y/n an ambitious and passionate woman with a burning desire for modeling decides to move to the bright lights of New York City believing it'll be the best place to start her career. However, fate takes an unexpected turn when she crosses paths with...
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
As I sat there in the car, the exhaustion hit me as I felt drained from the horrible night I've had. I could feel my eyelids getting heavy, and before I knew it, I was on the verge of falling asleep.
But just as I was about to drift off, I was startled awake by the sound of a car door slamming shut. It was Francis and his friend, finally back from their "unfinished business".
Francis turned around to look at me, his face filled with concern. "Sorry we took so long, you okay?" he asked, his voice dripping with worry.
I mustered up a smile to reassure him. "Yeah, I'm fine," I replied, nodding my head.
He let out a sigh of relief and turned back to start the engine. As we drove away, he asked me for the address of the villa we stayed in. The atmosphere in the car was tense and awkward, with both of us struggling to find something to say.
When we arrived at the Airbnb, Francis's friend took Pablo inside, making sure he was safe. We followed them in, but just as I was about to walk away, Francis grabbed my arm, stopping me.
"Y/N, look..." he began, his voice filled with concern. But he couldn't seem to find the right words to say, his sentence hanging in the air.
I could see the guilt in his eyes as he bit his lip anxiously. "I'm sorry I got you in this mess. It's my fault," he finally managed to say.
I shook my head, trying to reassure him. "Francis, stop apologizing. You didn't do anything wrong. It's their fault, not yours," I said firmly.
He ran his fingers through his hair, "Yes, but with all the problems following you, I'm sure you came here to get a break," he said, his voice filled with understanding.
I stayed silent, knowing that he was right. No matter what I did, the paparazzi always seemed to find me. Francis reached for a cigarette, lighting it up and taking a long drag, his eyes glued on mine.
As the night grew darker, Francis glanced at his friend, who was making his way downstairs, and then turned his attention back to me.
"It's getting late, I think you should probably get some rest now," he said, his eyes shifting nervously.
"Yeah, I probably should. Thanks for the ride, Francis," I replied, scratching my arm absentmindedly.
His friend walked outside, waving me goodbye. Francis stood there for a moment, seemingly hesitant.
"Wait, give me your number. We should stay in contact," I said, taking my phone out of my bag.
He nodded and gave me his number before heading out.
The next day was a stressful blur. My head was pounding, and my feet were aching from all the running around.
It felt like I couldn't catch a break. Yes, in a way, I had chosen this kind of life, but sometimes I just wanted to disappear, to a place where nobody would ever find me.
