Chapter One : Flawless, but Flustered
Ring, ring…
The alarm buzzed loudly, dragging Zara out of her sleep.
"Ughhh, this damn alarm," she groaned, smacking her phone screen until the noise stopped.
She rolled over, ready to pull the blanket over her head—until it hit her. The meeting.
Not just any meeting. The meeting.
Zara bolted upright.
She had exactly an hour and a half to meet with Stei Fontaine, CEO of Stei Fashion World—one of the most powerful fashion empires across the US, UK, Canada, and Paris. And Stei was not the type to forgive tardiness. In fact, Stei once blacklisted a designer for showing up five minutes late—with a latte in hand.
Nope. Zara wasn't going to be that girl.
She launched herself out of bed and into the bathroom. Grabbing her toothbrush with one hand and smearing on minty toothpaste with the other, she brushed like her life depended on it. Two minutes later, she was under the hot stream of her rainfall shower.
Post-shower, Zara stood in front of her full-length vanity mirror, her towel tucked in like a robe, reaching for her skincare tray—more like a skincare cart, actually. Serums, oils, mists, masks, moisturizers. A whole army of glass bottles and gold-tipped applicators.
"Flawless skin is a lifestyle," she mumbled, layering her Vitamin C serum with practiced speed.
Zara didn't play about her face. Never had, never would. Especially not today.
"I've gotta look like a million bucks. Stei is a menace," she said, rolling her eyes as she slathered on moisturizer. "Who gets irritated over a lip gloss shade? Like—girl, chill. It's a gloss, not war."
Once her skin was glowing and prepped, she moved to the dress she'd already laid out on the bed—a sleek Louis Vuitton body-hugging midi dress, jet black with gold threading along the seams. It was the kind of dress that whispered expensive and screamed power. The fabric was silk-satin blend, custom tailored to fit like a second skin, with a high slit and a daring low back.
"Hey Siri, play Bed by Nicki Minaj featuring Ariana Grande," she called out as she danced her way back to her vanity.
The beat dropped, and Zara started swaying her hips, mouthing the lyrics as she applied her makeup—glossy lips, snatched brows, and a soft glam eye that made her almond-shaped eyes pop.
Thirty minutes later, she slipped into her dress and spun around in front of the mirror. Her brown skin glowed against the deep black fabric, the dress hugging every curve like it had been sewn onto her body.
"Oh my God, I look like a goddess," she whispered with a smirk.
And she did.
Zara Williams was a knockout. A walking magazine cover. With her tall frame, caramel-toned complexion, and thick curls pinned into a sleek bun, she exuded effortless grace. The kind of beauty you didn't scroll past. She was mixed—her dad Canadian, her mom Mexican—and she carried the best of both heritages like a signature.
One last spritz of perfume, a killer pair of stilettos, and a final glance in the mirror.
"Boss energy only," she said, grabbing her bag.
Today was the day Zara's World leveled up.
Zara headed downstairs for breakfast, her long curls bouncing side to side with every graceful step.
"Oh! My daughter looks absolutely ravishing," her mother, Julia Williams, beamed from across the dining room. "Come, you're early for once. Celine just brought in the salad."
"Ouu, thank you, Mum." Zara slid into her seat, eyes sweeping over the spread of fluffy pancakes, fresh fruit, croissants, and smoked salmon. "I wish I could devour everything, but I don't want to feel dizzy at the meeting. Plus… I'm watching my weight."
Julia waved her off with dramatic flair. "Enough with the fit fam nonsense. I don't want my daughter looking like a stick. Eat some pancakes, please." Without waiting for approval, she dropped two syrup-drizzled ones onto Zara's plate.
Zara raised an eyebrow, smirking. "And I'm sure you don't want your daughter looking like a balloon either."
Julia chuckled. "True. But I'd rather have you glowing and full than fainting in front of those fashion tyrants."
Zara rolled her eyes playfully and picked at her pancakes.
"Oh no," she gasped suddenly, glancing at her watch. "I've got five minutes! I need to get out of here."
Julia sipped her tea calmly. "That's right, you've got a meeting with that sadist. What's her name again? Strike?"
"Stei, Mum," Zara laughed, grabbing her bag. "And you're actually feistier than I am."
She leaned down to kiss Julia's cheek.
"You didn't even touch the bread!" Julia called as Zara dashed toward the door.
"Calories, Mum!" Zara shouted back with a grin, heels clicking against the marble floor.
"Good luck!" Julia called. Then muttered to herself, "Oh, this daughter of mine… Celine! Bring more ketchup!"
Zara stood in front of her mini garage, tapping her freshly manicured nails against her chin.
"Porsche or Audi?" she muttered, glancing between the two sleek rides. "Ugh, let me just take the Porsche."
Of course. The Porsche was her favorite—smooth, fierce, and loud enough to match her mood. She was borderline obsessed with it. Her Instagram bio even read 'Porsche > people.'
Sliding into the soft leather seat, she started the engine, the purr of the motor instantly calming her nerves. But just before she shifted into gear, something caught her eye—the small framed photo by the dashboard. It was an old picture, one she kept close. She and her dad, beaming on her graduation day.
Her fingers brushed over the glass.
"Oh, Dad… I wish you were here to calm my nerves," she whispered, her voice soft and shaky. "I miss you, Papa."
She pressed a kiss to the frame and placed it back gently.
Then, with a deep breath and a new fire in her eyes, Zara pulled out of the driveway.
The city was waiting. And so was Stei.