The phone buzzed again, but I didn’t bother to look at it. Instead, I adjusted the dress in front of me, the fabric smooth and expensive. The label read “Made in Milan” and the feeling of it on my skin made me feel like a different version of myself. The transformation was no longer something I had to convince myself of. It was real. I was real. My phone buzzed again—this time a text from Drew. “The meeting’s confirmed. It’s Paris.”

I closed my eyes, letting the weight of the message sink in. Paris Fashion Week—the very words seemed surreal. But here I was. I was in this moment, surrounded by the echoes of all the times I had wanted something more than just being the backdrop to my sister’s life. I wasn’t just a “potato” anymore. I was about to make a statement on a global scale.

That night, I lay in my small apartment, the sound of traffic drifting through the window, but my thoughts were a thousand miles away. It felt like a lifetime ago that I had sat in my room, dreaming of a different life while watching my family bask in their perfect little world. They never saw me. They never saw me for who I was. But Paris would see me. The world would see me. I would make sure of that.

The morning I left for Paris was bright and crisp. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had felt this alive. The last few months of training, preparing for the show, working with Drew and Isaac, had been a whirlwind of new experiences. I had shed the layers of my old life, each step bringing me closer to who I truly was meant to be.

The moment I stepped onto the plane to Paris, everything felt like it had finally fallen into place. There was no more pretending, no more shrinking into the background. This was my time. I wasn’t going to let anything or anyone take it away from me.

When I landed, the bright lights of Paris sparkled like a dream I was finally allowed to live. As the taxi took me to the hotel, I watched the city unfold before me—each building, each street corner, each person I passed, it was all new and intoxicating. There was a nervous energy running through me, but it wasn’t fear. It was the excitement of starting fresh.

I checked into the hotel and immediately received a call from Drew. “You’re here,” he said, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “Tomorrow is the show. We’ve prepped you, but remember: this is your moment. Don’t hold back.”

I smiled. This is my moment.

The night before the show was restless. My mind was a swirling mix of emotions—anticipation, excitement, and a twinge of nerves. I had been through countless fittings, rehearsals, and coaching sessions, but tomorrow was different. Tomorrow wasn’t just about walking in front of a crowd of fashion elites. It was about reclaiming everything I had lost to my family’s neglect and my sister’s relentless jealousy. I wasn’t just walking down a runway. I was walking into my future.

I went over my notes one more time, making sure everything was set for the show. I didn’t want to leave anything to chance. Drew had called me earlier, giving me last-minute tips on how to command the runway, but deep down, I knew what I had to do. I had been practicing for years in the shadows of my family’s expectations. Now, it was my time to shine, and I wasn’t going to let anyone or anything hold me back.

The day of the show arrived, and I stood in front of the mirror, staring at the final look. The dress was breathtaking. It wasn’t just fabric. It was a piece of art. A vision of elegance, paired with raw emotion, something that would speak volumes without saying a word. I couldn’t wait for the audience to see it.

As I stood in the dressing room, adjusting the fit of the gown, Drew appeared beside me, his eyes full of excitement. “You’re going to blow them away.”

I nodded, trying to calm the flutter in my chest. This wasn’t just about the clothes or the walk—it was about proving that I had always been enough. That I had always been worthy of recognition, even when my family failed to see it. I wasn’t the ugly daughter anymore. I wasn’t the girl behind the camera. I was the woman in the spotlight.

The runway show was a blur of lights and music. The audience was huge, with fashion editors, photographers, and buyers sitting in the front rows, their cameras flashing like a thousand stars. It felt like I was walking through a dream, every step taken in perfect rhythm with the music. But beneath the flashing lights and the glamour, I was calm. I knew exactly what I was doing.

As I reached the end of the runway, I stopped and faced the audience, taking a moment to let the energy of the crowd fill me. I could feel their eyes on me, judging, analyzing, but I wasn’t afraid anymore. I had prepared for this moment. I had lived through the rejection, the cruelty, the silence. And now, I was being seen.

The cameras clicked as I posed, capturing every inch of me. My tattoos were visible now, a quiet testament to the years I had spent fighting to be noticed. The world was finally paying attention to me, and for the first time in my life, I felt worthy.

Backstage, Drew grabbed me as soon as I stepped off the runway. “That was incredible! They loved you. The whole room was on their feet. You’re going to be a star.”

I smiled, feeling the weight of his words sink in. This was what I had worked for, what I had dreamed of. But it wasn’t just about the fame. It was about the freedom—the freedom to live on my own terms. No more living for them. No more hiding in the shadows of my family’s expectations. This was my moment.

Later that night, after the show, I went back to my hotel room, still buzzing with excitement. My phone buzzed with messages. It was from my mother.

“Honey, we saw your show. You looked beautiful, like a real model. We’re so proud of you. You really made it. I knew you had it in you.”

I stared at the message for a long time. I felt a mix of emotions: disbelief, anger, and, for a fleeting second, a tiny flicker of longing. This was the moment I had always dreamed of, and yet, her message felt hollow. It didn’t make me feel validated. It made me feel… empty.

I’d been working so hard to prove to them that I was worth something, that I was more than just the “ugly daughter.” But here it was again. Their love was conditional. It always had been.

I typed a simple reply: “Thanks.”

Then I blocked her number.

A few days later, after the whirlwind of Fashion Week had died down, I received a call from my lawyer, Sandra. “Rosalie, it’s done. The contracts are all finalized. You’re in. You’ve officially signed with one of the top agencies in Paris. We’ve already had offers for a major campaign.”

I sat back, stunned. This was it. This was everything I had worked for.

As I sat in the hotel room, looking out at the Paris skyline, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. The past, with all its pain and betrayal, felt like a distant memory now. It had shaped me, yes. But it no longer defined me.

The following week, I got a text from my sister, Jordan. “I saw your post. What’s going on? Are you really doing this? Are you actually leaving everything behind?”

I didn’t respond right away. I looked at her words, her fake concern, and realized that nothing had changed. She was still playing the victim, still acting like the world owed her something. I wasn’t going to fall for it anymore.

Instead, I simply blocked her number and moved on with my life.

As I walked through the streets of Paris, the city of lights shining brightly around me, I realized something important. I didn’t need them.

I didn’t need my family’s approval, their validation, or their fake love. I had built my life on my own. I had become someone I was proud of. I wasn’t the girl who had been pushed to the side, who was told she wasn’t good enough.

I was Rosalie Quinn. And the world was finally starting to notice me.

The final blow came months later, when my family’s story unraveled. I received word from Thea, my old friend from high school, that Jordan had been caught trying to get into the fashion world on the back of my success. She was using the same tactics she’d used to manipulate me—playing the victim while riding on my coattails.

But this time, it didn’t affect me. Not one bit.

I kept moving forward, booking gigs, working with the top designers, and living my life. I had what I wanted: independence, freedom, and the ability to carve my own path. And I would never let them take it from me again.

The end of my family’s attempt to manipulate me came quickly, just as I had predicted. My mom, my dad, and Jordan all tried to save face, but the damage was done. They had tried to control me for years, and now I was free. Completely free.

Paris wasn’t just a dream anymore. It was my home.

And with every step I took forward, I knew I was walking toward a future that was completely mine.

The End!