her ear. "This is your chance to get a sponsor." Then she stood and walked off.

Hazel blinked. She was right. This was an elite fashion show filled with wealthy people-investors, designers, business moguls. If she could just talk to the right one...

"Thank you, Theresa." She got up, fixed her hair and makeup, and blended into the crowd. She headed toward the makeshift bar and sat down, her eyes scanning the room.

Damiete, on the other hand, was bored out of his mind. He watched as models walked the runway in expensive fabric, but none of it excited him. He'd rather be at a club, letting women grind against him. But his PR team insisted appearances like this made him look "stable."

His eyes wandered-and landed on her.

He smirked. Perfect. His ticket out of boredom. He got up and walked toward her.

Hazel spotted him approaching. Her instinct was to flee, but she held her ground. No more running. Not after five years.

"It's been five years, and you still catch my eye," he said, eyes scanning her body.

"That line expired a long time ago." She sipped from her glass.

"But it worked once." He winked.

Hazel glared. Yes, it had worked. He had charmed her, flattered her, seduced her-and left her to face the stigma alone. She had ended up in his bed, branded by the media as just another one of his flings. Her business collapsed. Her reputation was shredded.

She fled the city with nothing but shame... and his child growing in her womb.

"Aren't you bored?" he leaned closer. "I can help with that."

She stepped back. "Damiete Torres, don't make me do something we'll both regret."

"You still want me. I can see it." He grinned. "This time, I'll keep it off the record."

Hazel scoffed. "Eat shit."

He leaned in further, lowering his voice. "You enjoyed it the first time. I still remember how you-"

SLAP.

Her hand met his cheek with a resounding slap, that made his head turn to the side.

The room went silent. Heads turned in their directions. Paparazzi cameras clicked and turned, capturing every moment.

Not again. Hazel shielded her face with her hands, and fled the room.

Her life was crumbling again-and this time, the world was watching.