Ellie's eyes fluttered open, throbbing with pain. A chemical taste lingered in her mouth. Her stomach churned. Her head pounded. And worst of all… she was still alive.
She stared up at the white ceiling of the hospital room. The fluorescent lights burned her eyes. The IV in her arm stung. Then, memories from the rooftop flooded her mind. Was it a dream?
"Damn it," she thought. "Guess I got high on medical drugs…"
The door opened. Her mother walked in.
Halley Cortez. Former supermodel. Sixty-five, but looked forty. Perfect makeup. Flawless hair. Size zero dress. And that familiar expression on her face disappointment.
"You're awake," her mother said. Her voice held no love, no concern. Just… exhaustion.
"Mom, when did you get here?"
"The doctors pumped your stomach. You're lucky. An hour later, and you'd be…" She stopped, glancing toward the window. "Why, Emily? Why do you always have to create drama?"
Ellie's chest tightened. Drama. To her mother, everything about her daughter was a performance even a suicide attempt.
"I just…" she managed to whisper, lips trembling under the weight of her own worthlessness.
"I saw that ridiculous video on Instagram," her mother interrupted. "I told you, stop singing in public. That world isn't for you. Look what it's done to you! Try living like a normal person for once. I'm saying this for your own good, stop going against everyone all the time!"
Ellie closed her eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Was she even allowed to live as herself? Could anyone truly live free of society's labels?
"I called my therapist," her mother continued, pulling a card from her purse. "A lovely private clinic. You'll stay there for a few months. Maybe you'll get better."
"No," Ellie said, voice trembling. "You're not locking me up like I'm insane!"
"No?" Her mother's brows arched. "You don't have a choice. They already did a psychiatric evaluation, you're a self-harm risk."
"No," Ellie repeated, stronger now. "I'm not going."
Her mother inhaled sharply through her nose. Fury flared in her eyes. "Emily Eleanor Harper. Enough. Stop ruining everything! You ruined my life, and now you're ruining yours. Enough!" she shouted.
Ellie felt weaker than ever. Every word stabbed her like proof that she was the cause of all her mother's failures.
Without even lifting her head, she murmured, "You chose this. You could've ended it when you saw that damn pregnancy test. Stop blaming me for the life you chose to live!"
Her voice came out cold, laced with the fire burning through her veins.
Her mother frowned, offended. Then, furious, she raised her hand but before she could strike, the door opened.
James Valentine stepped in.
He had changed suits now wearing a dark gray one. A file in his hand. A professional smile on his lips.
"Mrs. Cortez," he said politely, but firmly. "Put your hand down. Or I will. I'm not as gentle as your daughter."
"Who the hell are you to meddle in a family matter? Get out!"
"My name is James Valentine. Miss Harper's new manager."
Her mother's mouth fell open. "What? Manager?"
"Yes," James said, opening the file. "The contract we signed this morning gives me full rights to manage Ellie Harper's career. And she's not going to any clinic. She's coming with me."
Ellie blinked, trying to comprehend. So last night hadn't been a dream. But she hadn't signed anything… had she? Was he bluffing? Whatever it was, she was strangely glad to see him.
"This is nonsense!" her mother snapped. "You can't manage her. She's not even a singer!"
"In three months," James said smoothly, "she'll be America's most popular one. And we don't need your approval. Ellie's an adult. The decisions are hers now."
Her mother turned to her, shocked. "Where did you even meet this man? He's manipulating you! Don't you see?"
Ellie looked at James. She remembered the rooftop. The coffee. The card. And his words: "Your life begins tomorrow."
"Mom," Ellie said, her voice steady for the first time. "My decision. From now on, I'm working with Mr. Valentine."
Her mother stood frozen. Not so much from shock, but envy. The idea that Ellie might actually succeed burned her more than anything. With a huff, she grabbed her purse and stormed out.
Ellie turned to James. Her eyes glimmered alive, confident, unafraid. She smiled. And that's how it all began.
The Next Morning – 8:45 a.m.
Ellie stood at her apartment door. Discharged just before dawn, James had driven her home in his sleek black Mercedes. Neither of them spoke the entire ride. She couldn't tell if he disliked people or just her. Now, they waited in silence.
"They're not coming," Ellie said. "I still can't believe you think the country's top casting team would show up for a no-name like me."
James's lips curved into a devilish smile. "Five minutes. If they don't show, I'll drive you to whatever clinic you choose."
"They won't," she said again but her voice quivered. Because deep down… a part of her still hoped.
8:50. Nothing. 8:55. Silence in the hallway. 8:58. Her heart pounded violently. 8:59. She gave up.
Then; ding. The elevator doors slid open.
An army of people poured out.
Leading them was a tall woman with long black hair, dragging a massive suitcase. Behind her, two assistants wheeled a hair station, a makeup trolley, and rolling racks full of dresses.
"Ellie Harper?" the woman said, French accent dripping with flair. "I'm Simone. Your stylist. Get ready, darling because you're leaving this apartment as someone entirely new."
Ellie's jaw dropped. "No way…"
Within minutes, her apartment turned into a hurricane of beauty chaos. Simone's team invaded every corner, lights, mirrors, makeup tables, clothes scattered everywhere.
Ellie sat frozen in the middle of it all. Terrified. Confused. And, strangely… thrilled. Like a child, she swung her feet from the salon chair.
"Stop squirming, sweetheart!" Simone barked. "Hair first. Then makeup. Then wardrobe."
"But I..." Ellie started, but one sharp glare silenced her.
"No 'buts.' James hired me. I do my job."
