Chaotic Evil

|21| "The good old days."

❀ G𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄 ❀

"Giselle," calls out a voice, tinged with eager curiosity, as I navigate through the sea of paparazzi on my way to my car. Their cameras flash like lightning in a relentless storm, each snapshot attempting to capture an unguarded moment.

"Are you and Ace Steele in a relationship?" inquires a brunette dressed sharply in a suit, her eyes piercing through the chaos, seeking the truth beneath the surface.

"Did you guys break up after your parents stole his father's idea?" This time, the question comes from a man clad in an orange shirt paired with black jeans. His appearance suggests a lack of concern for personal hygiene, perhaps not having showered for days. He holds a microphone with an intensity that matches his intrusive question, while a random individual behind him steadies a camera, both of them eager to document any slip of emotion or revealing gesture.

Clutching the car door, I pause for a moment and, with my free hand, I elegantly slide off my sunglasses to meet his gaze directly. My eyes sweep over him from head to toe, taking in the neglect that his appearance broadcasts so loudly. "Maybe you should consider taking a shower before delving into other people's personal affairs," I retort smoothly, my voice laced with a cool detachment. His face registers shock, mirroring the astonishment on the cameraman's visage. Offering them a playful wink, I slip my glasses back on, a silent testament to my unbothered demeanor, before gracefully sliding into my car and gliding away from the frenzy.

As I arrive at the studio for the day's photoshoot, the atmosphere shifts from chaotic to purposeful urgency. My assistant, spotting me, dashes over, her concern palpable in the air. "Miss Laurent, you're late," she pants, her voice tinged with a mix of relief and anxiety.

"Some paparazzi decided I was today's headline."

"Oh god! Please tell me you didn't say anything this time," she implores, her voice laden with a cautious hope, yet betraying her knowledge of what my response would be.

"At least I didn't answer any of their questions," I retort, my tone breezy yet edged with defiance. The truth is, I've grown indifferent to how the media spins my words or actions. Living in the glaring spotlight has taught me resilience, a lesson learned through countless scrutinies and speculations.

It didn't take long to see that being real is my only safe place in this crazy world. People always talk, think what they want, and judge. But among all the noise and attention, the non-stop gossip and news, I've learned one simple thing: I just need to be myself.

"Okay, so you're five minutes late. The makeup artist is waiting," she states matter-of-factly, guiding me through the complex of the studio towards the makeup area.

As we approach, my eyes land on a familiar figure, and a wave of recognition washes over me. "Oh my God! You're Lara," I exclaim, a mixture of surprise and admiration coloring my voice. Lara has been the name on everyone's lips lately, celebrated for her revolutionary makeup techniques and her ability to transform faces into works of art. Her skills are not just unique; they're unparalleled in the industry.

"You know who I am?" she asks, her expression mirroring my surprise. It's as if the idea that someone from my world would recognize her talent is beyond belief.

"Of course I do. I mean, doesn't everyone?" I respond with a warm smile, my admiration for her talent evident in my expression. "You're amazing, by the way. I'm Giselle. It's nice to meet you." With a friendly gesture, I extend my hand towards her.

"I know who you are," Lara begins, her voice tinged with a mix of surprise and respect. Her words are followed by a brief shake of her head, as if she's attempting to clear her thoughts. "It's nice to meet you too," she continues, her tone genuine as she accepts my handshake with a firm grip.