(Lyra's POV)
The Webb Photography office sits in a glass building in SoHo, sleek and modern, with a small brass plaque near the entrance that reads A Division of Stellan Arts. I pause, reading it again. Stellan Arts. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I can't place it. Probably just another agency I've seen in magazines.
Inside, the receptionist leads me to a conference room on the third floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the cobblestone street below. A long glass table dominates the space. Marcus Webb is already there, silver-haired and watchful, a cup of black coffee in front of him. Beside him sits a woman I don't recognize, sharp-eyed in a navy blazer. A younger woman with a tablet sits at the end, taking notes.
"Lyra." Marcus stands and gestures to the empty chair across from him. "Thanks for coming. This is Naomi Reyes, senior booker here at Webb. She'll be handling your placement and strategy."
Naomi gives me a brief, assessing look. "Marcus showed me your test shots. You have something. The camera trusts you. That's rare for a new face."
I sit, folding my hands on the table. The surface is cold. "Thank you."
A man in a gray suit enters and takes a seat beside Naomi. "And I'm David Cross, legal counsel for Webb. I'll walk you through the contract."
The contract. Thick and waiting. I open it and scan the first page. Dense legal language. Damian would know every loophole. He's not here. I trace the edge of the paper with my thumb.
"Before we begin," I say, "I have questions about the exclusivity clause."
Marcus's eyebrow lifts. "Go ahead."
"It says Webb has the exclusive right to represent me for all modeling and related work. Does that include commercial print only, or does it extend to runway, editorial, and brand ambassadorships?"
David answers. "All modeling and related work. That's standard. It prevents conflicts and ensures Webb is your sole representative across the industry."
"And if another agency approaches me with an offer? A bigger one?"
Naomi's eyes narrow slightly. "You're a new face, Lyra. That's unlikely in your first year. But if it happens, we'd discuss it. Exclusivity doesn't mean you can't renegotiate. It means you don't sign with anyone else without our involvement."
Marcus leans back. His fingers tap once against the table.
"What about creative control? Do I have any say in the campaigns I'm booked for?"
Naomi exchanges a glance with Marcus. "As developmental talent, we guide your bookings based on market positioning. But we value input. If a brand doesn't align with your image or values, we'll discuss it."
"Discuss, but not necessarily agree."
"Correct."
I nod slowly. I should feel excited. Mostly I feel exposed.
"I have a manager," I say. "Dominic Kane. He'll review the contract before I sign anything."
Marcus tilts his head. "We usually don't allow external management for new faces."
"Mr. Kane is non-negotiable. I'm paying his fees, not Webb. He works for me."
Naomi's lips press together. "That's unusual."
"I need someone in my corner who only has my interests at heart."
Marcus leans forward, elbows on the table. "Who is he?"
"Dominic Kane. He's new, but I trust him."
Naomi sighs. "Fine. But he signs a confidentiality agreement and works through our team. If this causes problems, we revisit."
"That's fair."
I write down the information. Dominic Kane. [email protected]. The number routes to a separate line Vivian set up. I slide the paper across. The pen leaves a faint smudge on my finger.
David glances at the note. "Knight Management. Any relation to Knight Media Group?"
My heart does something stupid. "No. Just a coincidence."
Marcus picks up his coffee. His gaze lingers on me a beat longer than comfortable. Not suspicious. Something else. Like he's trying to place a face he's seen before. Then he takes a slow sip and says nothing.
"Now," Naomi says, sliding another document across. "Your development plan."
My first three months mapped out in black and white.
"We already have three offers. Skincare campaign. Lookbook for an emerging designer. Group editorial for a major magazine."
My foot taps under the table. I press my heel into the floor until it stops.
"That's fast."
"You have a unique look. We want to capitalize on that momentum."
"What about the other new faces?"
Naomi's expression doesn't change. "They'll get their opportunities. But we allocate resources based on potential. Right now, you're a priority."
The tall girl from the audition. She's been modeling since sixteen. I'm twenty-four. No experience. Prime bookings.
"I didn't ask for special treatment."
"You earned it." Marcus sets his cup down. "The camera doesn't lie. Take the win."