Moments later, the hairstylist appeared a young, flamboyant man who gasped as soon as he touched Ellie's hair.
"Oh my God. When was your last haircut?"
"Two years ago," she mumbled.
"Two years?! Were you living in a cave, darling? I'll need a miracle."
"I just… wasn't into it," Ellie said defensively.
"Not into what? Being a woman? You're punishing yourself!" he exclaimed theatrically and began working furiously.
James stood in the corner, arms crossed, smiling faintly as he watched her.
"You're not changing," he said. "You're emerging. There's a difference."
Ellie laughed softly. "I'm not sure what's about to emerge, but you sound awfully sure of it."
James stepped closer, locking eyes with her. "You're not invisible because you're overweight," he said quietly. "You're invisible because you agreed to be. Starting today you won't agree anymore. You'll rise."
His voice carried a strange power, one that made her believe she could take over the world. Ellie nodded.
Three hours later, it was done. Her hair, layered, glossy, alive. Her makeup, natural, radiant. Her reflection, unrecognizable.
Simone handed her a mirror, eyes gleaming. "Well?"
Ellie looked. And froze.
"Is that… me?" she whispered.
"Yes," Simone said proudly. "You just brighter. We brought your light back."
Then came the clothes. Rack after rack of dresses every one tailored perfectly to her body. Not tight, not loose. Bold. Vibrant. Alive.
"These are… expensive," Ellie said, touching the fabric.
"James paid," Simone said. "Don't argue. Try this one."
It was deep purple velvet, V-neck, hugging her shape but not suffocating.
"I can't wear that," Ellie said.
"Why not?"
"Because I'm… I'm fat. My boobs are huge. People will"
"People will what?" Simone cut in.
"Say I look like a cow…" Ellie's voice faltered.
Simone rolled her eyes. "Listen to me, Ellie. People always talk. Whether you hide or shine, they'll talk. So play by your rules."
Ellie hesitated. She wanted to wear it but fear held her back.
James stepped in beside her. "If you're scared, you're on the right path," he said. "Courage isn't the absence of fear it's acting in spite of it."
Ellie drew a deep breath. And put the dress on.
When she looked in the mirror, her breath hitched. The velvet hugged her curves. The neckline framed her collarbone. Her hair glowed. Her eyes sparkled. It wasn't too much. It wasn't too little. It was perfect.
"Oh my God…" she whispered.
"Yes," Simone said. "That's you."
James scanned her from head to toe, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. "Perfect. Now we have a meeting to attend."
Before she could protest, he grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door.
2:00 p.m. – The Meeting
A luxurious boardroom on the twelfth floor. Across from them sat three producers of Summer Love, a romantic musical series.
"So," said one a heavyset middle-aged man. "You want Ellie Harper for the show?"
"Yes," James replied.
"But she's… not famous," said a younger woman. "Nobody knows her. That's a huge risk."
"Three months from now, everyone will," James said calmly.
"How?" the third producer asked.
James smiled that calculated, dangerous smile. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. "She'll start dating Kyle Sanderson. Your male lead. To the public, that means your show becomes real."
The room froze.
"Kyle Sanderson?" the fat producer stammered. "The Kyle Sanderson? America's golden boy?"
"Yes."
"This is ridiculous," the woman said. "Kyle would never" she stopped herself, clearing her throat.
"I'll convince him," James said. "Then you'll make it public. Paparazzi. Social media. Everywhere. Ellie Harper's name will explode. That's when the offer makes sense."
Ellie's pulse skyrocketed. Just hearing Kyle's name made her dizzy. But she sat tall, pretending to be composed.
The producers exchanged looks.
"It's risky," the man said.
"You don't make stars without risk," James replied.
A long silence. Then, finally; "Alright," the woman said. "On one condition: the relationship must look real. No scandals. Otherwise, deal's off."
"Deal," James said smoothly.
Ellie sat there, stunned, barely breathing. Was this really happening?
Outside, in the parking lot, she trembled.
"Kyle Sanderson," she whispered. "You're introducing me to him?"
"Tomorrow," James said. "Lunch. Fancy restaurant. Paparazzi will be ready."
"But he's…" She hesitated. Memories of her childhood flashed. She was ten, watching his first concert. He was sixteen talented, beautiful, untouchable. Her first crush. Her first love. Pure. Unreal. And now she was supposed to fake-date him?
"This is insane," she breathed.
"No," James said. "This is strategy. You want to win? You play the game."
"But I..."
James gripped her shoulders gently. "Ellie, look at me. This is just business. Kyle knows. You know. No feelings. Just a show for the media."
"But people will think it's real," she said.
"Exactly," he said. "That's why it'll work."
Ellie's pulse raced. It felt wrong but thrilling.
"Tomorrow?" she whispered.
"Tomorrow. Noon. Be ready."
That night, Ellie sat alone in her apartment. She stared into the mirror. New hair. New makeup. New clothes. A new me? she wondered. But she still felt like the same broken version inside.
She picked up her phone, opened Instagram, and deleted the video. If this was a new chapter, she'd start clean.
Then she snapped a photo just her face. No sound. No song. Just her.
She typed: "New beginnings. #Metamorphosis."
And hit post.
Within seconds, five likes. Then ten. Then twenty. Then the comments poured in.
"Wow! Who is she?"
"Ellie? I didn't even recognize you!"
"You look gorgeous!"
"OMG! this 'fat chick' turned into a goddess!"
Ellie stared at the screen, tears welling. For the first time, the words weren't cruel. For the first time, she was seen.
Maybe James was right. Maybe this game could be won after all.