C17 Through the Eyes of Possession

“Have a seat,” Alvin said at last, gesturing faintly toward the chair across from him.

His tone softened, but the weight behind his words did not.

“You shouldn’t have abandoned your work at the Atelier. I’m aware things are quiet for you right now—Anthony isn’t around but that’s exactly why you should be careful.”

A sigh slipped out of him as he rubbed his temples, weariness etched into every line of his face.

“What happens when he suddenly returns, and I have no idea how to present you?” His gaze lifted briefly, sharp despite his fatigue. “It’s already bad enough being in Anthony’s black book… I’d rather not end up on Calvin’s bad side as well. More importantly, I don’t want this to complicate things for you.”

His phone buzzed sharply on the desk.

Alvin glanced at the screen. A flicker of concern crossed his expression, quick, almost imperceptible before he returned his attention to her.

“I still don’t know how he found out you were serving Calvin,” he added more quietly. “At the very least, go back every weekend. Don’t linger at INK longer than necessary.”

Cleopatra lowered her gaze slightly, composed and respectful.

“I’m truly sorry, sir. I never meant to cause any inconvenience,” she said softly. “I only wanted to understand the workflow there… to align it with the Atelier’s system. I thought it would help me manage both more efficiently.”

Alvin exhaled again, the tension easing just a fraction.

“Just… don’t overdo it,” he said, already half-distracted as his fingers resumed typing.

Then, almost as an afterthought—

“Hmm. Anthony isn’t in the country at the moment. So… you’re free to continue. You may go.”

Cleopatra inclined her head in quiet acknowledgment.

Without another word, she turned and left, slipping seamlessly back into the steady rhythm of the Atelier, like nothing had shifted at all, though something unspoken lingered in the air behind her.

***

A few days later, Cleopatra moved swiftly along the hanger rail, her hands brushing over the sleek fabrics as she meticulously arranged the dresses. The room smelled faintly of perfume and fresh textiles, a calm that contrasted sharply with the tension coiling in her chest.

“Bring the outfit Guinevere will be using for the shoot,” Joss called out, his voice sharp and precise.

Cleopatra’s fingers paused on the smooth, slightly stretchy fabric, a flicker of unease running through her. Her mind raced she hadn’t warned Joss about Guinevere’s allergy to elastane. The thought lingered like a shadow, and for a moment, the soft rustle of silk and cotton around her seemed almost ominous.

At once, her hands shot out to grab the outfits but then they froze mid-air, trembling ever so slightly. ‘Has it really come to this?’ The thought struck her like ice, sharp and unyielding. ‘Have we truly reached a point of no return?’

Her mind replayed every slight, every betrayal Guinevere had ever inflicted words that cut, smiles that mocked, moments that left invisible scars. A flicker of anger burned hot, a surge of hurt threatened to overwhelm her, and for an instant, she almost wavered.

Cleopatra clenched her jaw, forcing her heart into steel. Pity, forgiveness, and weakness were luxuries she could no longer afford. With deliberate movements, she pulled the outfits closer, her free hand brushing the fabric with the cold precision of someone who had learned to survive pain. Every step forward was an act of defiance; every breath, a silent vow she would endure, and she would not be undone.

Stepping into the studio hall, Cleopatra felt a flicker of awe. The space stretched wider and taller than the previous one, every corner meticulously crafted to radiate elegance. At its center, glass pyramids intersected at precise angles, resting on the polished floor like rare jewels. They caught the light, fracturing it into cascades of shimmering reflections that danced across the walls.

Each glint highlighted the marble’s purity, the sleek modern furnishings, and the faint shimmer of metallic accents, ensuring every corner of the set would be perfectly lit. The air itself carried a quiet grandeur, as though the studio existed not just for work, but to inspire awe.

“Oh, Cleopatra, please hurry!” Joss waved his hands frantically, urging her forward.

Cleopatra moved in a blur, fabrics brushing her like silk whispers. She halted mid-breath as her gaze met an unfamiliar, sharp, unreadable face. Her outfit clung flawlessly, runway-perfect, just as her manager strode in behind her, closing the distance.

“You look absolutely stunning,” her manager murmured, fingers flying over the fabric to smooth every crease. His eyes didn’t leave her for a second, a mix of expectation and encouragement in his gaze. “Now, give it everything you’ve got.”