I look at the contract again. Twelve months. Twenty percent. Three campaigns. Outside, a pigeon lands on the windowsill, coos once, flies off.
"I'll have my manager review this and get back to you by tomorrow."
"Good. One more thing." Naomi gestures toward the door. "Your assistant."
A young woman steps in. Warm brown skin, intelligent dark eyes, a small confident smile. She sits beside me, not across.
"Lyra, I'm Priya. Priya Mehta. I'll be your assistant. Schedules, logistics, making sure you're where you need to be. I've got your back."
I glance at her. Then again. "Thank you, Priya."
"Fair warning. I'm punctual to a fault and I will nag you about hydration. But I'll also fight anyone who tries to mess with your career." She grins. "We're a team."
I don't say anything. Just nod. My shoulders drop a fraction.
Marcus stands and extends his hand. "Welcome to Webb, Lyra."
I shake it. "Thank you for believing in me."
"Belief is cheap. You proved yourself. Now prove it to everyone else."
---
I step into the hallway.
Voices drift from around the corner. The tall girl from the audition.
"Did you hear? The new girl, Lyra Chen. She hasn't even signed yet and they're handing her the DermaLux campaign."
"She's Marcus's pet project. Found her in some café and decided she's the next big thing."
"Twenty-four. She should be grateful for scraps, not taking prime bookings."
"Wait until Elite or Prestige start calling. She'll jump ship first chance she gets."
"She won't last. Give her six months."
I press my back against the wall. The wallpaper is cool through my blouse. Outside, a siren wails somewhere in SoHo. A car horn. The footsteps fade.
Priya is by the elevator. Her dark eyes find mine.
"You heard them?"
I nod.
"They're jealous. It's normal." She hands me a folder. "Your schedule for next week. Group editorial first. Then a fitting for the DermaLux shoot."
"Thank you."
She hesitates. "You're going to prove them wrong."
The elevator doors open. I step inside. Priya waves as they close.
---
That evening, I find Damian in his study.
"The contract came through." His voice is neutral. "Exclusivity clause is standard. Commission is fair."
I sit across from him. "You read it already?"
"I read everything that involves you."
"And?"
A muscle in his jaw ticks. "Those girls in the hallway."
"You heard about that?"
His eyes meet mine. "I hear things, Lyra. That's not—" He stops. His hand flexes on the desk. "I don't like it."
"You can't interfere."
"I know." Tight. "But I want—" He shakes his head.
I wait. He doesn't finish.
He stands. Walks to the window. His back to me now, the city sprawled behind him in glass and light. His hand is still flexing at his side.
Then he opens a drawer. Closes it. Hard. The sound cracks through the room.
"I don't like what this is doing to you."
I blink. "What?"
"This." He gestures vaguely. "The contract. The whispers. The way they talk about you. It's already started. Before you've even signed."
"That's the industry."
"I know what it is." His voice sharpens. "I don't have to like it."
He doesn't turn around. His reflection stares back at him from the window. I watch him watch himself. His hand flexes again.
"I need to fight my own battles," I say. "If you step in, they'll never respect me."
He doesn't answer. Just stands there, shoulders rigid, hand opening and closing. The silence stretches.
"What about transportation?" he asks finally. His voice sounds different now. Rougher. "Thomas can drive you."
"They have an agency van for group shoots. Priya handles it. For coming home... I'll dismiss her at the end of the day. Find Thomas around the corner."
"You're hiding your life from her."
"I'm hiding you from everyone. That was the deal."
He turns. Looks at me. His eyes are dark, and something is unsettled there. Like he's trying to solve a problem he can't name and it's making him angry. Not at me. At something else.
"You don't always have to know what to do," I say.
"I know." He says it too fast. Then stops. Shakes his head. "I don't know."
I stand. Walk to the door. At the threshold, I pause. He's still standing by the window, one hand resting on the drawer he slammed.
I leave.
Behind me, the silence holds. But it's different now. Unresolved. Unsteady.
Outside, the city hums. Next week, the group shoot. The DermaLux campaign. A room full of girls who already resent me. Priya in my corner. Damian in the shadows.
Tonight, something shifted. I'm not sure what.
But I don't think he knows either. And that's worse.