The Fallen King | ✓

Chapter 25

~Chapter 25~

I'd been having a lot of days recently where it felt like my world was crashing down around me and every day it was getting harder and harder to pick up the pieces.

So, as a result, I'd thrown myself into my work a lot more than normal and it had actually been paying off. My career was soaring and despite all the trauma and hardships in my life at least there was one silver lining. I needed that, so much.

Currently, I was in Milan for a runway show of Amelie Prescott's new line — she was a world-famous designer with fashion houses all over the world, being in one of her shows was no easy feat.

A few of my friends were here too like Chris Cortez but, of course, that didn't stop me bumping into people I'd rather not see and by people I meant Moira Ross.

I'd been blessed a kind mercy in the sense that she hadn't spoken a word to me over the last few days but her being around still wasn't a pleasant idea. It was sad to think that someone you used to be so close to could turn into quite the opposite in the blink of an eye; the world just moved on too quickly, so fast that it often gave me whiplash.

Despite this, I still loved my job and all the opportunities it gave me such as this. Unfortunately, however, today was my final day here before flying back home and I was walking my final show for Amelie.

For my final outfit of the night, I was dressed in the highest black thigh high heeled boots, embellished with stunning lace details along with a black ruffled midi dress with enough tulle to make any bride jealous. There was intricate beading, lacework and stitching all over the bodice, all woven together in the most cohesive yet striking way. My hair was styled with a curled half up half down look and my makeup was dark and smokey.

I didn't feel like myself walking down that runway, although I rarely ever did. Instead, I was this high fashion supermodel who was engrossed in this dark, almost gothic, pallet. I oozed confidence and purpose as I walked, claiming this style as my own even if it was something the real Harper would never wear.

It wasn't long until the show was over and I was taking my heavy makeup off backstage, smiling at everyone who walked past where I was seated, congratulating each of them on a job well done. It was obvious that the crowd loved Amelie's designs; even if this type of couture really wasn't my style, it was still a hit with the critics and press.

The entire show was executed beautifully from the layout of the room to the music chosen, to the lighting crew's attention to detail and so on. I couldn't fault it and that was rare to find. From this alone, it was clear that Amelie took great pride and care in her work which was almost unheard of amongst designer nowadays. Most got swept up in the fame and publicity, losing the passion and dedication to their work — cough cough, mother.

As a result of this, the atmosphere of the room was electric and cheerful, lifting my dull spirits and making me feel happy for the first time in weeks. With Maddison in a coma, it had been rather hard to focus on anything else so this extremely cheery atmosphere was a welcomed distraction.

However, my welcomed peace couldn't last long. The irritating shrill of Moira Ross's laugh grated my eardrums as she approached me, shattering my bubble of calm. "Harper what are you doing? Keep the makeup on. I don't think I can stand seeing the sight of your ugly face," she jeered, smirking cruelly at me.

I simply shut my eyes, breathing in deeply as I counted to ten in my head.

Breathe, Harper. Don't lash out. That was what she wanted. Just breathe.

Fluttering my eyes open, I flashed Moira the fakest smile I could muster. "Then move along, darling. I already had to shut my eyes to not vomit by just glancing the atrocity that is you, even with makeup on."