Chapter 1

• AMY'S POV.
• "Please get yourself together, Amy.” Grasping my resume as if it held the answer to my whole life, I muttered under my breath. "You’ve got this."
• The tall glass building was glittering under the mid-morning sun, almost taunting me. With trembling fingers, I handed the driver some cash and got out.
• My name is Amy Walters. I've been an aspiring model since I had graduated from modelling school, but I've been getting rejected by every company and agency. But I'm not giving up on my long-awaited dream as a supermodel, as I still crave for a chance to stand on a stage and shine.
• My black stiletto heels clicked loudly against the sidewalk.
• This is it.
• I tugged at my tight crimson body-con dress, the hem near inappropriately low but that was what I wanted. The deep V neckline dropped enough to grab attention and turn heads, whereas the daring red lipstick on my full lips yelled confidence, though I was a nervous wreck inside.
• My long black hair tumbled in free waves down my back, swaying as I moved. Five years of modeling school had gone over my head, and here I was, outside the most powerful fashion empire in New York, hoping this was not just another rejection.
• I took a deep breath and strode in.
• The lobby was screaming luxury—marble floors, golden accents, and models who basically had careers gliding past me like they belonged here. I tightened the grip on my resume and headed to the reception desk, using every bit of my artificial confidence.
• All I said was, "Appointment for Amy Walters," nearly grinning.
• The receptionist gave me just a cursory look, before gesturing at the elevators. "Twenty-seventh floor. Good luck.”
• I really needed it.
• The ride to the floor felt like eternity. From the mirrored walls, I stared back at my reflection—cheekbones shaped to perfection and dark kohl coating green eyes matching neatly but still a little overanxious.
• This is your sixth interview this month, Amy. Don't screw this up.
• The doors opened onto a big office flooded with floor-to-ceiling window light. A modern desk sat at the farthest end, but it wasn’t the interior that made my heart stop—it was him.
• Liam Carter.
• CEO of Lords of Fashion.
• He was seated behind the glass desk, typing on his laptop. He looked more attractive in person, tall, well-built, sharp jawline with just the right amount of stubble to qualify as dangerous. His dark hair was exactly unkempt in that "I don't care but I really do" sort of way. His piercing blue eyes flicked up at me, and I forgot how to breathe for a second.
• "Miss Walters," he greeted, his low voice smooth but distant.
• I cleared my throat. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Carter.”
• “Have a seat.”
• I obeyed, crossing my legs elegantly, though my heart thumped against my ribs.
• He flipped through my resume, a little smirk forming slowly across his lips. "Five years at New York Elite Modeling Institute. Impressive.”
• Feeling a bit of hope, I sat a little taller.
• "But," he added, "no significant endorsements. Not any promotions. No runway experience.” He glanced up at me. “Five years, Amy. And not a single brand wanted you?"
• ouch.
• I felt my throat tighten. "I've been to many auditions..."
• "And was rejected," his words sliced right through me. "If no one’s picked you up in five years, that means something’s missing.”
• He's just like the rest of them
• "Please, just give me a chance." I blurted out, my hands clenching on my lap. “Every company claims the same thing, but no one is ready to gamble. If I never have the chance, how will anyone know my potential?”
• His face was unreadable as he studied me.
• "Miss Walters, Lords of Fashion doesn't gamble on potentials. We need results. We want models who will sell a line with a single post."
• I felt the burn of tears scratching at my throat, but I wasn't going to cry in front of Liam Carter.
• “I'll do anything for this opportunity,” I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of desperation.
• That got his attention.
• He leaned forward, elbows propped on the desk, his blue eyes grew dark. “You’ll do anything?”
• I paused, but then I saw it; all my future was resting on this one moment. "Yes!"
• His smirk widened, “Stand up.”
• I blinked multiple times, "What?"
• “You're a model, right? Give me a walk. Show me what five years have gotten you.”
• I jumped off the chair, propelled myself back. If this was my last shot, I was going all in. Swaying my hips, I strode across the office, turned on my heel, and let the dress hug every curve as I walked back to him.
• I noticed his jaw tightened. “Not bad,” he admitted
• "Then give me a chance." I hissed before I could stop myself.
• He stood and he was fucking tall, now looming over me. "It's not just about your walking appearance. It comes down to your selling. And I believe you lack what it takes."
• Anger boiled up inside me. "I will do anything, Mr. Carter. Please don’t discard me.
• His eyes darkened and he stared into my eyes like he was looking for something. "Anything, you say?”
• I gulped down hard. “Yes,” I sounded desperate, but hell, I was.
• His next move caught me completely off guard. He closed the distance between us and pinned me between the wall and himself. His hand brushed my cheek, before running down to my jaw.
• “What if I asked for you?” He whispered against my ear.
• I was too stunned to move.
• "What if your body is the price for this opportunity, Amy?"