The world was a blur of colour, movement, sound and texture. So much texture. From fabrics to faces, Eshe was lost in the current. Swept along the powerful pull of the red carpet, arm in arm with Cait as cameras flashed and voices rang out. Baying her name.

Eshe Diallo, are the rumors true that you're going to be the new face of VOGUE?

Who are you wearing?

Have you signed with Tate Voss?

Eshe! Eshe! Eshe!

Cait had picked her up from the airport earlier that morning and without word or warning, she was whisked from wardrobe, to hair and makeup, back to wardrobe and then off to the red carpet. There hadn't been a single moment to breathe, let alone think, but after the exhilaration of the premier, now that the sparkle and dazzle was fading, reality started to connect and weighed heavy on her chest.

So heavy that she was aware of the bones in her ribcage fighting to expand.

Anxiety wove around her lungs in bands of iron, cinched tight and unyielding. She knew the feel of them well and consciously counted each breath, willing her body to take in more air, to hold and release slowly, easing the kicking gallop of her heart. All while her mind whipped in circles like Ferris wheel spun out of control.

You're okay. It's all the excitement setting you off. Deep breaths. Calm thoughts. You're okay. You're safe.

Eshe repeated this simple mantra—tried and tested over years of struggling with anxiety—as a guard escorted them through the doors of the hotel to join the cue of guests waiting for the elevators up to the after party hosted by Vogue.

Here, tucked away inside at least, she'd hoped to feel less overwhelmed, but sensory overload continued to assail her from all direction. When she'd tried to duck away to the bathroom at the premiere, she'd been horrified by the string of celebrities running lines by the sink, or the models throwing up into toilets, popping pills or powdering their noses with the rest of them.

All she needed was a moment away from eyes and ears so she could slip away into herself—disappear into obscurity and quiet.

When she was younger she'd seal herself in a cocoon of covers and pillows on her bed. With the lights off and curtains drawn and the soft strains of gentle music playing as she counted her breaths and waited for the storm to pass.

As she'd grown older she'd learned how to read the early warnings and take hold of the reigns before she'd slipped too far into the attack to pull out. Eventually, they receded, becoming less and less frequent. But every now and then they'd spring back up, if only to remind her she'd never truly be free of them.

Here, at least, the energy was dull hum compared to the loud roar of press and rabid crowd wedged in behind security fences and armed police, vying for a selfie with the celebrities rolling in for the night's event.

Cait shifted on her impressive heels, the long train of her metallic couture dress swishing behind with a kick of her leg. Cut long in the back and high in the front it showed off toned legs and narrow physique.

Eshe was far simpler but no less compelling in a scarlet sheath that wrapped from breast to ankle, her hair a flawless curtain of straight black. Diamonds—real Harry Winston diamonds—dripped around her ears and wrists, offset by an edgy Alexander McQueen clutch.

She'd never been a part of so much decadence and grandeur, even when she was with...No, don't say his name. Don't even dare think it.

After a few lingering moments, a coordinator appeared, in head to toe black with a headset in place as she spoke to someone over the line, and escorted both Cait and Eshe to the next available elevator waiting in the bank and punched the button for the rooftop patio.

"I thought you said we were here to talk business after the premier," she whispered in a rare moment of silence fell around them as the doors to the elevator clicked shut.

"We are," Cait said, flouncing her fingers through her freshly dyed pixie cut; the strands translucent silver with a subtle hint of lavender to complement the pale golden notes of skin.

"How did they all know my name?"

"Because of the tight timelines and constraints, Vogue issued a press release three days ago announcing Iona's departure from the campaign. Thea's done her best to put a cap on the rest, but as you can imagine—paparazzi have eyes and ears everywhere. It's all good. You're practically a celebrity now, so enjoy it, doll. You've earned it."

She wasn't given a moment to find her voice when the doors parted and both she and Cait were whisked out by a pair of attendants eager to send the elevator back down for the next batch of guests. Even with the full bank of six at their disposal, she imagined it was going to take at least a solid thirty minutes to see all four hundred to the rooftop.

At this height, Paris, the city of lights, was on display in her full glory against the deepening blue backdrop of an evening sky. Music hummed and pulsed from inside the white tents that glowed in alternating shades of blue, purple and red almost in time with the beat. Servers circled holding gleaming trays of champagne or salivating hors d'oeuvres, but all of it made her stomach turn.

"And who is Tate Voss?"

"Hm?"

"Tate Voss," Eshe repeated the name slowly, enunciating each syllable with restrained patience. "One of the reporters' thrust his mic in my face mentioned her name."

A giddy kind of flush glowed in Cait's cheeks. "I was hoping to surprise you."

Eshe tightened her grip on her clutch. "What's going ?"

"I can't wait for you to see it."

"See what?"

