ELENA'S POINT OF VIEW
As my car rolled onto the street where the modeling agency stood, a sinking feeling lodged itself in my stomach.
"What's happening?" I leaned forward, my heart racing as I took in the chaotic scene outside.
A sea of flashing cameras, reporters jostling for position, and news vans lined the curb like an approaching storm. At least fifty people were milling about, all gathered outside the agency entrance, their eager faces alive with anticipation.
"Mrs. Reyes," my driver said cautiously, glancing at the crowd. "Perhaps we should reconsider…"
"No." I straightened, determination coursing through me. "Keep going."
The vehicle halted at the curb, and chaos erupted. Security personnel from the car behind leaped out, but the reporters surged forward, a tidal wave of questions and noise.
As soon as I opened the door, a barrage of camera flashes blinded me, and microphones thrusted forth, more menacing than welcoming. The onslaught of inquiries hit me like a wall:
