Murders in Miami

The cameras flash, bright and relentless, but I've learned to love it, I move down the runway with practiced grace, my heels clicking in perfect rhythm, my eyes fixed ahead like I own the world. And maybe I do. The crowd is a blur of faces, murmuring voices and clinking glasses blending into a soft hum beneath the pounding music. This is my moment, I was made for it. Miami's fashion scene thrives on perfection, and tonight, I am perfection. At nineteen, I'm already the face of the industry—tall, slender, with a figure that designers dream of dressing. My green eyes sparkle under the lights, my chestnut-brown hair flowing behind me like silk, every movement calculated, every step flawless. I'm not just walking this runway; I'm commanding it.

The show ends, and I step offstage, the adrenaline still coursing through me, my heart pounds, but I mask it with a confident smile as I make my way through the bustling backstage crowd. The air is thick with perfume and excitement, models chatting animatedly, stylists fussing over last-minute details, and assistants running around with clipboards. I should feel on top of the world, but there's a tightness in my chest that won't go away.

"Alessia!"

I turn just as Camila rushes up, her dark hair bouncing in perfect waves. Her hazel eyes are warm, a familiar comfort in this whirlwind of flashing cameras and whispered gossip.

"Breathe, babe", she says, taking my hands. "You killed it out there".

I exhale, shaking off the tension. "I know...It's just... a lot. Sometimes I feel like I can't keep up".

She squeezes my hands, her smile reassuring. "You're doing amazing, seriously don't overthink it".

I nod, letting her words sink in, Camila has always been my rock, the one person who truly understands the pressure of this world. We started together, dreaming of this life, and now we're living it, she gets me.

"I saw Jason earlier", she adds casually, looping her arm through mine as we walk toward the lounge. "He looked proud".

At the mention of my brother, my heart warms. Jason has been my biggest supporter since day one, always pushing me to be my best. He started in the industry before me, and I've always looked up to him.

"Really?" I ask, scanning the crowded room. And then I see him—leaning against the bar, watching me with that easy, familiar smile. Jason is every bit the male supermodel, tall and effortlessly stylish, his dark hair perfectly tousled, his blue eyes sharp and calculating in the way only a seasoned model's can be. He raises his glass when he sees me, and I grin, walking over with Camila by my side. "Hey, superstar", he says, pulling me into a quick hug, "You crushed it".

"Thanks", I breathe, feeling the tension start to ease.

"You good?" he asks, scanning my face the way only an older brother can.

I nod. "Just... tired, It's been a long week".

Jason gives me a knowing look. "It's always a long week in this business". He nudges me playfully. "But you're Alessia Carter, you were born for this".

His words are comforting, grounding me. Jason has always believed in me, even when I doubted myself. I lean against the bar next to him, grateful for his steady presence. Vincent DeLuca's voice breaks through the chatter, smooth and commanding. "There she is".

I glance up to see him striding toward me, a confident smile on his lips. Tall and impeccably dressed, Vincent is the kind of man who owns every room he walks into. As the head of the agency, his approval means everything, and he knows it.

"You were stunning tonight, Alessia", he says, leaning in to kiss my cheek. His hand lingers on my waist a second longer than necessary, and I suppress the urge to step back.

"Thank you", I say, flashing my most dazzling smile.

Vincent's dark eyes sweep over me, filled with something I can't quite place. Admiration? Possession? I push the thought aside and sip my drink, feeling Jason's protective gaze watching Vincent closely.

Camila leans in, whispering just loud enough for me to hear, "Careful with that one".

I laugh softly, brushing off her words. "I can handle him".

But deep down, I know she's right. Vincent DeLuca is not a man to be taken lightly. The rest of the night is a whirlwind of champagne, flashing lights, and endless congratulations. Jason stays close, and Camila keeps me laughing, making sure I don't get too caught up in my own head. It's moments like these that remind me how lucky I am—to have them by my side, to be living my dream. I tell myself the anxiety gnawing at my gut is just exhaustion, nothing more.

Still, as the night winds down and I finally step outside into the cool Miami air, I can't shake the feeling that something's coming.

I just don't know what yet.