"Come." Taking Eshe's hand, Cait sped off through the maze of bodies and booze, leaving Eshe no choice but to almost jog in her heels to keep up. Inside the largest of the three connected tents, the space was decorated with black lacquered tables running in long rectangles. Floral centerpieces dripping with crystals and scattered with lights dangled from the beams in a staggered arrangements.

A stage commanded the front with curtain's open, but it was a large black and white image printed onto a sheet of glass at the back and up-lit that stole her breath.

Her face. Her face. From the photo shoot. The world that had been fiercely spinning around her all night jerked to an arresting halt, slamming her hard and fast into a state of inertia.

Lungs on fire, Eshe pressed a fisted hand to her belly and willed the stone of her abdomen to move so she could suck in a breath. "I thought...you said they weren't ready. You said..."

"I know, I know. I didn't want you seeing the pictures before tonight. It wouldn't have had the same effect. Isn't it gorgeous?" Cait bounced.

It was. And yet...it wasn't. Beautiful, but terrifying.

"Ermigawd," Cait hissed through clenched teeth, fingers circling tight around Eshe's wrist. "It's Daniel Sharman. The guy who is rumored to portray Hardin Scott and—I can't even." Chin raised, she was the picture of confident elegance as she flashed a smile in his direction. A smile that was quickly reciprocated. "Let's go over and introduce ourselves."

"No." Eshe planted her feet when Cait tried to drag her along. Despite her tiny five-two, she could plough through anything and anyone. "I'll wait here."

"You sure?"

Eshe managed a nod. Without further prompting, Cait set her shoulders and set off with a sassy sashay.

Eshe looked up into her own eyes, and saw far too much reflected there. The truth it sucked her into a vacuum of blackness and pain. Into a moment, a brutal moment where the stitches she's sown carefully shut over her hidden vulnerabilities had been plucked open, one by one, and laid bare with a lens for the world to see.

And now here, with that image blown up and on display, it was like the gown she wore melted off her body, stripped away leaving her naked. Exposed as she'd never been before.

Unconsciously, her hand flitted over her thigh, where beneath the dress a secret burned hot with longing as her fingers trace over the thick ridge high up on her left inner thigh.

A sweet spot. A secret...

"Ah. There's the little darling they're all talking about," a female voice clipped behind her. Each word poised as daggers meant to inflict pain. Pain she was otherwise immune to by contrast to what was already storming inside of her. But it was the chill that accompanied the voice—sharp as an arctic wind slicing straight to the bone that had Eshe jolt.

She turned around slowly, and knew who it was even before her eyes made contact.

Not with the woman—a model as well-known as Iona required no introduction, but with the man who escorted her. A man she had gone to every length and conceivable effort never to lay eyes on again.

"Eshe," Charles Eaton was more handsome than she'd thought possible, in a classic Tom Ford and wheat blond hair styled to suit his chiselled good looks. His eyes, even in the warmth of the lighting, were so cold. Always so cold.

Just the weight of his gaze froze Eshe to her marrow. "What are you doing here?"

"We were invited. Or did you think you could take that from me as well?" Iona angled her head with a smirk. Everything about her was long. Long neck, arms, torso and legs. Endless stretches of gorgeous lines that had made her a favourite among photographers around the world. She wore a black dress—eerily similar to Eshe's in style, her hair in a slick bun and emeralds dangling from her ears to contrast her deep red lips.

Venom flashed in her eyes. Not that she could fault her. With Vogue's press release earlier in the week and Eshe's name buzzing on everyone's lips, it was no wonder Iona was livid. Not only did her plan fail against Cait backfire, but now her place at the top of the fashion totem pole was compromised.

No one was happy to have their place in the world usurped.

Charles brushed a hand across Iona's shoulders, calming her with his touch but Eshe saw it for what it was—control, manipulation, about as subtle as an owner jerking on a dog's leash. As a man fascinated by the study of the mind, he'd found his way into Iona's head and was making himself home there. He'd always been a collector of the rare and beautiful. Antiquities, books and artwork.

Women.

"Give us a moment," he said breaking his gaze from Eshe. "I'll find you shortly."

Lifting Iona's chin with a crook of his finger, whisper light. Eshe's stomach turned with a vicious lurch of venom and bile. She knew that touch well; could almost feel his fingers cradling her face in the same manner, as it had a thousand times before.

Iona's red lips pressed to his, passionately and possessively. "Da," she murmured, laying the Russian on thick. "Don't keep me waiting too long." She left with a hot parting glance and

Eshe wanted to move, scream, run but with a snap of his fingers her feet locked to the floor and she saw the flicker of amused pleasure in his eyes to know she was still so...conditioned.

"There you are." He advanced in slow, easy steps and the surroundings bled away, leaving her with nothing but him and his brutal cold.

"Leave me alone, Charles. I'm not yours to play with anymore."

"You'll always be mine," he said, features light and neutral though she could hear the undercurrent to the tone. To anyone looking at them they would see old friends enjoying a pleasant conversation, or a man talking to an attractive woman. They wouldn't see the truth. Her fear or his glory in it.

