Chapter 19: Dust in the Spotlight
(Florida's POV)
Florida woke before the sun rose.
The letter from Noir Texture Studio was still under her pillow, soft and folded like something sacred. She didn't need to reread it. The words echoed in her head every time she blinked:
> We loved the silhouette. Let's talk.
They didn't know her name. Didn't know her husband. Didn't know the contract she was bound to.
They just knew her design.
And for now, that was all she wanted.
---
She slipped out of bed quietly and made her way down the back staircase, her sketchbook hugged tight to her chest beneath a gray cardigan. The house was still asleep, the world outside barely awake.
Florida entered the small, unused study behind the east library. Dust clung to the corners, and the old desk creaked beneath her elbows. She liked it that way. Forgotten rooms were safe.
Only one other person knew she came here.
Mina — the youngest of the night staff. Observant, discreet, and quiet as a shadow. She'd seen Florida leaving the study once, sketchbook in hand, and offered a soft smile before walking away.
Florida never forgot that.
---
She opened her sketchbook and began to draw — bold angles, high collars, minimalist seams. This one had structure. Intention. A silent kind of power.
The kind she didn't yet have.
But maybe… could.
She didn't stop until the sun pushed its way through the curtains.
---
By the time she stepped into the dining room, the morning staff had cleared half the table. Bryant sat at the head, crisp in a black shirt, flipping through a thick business report. He didn't look up.
Florida walked in, nodded politely, and took her seat across from him.
They ate in silence. Nothing unusual.
Until the butler entered with a slim envelope. He placed it beside Bryant without a word.
Bryant opened it lazily — and froze.
Florida sipped her tea, watching the way his fingers tensed.
It was a photo.
Not the one that had already been erased from the internet.
This was a new one.
A wider shot. Blurred around the edges. Her standing alone near the gala staircase, lips slightly parted, eyes searching the crowd. The caption read:
> The Real Woman Behind the Ice Prince?
A strange chill swept her skin.
She wasn't smiling in that picture.
She wasn't playing a role.
She looked… like herself. And it terrified her.
> They're still watching me.
Still trying to name what I never agreed to share.
Bryant stood up suddenly, tossing the envelope down like it stung.
He didn't look at her. Didn't speak.
Just walked out of the room, cold and abrupt.
Florida watched him go, letting her fork rest untouched beside her plate.
> Of course you leave, she thought, swallowing back something bitter.
You always do — as soon as I become inconvenient.
Her hand drifted across the table and picked up the photo.
She stared at it longer than she meant to.
The image made her stomach twist — not from shame, but from something quieter. Something that sounded like:
> I'm still here. And someone saw me.
---
By midday, she found herself in the garden courtyard behind the house. She sat on a stone bench under a trailing vine, sketchbook open again, though her hand barely moved.
Across the flowers, Mina appeared, watering quietly. Their eyes met — just briefly — and Mina gave a single nod before returning to her work.
No words.
No questions.
Florida exhaled through her nose and lowered her gaze.
---
That afternoon, her burner email pinged.
She opened it with shaking fingers.
> FLD — Your submission has passed round one. You'll be contacted within 72 hours. Anonymous status will be preserved.
Florida blinked once.
No smile.
No gasp.
Just a quiet pause.
> They don't know my face. They don't know my name.
And still… they want me.
She closed the message and quietly shut the laptop, heart steady for the first time in weeks.
And just like that — the world that had always ignored her… was listening.
---
End of Chapter 19