C3 Model to CEO

SYDNEY

24 YEARS LATER

The flash of cameras is like a firing squad—rapid, merciless, blinding.

“SYDNEY! OVER HERE! LOOK THIS WAY! WHO’S THE GUY?”

I raise my hand to shield my face, but it’s useless. The paparazzi swarm like a pack of vultures as I stumble out of the five-star hotel at six in the morning, my heels dangling from one hand, last night’s cocktail dress clinging stubbornly to my skin. My hair is a mess of curls and regret.

And worse? A man follows me out. Not my man. Not my boyfriend. Just another bad decision in a long line of them.

The headlines practically write themselves: Supermodel Sydney Stallone caught sneaking out of hotel at dawn. Who’s the mystery man?

By the time I duck into the waiting car, my phone is already vibrating with notifications.

I unlock it with shaky fingers.

One unread text. From Luke. My boyfriend.

> We’re done. Don’t bother calling.

My throat tightens, but the tears won’t come. I’m too furious to cry.

“Damn it!” I slam the phone onto the leather seat. The driver doesn’t flinch. He’s used to my meltdowns. Lucky him.

Within hours, the scandal is everywhere—front pages, gossip blogs, Twitter threads dissecting my hair, my shoes, the exact lipstick shade I was wearing while ruining my career. Brands that had lined up to work with me suddenly go radio silent. My agent calls, frantic. My modeling career—my entire identity—is hanging by a thread.

And then my father calls.

“Dad, please—” I start, but he cuts me off with his usual growl.

“Congratulations, Sydney. You’ve embarrassed the family name again.”

The venom in his tone makes me want to shrink, but I straighten my spine. “It’s not like you ever cared about the family name until it benefits you.”

There’s a pause, then his voice turns crueler, quieter. “You’re going to fix this. You’re taking over Stallone Enterprises.”

I choke out a laugh. “Me? A CEO? Dad, I’m a model. I barely survive reading spreadsheets.”

“You’ll learn.” His voice sharpens. “Or I’ll tell the world the truth about your mother.”

My blood runs cold. “Don’t you dare—”

“Oh, I will. Don’t forget, Sydney. Your mother was never supposed to exist in my life. She was a mistake. A weakness. And you… well, you were the result of my little affair. Imagine what the world will say if they find out. What your precious mother will suffer when her secret becomes headline news.”

He knows exactly where to strike. My mother. The woman who raised me alone, who loved me fiercely despite the shame of being his mistress, his scandal. She doesn’t deserve to be dragged through the mud.

My jaw clenches. My nails dig into my palm until it hurts. “Fine,” I whisper. “I’ll do it.”

“That’s my girl,” he says smugly. “First day tomorrow. Don’t embarrass me again.”

The line goes dead.

I hurl my phone onto the bed and collapse beside it. I want to scream, cry, punch something—but instead, I laugh bitterly. “Sydney Stallone, supermodel and now… corporate puppet. Fantastic.”

---

The Next Morning

The lobby of Stallone Enterprises is a jungle of judgmental eyes. Everywhere I turn, whispers follow me.

“Isn’t that her?”

“She was on the front page yesterday.”

“She’s the new CEO?”

I strut forward with practiced confidence, chin high, heels clicking against the marble like a battle drum. If I’ve learned anything in modeling, it’s this: when the whole world stares, you own it.

Beside me, my PA, Paige, hurries with a tablet in hand. She’s short, efficient, and way too nervous for my liking.

“Ms. Stallone,” she whispers urgently, “you have a full day of meetings. First the executive staff, then the board—”

“Relax, Paige,” I say smoothly. “I’ve walked Paris Fashion Week half-naked in six-inch heels. I can handle a boardroom.”

She doesn’t look convinced.

Then a familiar figure steps into view. Uncle Ross. My father’s brother.

“Uncle!” I grin, genuinely relieved. “Finally, someone I can trust in this viper’s nest.”

Ross pulls me into a quick hug, his smile warm but weary. His graying hair and tired eyes betray years of loyalty spent in the wrong company—my father’s.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “No one here will post about you. I’ve made sure the staff knows the rules.”

I exhale slowly, tension easing. “Thank you. I knew I could count on you.”

He pats my shoulder, then guides me down the hall. “Now, let’s show you to your office. Soundproof. Private. You’ll need it.”

My eyebrows lift. “Soundproof? Uncle Ross, what kind of fights do you expect me to have in here?”

He chuckles under his breath. “With your father’s employees? Trust me—you’ll see.”

My new office gleams with modern minimalism. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city, while a massive desk dominates the center. It screams power. Too bad I feel like a fraud sitting behind it.

“Don’t worry,” Ross says, noticing my hesitation. “You’ll grow into it.”

Then he leads me to the conference room.

The moment I step inside, the chatter quiets. Executives in tailored suits turn their heads. Their gazes weigh heavy on me, skeptical, evaluating.

And then I see him.

He’s standing near the end of the table, dark suit tailored to perfection, jaw sharp as though carved from stone. His presence commands the room effortlessly, like gravity itself bends toward him.

My breath catches.

Who is that?

For a second, I forget where I am. Forget my humiliation, my father, my secret. My entire focus zeroes in on him. His dark eyes meet mine briefly, cool, unreadable, and something inside me flips upside down.

I don’t hear a word of the meeting. Not one. My eyes keep drifting back to him, shameless.

When it ends, I lean close to Paige. “Find out who he is. And schedule me a private meeting. Immediately.”

---

Later that evening, I corner him.

“You know,” I say lightly, flashing my best smirk, “it’s okay to hit on me. I won’t bite.”

His gaze is icy, his tone flat. “Get off your high horse. I’m not interested.”

I freeze. My smile falters. “Excuse me?”

Without another word, he turns and walks away, leaving me staring after him.

Rejection. Me. Sydney Stallone. Rejected.

When I meet my friends later—Rivera and Cindy—they nearly choke on their wine laughing.

“Wait, wait, wait—” Rivera gasps between giggles. “You mean to tell me… you got rejected? You?”

“By the hottest man in the company?” Cindy adds, eyes sparkling. “This is priceless.”

I slam my glass down. “Laugh all you want. But I can make him mine in a month.”

Rivera smirks. “Bet on it.”

Cindy raises her brow. “If you lose, there will be consequences.”

My lips curl into a dangerous smile. “Fine. One month. He’ll be mine.”