No one saw a victim or the abuser. Never clearly. People saw what they wanted to see, and often missed even the most obvious signs. Her family had, and no one loved her more than her own parents. Aside from her Sisters...Not that they'd known the truth, either.

She'd told no one. Shayne would have killed him otherwise, and a man like Charles Eaton could make all of their lives exceedingly difficult if he so chose. The only way to keep them all safe, to not drag them into her mess, had been to shoulder the truth alone. A truth she'd battled with for six months to overcome.

"As you insist on playing the child, won't return my calls, I was left with no other recourse was left but to track you down."

"How did you find me here?" she said, struggling to find her voice.

His jaw hardened. Charles didn't appreciate being questioned or having to explain himself. "Lana told me all about your little...event. As I happen to move within certain circles, professionally, it wasn't hard to find a way in at the last minute."

Eshe rocked as if she'd been punched. Lana? She wouldn't..."I thought I'd made it clear when I said I was finished with you," she tried to put force into the words, but they stuttered out of her in almost a whimper. Weak as a paper bullet.

"I say when we're finished. Not the other way around."

Chilled blue eyes shifted to her portrait; a scream blistered between her ears as every inch of her longed to throw herself across it and shield her emotional nakedness from him. Like a mother shielding her helpless child from harm.

All those years with him she'd hidden behind a mask. She'd never let him see how weak she truly was. There was no hiding it now and she couldn't even find the strength to fake it anymore.

"I'm disappointed in you. This?" His lip curled with a cruel edge. "You think you have what it takes? You're a weak, scared little girl, Eshe. Which is why you need me. Why you've always needed me."

"Stop it."

"Have you fun," Charles scoffed. "Play your games. See where it gets you. How long you can keep this charade and pretense before they catch on and see in you what I already know is there. See if they want you then. Or if I still do."

He left her shaking. Every bone. Every cell. Every strand of hair on her head and body. Shaking. Bumps flashed across her skin with the fierce cold rush of fear and anxiety as his words poked and punched and prodded through the weakened points of her armor.

Failure. Fake. Fraud. Dark, sinister voices with sharp, venomous teeth sliced and bite, spreading their black evil until everything that was good and bright inside of her was snuffed out. There was no stopping the tears, or the sobs that came with them.

"Heeeeey, you're not going to believe what just—" Cait's excitement evaporated the second she'd swung around with arms circled around Eshe's waist. "What's wrong, doll?

Eshe pressed her hands to her face but the dam was broken and the flood wouldn't be staunched. "I can't do this. I can't be vulnerable again."

"What?" Cait's hands fell away. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not this person. It's always been pretend. Make-believe," she sobbed, not caring about her tears or the eyes watching them fall. "I let everyone think I'm someone else. Someone cooler and confident and in control. But with Neils—he saw me. The real me. And what's worse is he carved out that truth and showed it to the world. I'm naked. I can't take it. I can't."

"I don't know what's going on but let's take a minute and pull together. You've already given your word to Thea that you'd sign everything tonight."

"I don't care."

Cait's skin, pale as the silver of her hair, went paler still as she took hold of Eshe's shoulders as well as her meaning. "I have a lot riding on this, Eshe. You're totally screwing me over. Me!"

"I'm so sorry..." There were those words again. The words she was so tired of saying but could never stop herself.

Hand clamped over her mouth, Eshe ran.

https://youtu.be/LXXQLa-5n5w

**AN**

UGH this was hard to write for so many reasons, but the hard stuff has to come before we hit the end of Book One. I'd love to know what you guys think about her confrontation with Charles and the ensuing blowup with Cait as a result of the return of her worst demons. We all have our own that we battle in the background, and some of us are lucky to have a support system to guide us through those battles. Others face those challenges in secret, for their own reasons. Sometimes they win and sometimes they lose.

There's nothing worse, I think, then seeing someone you care about self-destruct before your eyes and being powerless to help them or understand what they're going through.

I've also been in a VERY controlling relationship (not as bad as Charles) but it's surreal how these guys know just what to say/do to get into your head and plant themselves there. Most of the time, control and manipulation doesn't present itself as violence or aggression - but in am almost passive sort of "I'm doing this for your own good" kind of way. I think those men are the most dangerous, to be honest.

Because it's that gentle, parent-like behavior that makes it so much harder to see through for what it is.

And it ALWAYS starts small with the little things, then before you know it there's a laundry list of things you CAN'T do, or say or wear or people to talk to or things to eat. Before you know it, every facet of your life comes down to their say so until you're lost to it entirely.

Imagine years of that. For Eshe, during her formative years of late teens to early womanhood, this is going to prove very difficult to overcome this degree of mental conditioning and something she'll wrestle with for many years to come.

Do you think Eshe will sink deeper into that darkness, or will she find the courage to face it once and for all and turn to her Sisters for strength?