At that moment, pheebs strode up to Cleopatra, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Isn’t she beautiful? But not quite your level,” she said, nodding subtly toward the newcomer.

Cleopatra tilted her head, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Haha, you really know how to flatter me, Pheebs. But, who exactly is she?”

“She’s one of INK’s models,” Pheebs said with a smirk, grasping Cleopatra’s hands. “She just debuted a year ago, she’s not a top model yet. But I believe in you. If you become a model, in a few years. You’ll be unstoppable.”

“Stop with the falter.”

Cleopatra barely registered Pheebs’ words. Her gaze drifted across the room in a restless sweep then abruptly froze.

At the top of the staircase stood Calvin, rigid and unmoving, a figure carved from disbelief itself. Shock ripped through her, locking her in place. Her breath stalled, nerves igniting with a sharp, electric awareness.

‘Why is Calvin here? What business does he have in this place?’

Cleopatra retreated into her thoughts, searching for answers as her mind raced, struggling to quell the surge of confusion tightening around her chest.

Calvin’s gaze locked onto hers, sharp, unyielding, and unsettlingly perceptive, as though he could strip away every hidden thought. The intensity hit like a blade. She flinched, breath catching, and quickly looked away, retreating toward Pheebs as if distance could shield her from his scrutiny.

“Chairman, Mr. Ace has replied to the email and confirmed his support for the deal,” Smith reported, pausing as he realized Calvin was no longer listening. Following his gaze, Smith’s eyes found Cleopatra, standing with Joss and Pheebs. She laughed softly, composed and unguarded, entirely oblivious to the weight of Calvin’s attention.

“Chairman,” he continued, but Calvin’s hand rose in a deliberate, measured motion, halting him mid-word. His voice, deep and composed, cut through the room like steel tempered in calm.

“We’ll discuss that later.” Each word held quiet authority, leaving no room for argument, his presence commanding even in silence.

The photographer finally clicked a few shots, his voice tight with frustration at the models’ imperfect poses.

Only for Joss to appear casual and confident and slip an arm around Cleopatra’s shoulders, drawing her in with effortless ease. Their bodies pressed close as they leaned together, sharing murmured words and soft laughter, so absorbed in each other that the rest of the room might as well have vanished.

Across the space, Calvin’s gaze hardened. His eyes narrowed to cold slits, burning into them like molten steel. His jaw locked, muscles coiling tight as a dark, corrosive jealousy surged through him.

“Is that man really this close to her?” His voice cut low and sharp, venom threaded through every syllable; a warning unspoken, but deadly clear.

In an instant, Smith froze, uncertainty flickering across his face. He didn’t know much about Joss after all, they worked in different buildings.

“Sir… I-I don’t know much about him,” Smith stammered, his voice urgent. “But I’ll run an investigation immediately.”

Guinevere’s scream ripped through the air, jagged and primal. Her fingers clawed at her own skin, desperate to tear away the searing agony that consumed her from the inside out. “I… I can’t… I can’t take it, please make it stop!” Her voice quivered and shattered under the unbearable pain, each word choked with raw, frantic terror, echoing like a cry from the edge of madness.

“Just take it off!” Guinevere snapped

Cleopatra and Joss hurried to Guinevere, their voices tight with urgency as they tried to calm her when suddenly she lashed out, knocking Cleopatra’s hand aside. It struck the edge of the glass pyramid with a sharp, shattering crack.

The room fell dead silent, the sound lingering in the air like a dire warning.

Before anyone could react, Calvin was at Cleopatra’s side, his hand wrapping around hers with controlled force. A thin ribbon of blood welled where the glass had cut her, and his eyes darkened, stormy with a mixture of fury and concern that radiated through every taut line of his body.

“Are you alright?” Calvin’s voice quivered, a thin thread of fear weaving through every word as his eyes searched hers with unwavering intensity.

Cleopatra stood stunned, shaken by how effortlessly he had appeared at her side, swift and inevitable, as though summoned by an unseen force she could neither name nor escape.

“I asked, are you alright?” His tone was sharp, each word carrying a precise weight of worry and restrained intensity.

“Uh… uh, yeah sorry,” Cleopatra stammered, her voice barely audible, a fragile whisper trembling between them.

“Sorry, really?” Calvin muttered.

His gaze dark and possessive, searing into her as though the very air around her belonged to him until a sudden shadow flickered at the edge of his vision, and the moment shattered.