XIMENA.
Ximena Branson!
That was my name, but it felt weird—maybe not really weird, but right now, seeing it on the list of models walking at Paris Fashion Week, it didn’t feel like my name.
How? I had worked tirelessly, night and day, to get here.
Why? As a model for most of my life, this was the perfect cherry on top of my career.
“Girl! That’s your name—you got in! This is huge!” Madison said, throwing her arms around me.
I didn’t move. My eyes were still on the paper. It was finally happening. I was finally getting the life I wanted.
“Girl, congratulations! We really need to drink to this,” she said, nudging me. She must have noticed my mood.
“You think this is real?” I asked, handing her the letter they had sent.
“Come on, I know you’re in shock, but this is real. Should I pinch you?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied, looking at her as tears streamed down my face.
She pinched my arm and I winced in pain. It was real—I was really going to model for a big brand at Paris Fashion Week.
I wrapped my arms around Madison. She patted my hair as I cried on her shoulder. It was a major breakthrough for me.
We both left the modeling agency a few minutes later. As we walked side by side, she kept looking at me like she had something to say.
“Come on, spill,” I said. I might have known Madison for barely a month, but I already knew when she had something to say and was hesitating.
I met her during my first week of rehearsals at the modeling agency we were both in—she was a new intake.
Even though I didn’t do well with friendships, it was easy to talk to her. She was willing to learn, and I loved her passion—it reminded me of myself when I started.
“I don’t know if it’s in my place to tell you or if I’m doing the right thing by doing so,” she said.
I stopped and looked at her. “Come on, girl, spill. You’re making me anxious.”
She looked around to make sure no one was listening, then shifted closer to me.
“Well, a friend of mine works at the La Parm Hotel, and he told me something—I think it’s supposed to be a secret.”
I looked at her, confused. “If it’s supposed to be a secret, why are you telling me then?” I asked.
“Well, it’s about you, and I don’t think telling you might be the right thing to do.”
“Why is that?”
“Because, like I said, it’s supposed to be a secret—a surprise, at that.”
“Girl, do I need to give you my Gucci boots before you tell me what’s happening?”
“Uhmm, considering the fact that my eyes have been on them for the longest time, it might just be a good bargain.”
“Okay, I’ll have them delivered to your place. Tell me already.”
“It’s your boyfriend. My friend said he paid for the hall and had people decorate it earlier. I think he’s going to propose.”
I froze.
Dean Hansen was proposing? My boyfriend was proposing?
I was thinking of going home to surprise him, but he had a bigger surprise in store for me. How did I get this lucky?
“See how you’re blushing! I’m glad I didn’t tell you about the car gift too,” she said, hitting my arm. “I’ve said too much already, and my ride’s here. See you next time—and congrats again!” she said, hugging me.
“Thank you.” I watched as she entered the car.
I walked to mine and drove all the way to his house. We both had something to tell each other.
---
He wasn’t home when I got there. I had tried calling him several times, but his number wasn’t going through.
I had so much to tell him, and I couldn’t wait for the moment when he’d kneel to ask me the big question.
Dean had been my boyfriend since we were kids. We had watched each other grow and chase our separate careers. He was one of the biggest CEOs in town, and I was his pretty model girlfriend. Our aesthetics were the envy of everyone.
That’s why I didn’t find it weird fantasizing about this day for the longest time.
9 P.M.
I looked up at the clock—he still wasn’t back. I had been waiting for hours. I picked up my phone to check his location.
La Palms! He was already at the location. Why hadn’t he called or said anything?
I was torn between going there and waiting for his call. The former wouldn’t be a good idea, but the latter would cost me so much time—and I was already anxious.
I dropped my phone and took off my heels. With my head resting on the couch, I slowly drifted off to sleep, but it was immediately interrupted by the ringing of my phone. My heart began racing.
“It could be him,” I muttered to myself as I reached for my phone in excitement.
I was disappointed when I checked the caller ID—it was Madison.
“Hey girl, what’s up?” I said, trying to mask my disappointment.
“Have you seen it?”
“Seen what?” I asked.
She paused for a few seconds before replying.
“It’s your boyfriend. It’s all over the internet. The proposal was for someone else—he proposed to—”
I didn’t let her finish. I ended the call and swiped to my Instagram. It was the first thing I saw.
It was my boyfriend, on his knees, professing love to another woman. The clips were on every page.
I reached for my keys and dashed out of the house barefoot. This wasn’t happening—not my Dean. It had to be a dream.
My heart slammed hard against my chest as I drove all the way to the hotel, trying my best to fight back tears.
“Calm down, Ximena. It’s just clickbait. Dean loves you—he can’t do this to you,” I kept muttering as I ran all the way to the hall.
It was a place I knew too well; I had done a modeling gig there in my early days.
I kept walking, not minding the weird looks I was getting. They weren’t my problem—I needed to get my man.
Camille Laurent!
She was the first person I saw. Her face was turned toward me as she hugged him. He was wearing the shirt I had gotten him on Valentine’s Day.
The press started flashing their cameras at me the moment they noticed me. Our relationship had never been a secret.
I walked toward them—disheveled, tears streaming down my face with every step I took.
He had left me for the same model he judged every time we lay in bed. He had told me he hated her, but this was the same woman he was throwing our relationship away for.
I felt used. I felt stupid. My heart was in shambles.
“Ximena, what are you doing here?” he asked, turning to look at me. He was unrecognizable—his eyes were burning with hatred.
This was the same man I had spent most of my life with.
“Dean, what is happening?” I asked, moving closer to him. I needed to touch him, to make sure this was just a bad dream.
He took several steps back before I could reach him.
“I’m sorry. I should have said something, but I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t know the perfect time to—and I’m really sorry you found out like this. But you have to leave now,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist.
He was shielding her from me.
“You want me to go?” I asked in shock.
“Ximena, please. This is not the right time or place. Don’t create a scene here—just leave.”
I couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t a dream after all.
I needed to leave.
He was throwing everything away—he didn’t want me anymore. He picked her over everything we had shared.
Run! Run! That was the only thing I could hear inside my head. I turned around and crashed into the fountain of glasses of wine in front of me, breaking the glasses and spilling the drinks on myself.
Everyone turned to look at me. The cameras kept flashing, blinding my eyes and making it hard to find my way as I tried to stand up in embarrassment.
“Ximena, what do you have to say about your boyfriend leaving you?”
“Ximena, a minute—what’s the state of your relationship with Dean now?”
“Did you guys have issues before this?”
More cameras. More lights. The sounds—my head was throbbing.
I couldn’t breathe. Even the air was mad at me. I felt hot—the hall felt tight, but not as tight as my chest. I was floating. It was choking me. I felt sick. I needed to throw up.
My eyes became blurry. Everything went silent—and then pitch dark.
