Murders in Miami

The fabric of the designer dress clings to my body like a second skin as I step onto the set, the weight of a dozen eyes settling on me instantly. Cameras click in rapid succession, the soft murmur of voices blending with the steady rhythm of my heels against the marble floor. The lights are warm, almost too warm, but I hold my pose, tilting my chin just enough to capture the perfect angle. I've done this a thousand times before; it's second nature now. Jason watches from across the room, arms crossed, his blue eyes focused, calculating. Camila stands beside him, offering an occasional nod of approval between sips of her green juice. Seeing them there makes me feel grounded—like I'm not alone in this whirlwind of fame and pressure.

"Perfect, Alessia", the photographer calls out, his voice dripping with enthusiasm. "Hold that for me... good, good... and now, a little softer".

I adjust, letting my features relax just enough to create that effortless, dreamy look everyone loves. My body moves instinctively, finding the balance between elegance and allure. But even as I nail every pose, a strange sensation nags at me—the feeling that no matter how perfect I am, it will never be enough. The shoot wraps up an hour later, and I slip into the dressing room, peeling off the dress and sighing in relief as I stretch my limbs. Camila appears in the mirror behind me, grinning. "You're on fire today".

I smile, running a hand through my hair. "It's all about practice".

She sinks onto the couch, kicking off her heels. "Seriously though, Alessia, you make it look easy. If I didn't know you, I'd think you weren't even trying".

I laugh softly, but something in her tone makes me pause. "It's not as easy as it looks".

Camila's expression shifts, her smile fading slightly. "I know". She leans forward, studying me. "You're okay, right? You've been... different lately".

I blink, caught off guard. "Different how?"

She shrugs, picking at an invisible thread on her dress. "I don't know. Like you're... holding something back". I open my mouth to deny it, to brush it off with a laugh, but the words don't come. Instead, I sigh, letting my shoulders drop. "It's just... a lot, you know? The pressure, the expectations... sometimes I feel like I can't breathe.?".

Camila reaches over, squeezing my hand. "You're not alone, you know? We're in this together".

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Thanks, Cami".

Jason pokes his head into the dressing room then, his smirk familiar and comforting. "You two done with your heart-to-heart? We've got a meeting with Vincent in fifteen".

I groan. "Great. More talking".

Camila winks. "You love it".

Jason grins. "Come on, superstar".

The conference room is sleek and modern, the walls lined with oversized prints of past campaigns—some with my face staring back at me, reminding me just how far I've come. Vincent sits at the head of the table, flanked by his usual entourage of assistants and executives. He gestures for me to sit next to him, and I oblige, feeling Jason and Camila slide into the seats beside me.

"Alessia", Vincent begins, his tone smooth and practiced. "We have an exciting opportunity for you".

I nod, keeping my expression composed. "I'm listening".

He leans forward, his dark eyes sharp. 'Paris. A three-month campaign with some of the biggest names in the industry. It's exclusive, Alessia. They want you".

My heart skips a beat. Paris. The dream of every model, the pinnacle of success. But even as excitement bubbles inside me, doubt creeps in, too. Three months away from Miami. Three months away from... everything.

I glance at Jason, whose expression is unreadable, and then at Camila, who's watching me carefully, waiting for my reaction. Vincent continues, "This could make you a global icon".

I swallow hard, forcing a smile. "It's an amazing opportunity".

Camila nudges me under the table. "You have to do it."

Jason finally speaks, his voice calm but firm. 'It's your call, Alessia". I hate when he does that—makes me feel like I have control when deep down, I know the decision is already made for me.

Vincent smirks. "Think it over, but don't take too long. The fashion world waits for no one".

Later that night, I sit in my living room, staring out at the Miami skyline, my phone buzzing beside me with messages from designers and agencies. My thoughts are tangled, Paris pulling at me while Miami feels like a weight I can't shake.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

I look up to see Jason standing in the doorway, arms crossed, that same unreadable look in his eyes.

I shrug. "It's just... Paris. It's a lot".

He walks over, dropping onto the couch beside me. "You deserve it, you know. This is what you've worked for". I exhale, resting my head against the cushion. "Yeah... I just don't want to lose myself in it".

Jason studies me for a moment before reaching over and ruffling my hair like he used to when we were kids. "You won't. You've got me, and you've got Camila. We'll keep you grounded".

I smile, grateful for him, for this. "Thanks, Jase".

He stands, stretching. "Get some sleep, superstar. Big decisions tomorrow". Sleep doesn't come easily. My mind races, thoughts tumbling over each other—Paris, Miami, success, pressure. I stare at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of the city below, and wonder if this is what it means to have everything.

The sun spills through the massive windows of my penthouse, casting a golden glow over the polished floors. I sit at the kitchen counter, stirring my coffee absentmindedly, my mind tangled in thoughts about Paris. The offer is huge—career-defining—but something about it leaves a heavy weight in my chest that I can't quite explain.

Camila sits across from me, legs tucked beneath her, scrolling through her phone. "So", she says without looking up, "I know you're still overthinking this whole Paris thing". I glance at her, lips curving into a faint smile. "I wouldn't call it overthinking".

Camila raises an eyebrow, finally looking at me. "Please, Alessia, you analyze everything to death. Just say yes already. It's Paris".

I sigh, tapping my spoon against the rim of my cup. "I know... it's just... Miami is home, you know? What if I get over there and—", "—and what?" she cuts in, leaning forward. "You kill it, just like you always do. Seriously, you were born for this".

I want to believe her. I want to take the leap without second-guessing myself, but something inside keeps whispering that leaving now might mean losing everything I've worked so hard to build here. The soft knock on the front door interrupts my thoughts, and I glance at Camila. "Jason?"

She shrugs. "Probably".

I get up and pull open the door, and sure enough, my brother stands there, effortlessly cool in a crisp white shirt and jeans, his signature smirk already in place.

"Morning, superstar", he says, stepping inside like he owns the place. I roll my eyes but smile. "You know, you could wait for me to invite you in". Jason chuckles, dropping onto the couch. "Why waste time? Heard you're still dragging your feet about Paris".

Camila grins from behind me. "Told you"

I cross my arms, leaning against the door. "I'm not dragging my feet. I'm... thinking".

Jason gives me a pointed look. "Thinking isn't doing".

I sigh, walking over to join him. "I just... it's a lot, okay?"

He watches me carefully, the teasing edge in his voice fading. _I get it, Alessia, I really do. But you've worked too hard to let doubt stop you now".

Camila nods in agreement. "Exactly. And besides, it's not like you're leaving forever". I twirl a strand of hair between my fingers, trying to absorb their words, but a lingering unease refuses to go away. Jason nudges me lightly. "Look, whatever you decide, I'm behind you".

His words comfort me more than I expected, and I flash him a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Jase".

He grins. "Anytime. Now come on, let's celebrate. Breakfast at the club?" I glance at Camila, who's already grabbing her purse. "You're impossible", I laugh, but deep down, I'm thankful for the distraction.