"Okay, fine! You win," Elena huffed, throwing her hands up in defeat. "I don't know why you even studied management in school. You should have studied accounting instead." She sighed, a mix of exasperation and resignation. "I suppose like father, like daughter."
Hazel's smirk widened, sharp and gleaming. "Hahaha, Mom but I resemble you more. You never play around with your money, either."
Elena grumbled but moved quickly, completing the transfer. A ping from Hazel's phone confirmed the victory.
"Nice doing business with you," Hazel said, grinning triumphantly, like a queen claiming her spoils.
"Just go away, you sly fox," Elena muttered, her voice half-scolding, half-defeated.
As Hazel and Fiona rose to leave, Elena's words tumbled after them like a relentless river, desperate to catch them one last time.
"Fiona! Don't let her influence you! She's… she's bad for you!"
Fiona didn't respond, and Hazel's grin only grew wider. The game was over and Hazel had won, every motion, every word, a victory etched in both strategy and wit.
It had been a week since Fiona and Hazel had delivered the packages, and true to her word and her unfailing friendship Hazel had transferred the entire sum to Fiona.
Fiona sat cross-legged on her bed, her wardrobe thrown open like a treasure chest. The new clothes shimmered under the soft bedroom light not limited-edition couture, but pieces that felt attainable, wearable, yet undeniably hers.
"WOW… Hazel, you're a lifesaver!" Fiona whispered, her fingers tracing the fabric. "I finally got to actually change my wardrobe. Awww, I can't wait to slide into every single one of these."
She leaned back, letting herself collapse onto the bed, and a thrill of childish glee ran through her. "I can't believe a new set of clothes can make me this happy. OMG so this is what I've been missing."
Her laughter caught in midair as her eyes flicked to the vibrating phone. An email notification from her agency flashed across the screen, and her heart thudded as she clicked it open.
The words hit her like ice water: she was now officially under Startalents Media. The message was brief, almost clinical, just a date: Tuesday. She was to report to the company to sign some documents.
Her pulse spiked. Without hesitation, Fiona scrolled through her contacts and filed her manager's number. Fingers trembling, she tapped Call.
The dial tone sang in her ears. Each second stretched like eternity, her mind racing. 'Startalents Media, this can't be real'
"Hello? I just saw my email. Wait—what do you mean my contract is terminated? And I'm being sent to Startalents Media?" Fiona's voice trembled, sharp with disbelief.
"Fiona yes. The company decided not to renew your contract, but Startalents Media requested you. They're eager to have you onboard," her manager replied, calm and measured.
"Eager to have me? Without even asking me first? This… this is insane! How can a transfer happen like this? I didn't agree to any of it! I just debuted!" Fiona stammered, her voice trembling with worry and frustration.
"I know it's sudden. But they see your talent as a perfect fit. I believe in you—you can do this. Just go sign your new contract," her manager said gently.
Fiona's hands shook, fury and shock warring in her chest. "Smooth transition? Do you know what this feels like? One moment I'm planning my next project here and the next, I'm being shoved into someone else's company like… like I'm nothing but an asset!"
"Fiona please. We value you. Startalents Media is genuinely excited to work with you. Think of it as a new opportunity," her manager urged.
"Opportunity? It feels like betrayal. I… I can't believe this." Fiona's breath hitched, her voice low but fierce, a storm barely contained.
"Understood, Fiona. I'm sorry. I wish I could do more, but you don't really have a choice," her manager admitted.
"Choice? it's fine," Fiona whispered, the words tasting bitter as they left her lips.
The call ended. Fists clenched, heart hammering like a relentless drum, Fiona's mind raced. She already knew Startalents Media was owned by Manson, and Hazel… Hazel worked there.
Without a second thought, she snatched up her phone and fired off a WhatsApp message. Her fingers shook, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Moments later, her screen lit up with a reply: "Come meet me at House of Dior."
A jolt shot through her. Dior. Hazel. Manson. Everything collided in that single instant, and Fiona felt the pull of destiny dragging her forward. There was no time to hesitate.
Urgency surged through her veins, propelling her forward. In what felt like no time at all, she arrived. The boutique's façade loomed before her stunning and modern, smooth limestone and sculpted stucco curves glinting under the scorching sun. Elegant, contemporary, a perfect blend of luxury and power, right there on Rodeo Drive.
Fiona strode inside, boots clicking against the polished floor. The interior was equally breathtaking, seating areas scattered with tastefully arranged couches, counters in the handbag and leather goods sections designed for guests to pause and relax.
And there, amidst the soft glow and curated displays, was Hazel lounging effortlessly, transparent glasses resting on her face like a crown, exuding calm authority.
Fiona's chest tightened. Every step toward her friend felt like walking into a new world, a world she hadn't asked for yet one she couldn't escape.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa—why the long face?" Hazel's hands waved in the air, playful but probing, trying to break through Fiona's stormy mood.
Fiona sank into the chair beside her, dragging it close like a shield, her fingers clutching the armrest. "Can you believe it?" she hissed, voice sharp with disbelief. "I've been bought by Startalents Media. Bought or no, sold," she muttered, the last word tasting bitter.
Hazel blinked, half-laughing. "What? You just debuted! Your contract hasn't even started. This… this is absurd!"
"Absurd?" Fiona shot back, a storm brewing in her eyes. "It's infuriating."
Hazel shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips despite the situation. "No, no, trust me. It's in your favor."
Fiona tilted her head, skepticism carved into every line of her face. "Favor? How is being sold to another company favorable?"
Hazel leaned back, exuding that calm confidence that always unnerved Fiona. "Come on. Your fiancé owns the place. You think he won't be thrilled to see you there?"
Fiona's chest tightened, suspicion flickering in her gaze. "Are you sure he didn't have anything to do with this?" Her voice was low, edged with both worry and simmering anger.
Hazel's smile widened just a fraction, eyes glinting with mischief. "Well let's just say, some things work out perfectly, even when they look chaotic."
Fiona's jaw clenched. Perfectly chaotic. That sounded about right.
"But trust me," Hazel scoffed, a trace of exasperation in her voice, "I wish he did. Manson doesn't have the time, he doesn't give a fuck about the hottest actress in his company, let alone a rookie like you. I'm pretty sure he doesn't even know you're being transferred." She tilted her head, eyes sharp. "The last time you two talked did you even discuss your career? Does he even know you're an actress?"
Fiona froze, her mind instantly transported back to that day. Her chest tightened, a pang of guilt and anxiety twisting inside her.
"No… no, we didn't," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, low and strained.
Hazel's expression softened slightly, though her tone remained firm. "Then it makes sense. He has nothing to do with your transfer. Absolutely nothing."
Just then, the boutique doors swung open, and Manson entered, flanked by a stunning model. The air seemed to shift the moment they stepped in. The model's eyes flicked around the room, then glided toward the side where Fiona and Hazel were seated.
Noticing her approach, a staff member hurried over, frantically trying to display a piece from their collection. Fiona's gaze followed the model, sharp and wary, as the woman's attention zeroed in on Manson.
"Babe, please, come this way," the model's voice rang out, sweet and melodic, almost hypnotic.
Manson's stride was effortless as he moved toward her but the moment his eyes met Fiona's, something like a spark of recognition or tension flared. Hazel, sensing the silent storm, sprang to her feet and hurried toward him.
"Hi, cousin," Hazel greeted, her smile wide, warm, every bit the picture of innocence and mischief in her eyes.
"You little" Manson's hand ruffled Hazel's hair playfully, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. Then his gaze swept to Fiona. "You're here for shopping, I presume?"