THE SUPERMODEL CAUSED A COMMOTION at the airport shortly before boarding. Camera flashes exploded around her like lightning, illuminating her exhausted face, but she refused to smile. For the first time, she ignored the fans shouting her name from behind the security barriers, declined every autograph request, and didn't pose for the cameras. Her eyes remained hidden behind dark sunglasses, and her hardened expression stood in stark contrast to her usual glamour. She looked exhausted, distant, and wounded.
As soon as she passed through the boarding gate, she kept the same icy expression until she settled into her first-class seat. Only then did she remove her sunglasses, recline the seat, and close her eyes, trying to find a moment of peace amid the chaos.
— It doesn't matter that you slept badly, Jessyca — a voice echoed from behind her, irritated, paternal, and stern. — You have to smile at all times. That's your job.
— This seat is taken — she murmured without opening her eyes, her voice heavy with exhaustion and contempt.
— I know, sweetheart. I'm your manager. I haven't forgotten your ridiculous demand to travel alone. I just came by to remind you of one essential thing: smile for the press, no matter the cost. That's what keeps your face on magazine covers and the money flowing into your account.
— Fuck you, fuck the press, and fuck the whole damn world... just leave me alone — Jessyca snapped, turning her face toward the window. Her tone was cold and razor-sharp.
Before Jacob could reply, she drifted off to sleep, lulled by the distant hum of the engines. She didn't notice the plane taking off, nor did she feel the slight shiver as it climbed into the thin air.
Some time later, a different voice woke her.
— May I sit here?
— No! — she replied impatiently, her eyes still closed.
— But the seat is empty...
— I bought both seats so I could travel alone and avoid annoying people like you — she shot back without even looking at the intruder.
The person walked away, muttering something unintelligible.
Jessyca cracked one eye open to make sure she was finally alone. Only then did she take a deep breath and open her handbag.
Inside was a yellowed letter her neighbors had delivered the day before her trip.
The paper carried an old, familiar, deeply unsettling scent.
"Congratulations. You've become the world's greatest supermodel. Of course, without my little push, you'd be nobody. Now it's time to settle our debt."
Jessyca's heart pounded.
Those words cut like blades.
Who did she owe anything to?
Who owned her very soul?
She pressed the flight attendant call button.
Despite the turbulence, the woman arrived within seconds.
— A double whiskey, please — she requested, trying to hide the tremor in her voice.
Jacob, seated directly behind her, overheard the order and leaned forward.
— Are you all right?
— Yes — she answered curtly. — But I don't want to talk about it.
— Fine. As long as it doesn't interfere with your work...
— It has nothing to do with work — Jessyca cut him off, staring into the void.
You couldn't help me anyway... she thought bitterly.
She opened her handbag again and pulled out a small, worn Bible—a childhood gift.
Inside the back cover was a handwritten dedication.
"Dear Jessyca, whenever you're facing a problem, close your eyes and open this book to any page. God will speak to you.
Love, from the priest who talks funny."
The memory hit her like a punch.
She had received the Bible the week before her First Communion.
Back when she still believed in miracles.
Why did you abandon me when I needed you most? she thought bitterly. If you hadn't run away, I never would have fallen into this trap, you son of a bitch priest!
The flight attendant returned with her drink.
Jessyca thanked her, took a sip, and felt the whiskey burn down her throat like fire.
Then she followed the advice in the dedication.
She closed her eyes and opened the Bible at random.
— Maybe closer to the end... — she murmured, slowly turning the pages. The old paper carried the scent of age and time.
She decided to open it to Revelation.
A chill ran down her spine.
— My God... tell me something good... — she whispered before fixing her eyes on the passage.
Her gaze settled on the fourth verse of chapter seventeen.
"The woman was dressed in purple and scarlet, adorned with gold, precious stones, and pearls. She held a golden cup filled with abominations and the filth of her prostitution. Written on her forehead was a mysterious name: Babylon the Great, the mother of prostitutes and of the abominations of the earth."
Her hands began to tremble.
She lifted the glass to her lips and took another sip, but the taste had changed.
It was bitter.
Metallic.
Revolting.
— This whiskey is fucking awful! — she shouted, hurling the glass onto the floor.
The flight attendant hurried over, startled.
— Is everything all right, miss?
— This whiskey tastes like garbage! — Jessyca snapped.
— I'm terribly sorry. Would you like me to bring you another glass?
— No, thank you — Jacob interjected, rising diplomatically.
The flight attendant knelt to clean the floor, maintaining her professional composure.
— If you need anything, just let me know.
— Thank you — Jacob replied as he sat down beside Jessyca.
— I already told you this seat is occupied — she shot back without looking at him.
Jacob noticed the book in her hands and frowned.
— Are you... reading the Bible, Jess?
— So what? — she replied wearily, making no effort to hide the sarcasm in her voice.
— Are you trying to save your soul? — he teased, half laughing, half curious.
Jessyca fixed her gaze on a point beyond the clouds outside the window.
— No one can save something that was lost from the very beginning... — she murmured.
And for a brief moment, the silence inside the cabin felt like the prelude to a fall.