Model's Revenge on Ex

The day I achieved my dream of becoming a world-renowned model, my boyfriend Jayce Gonzales insisted I pose nude for his apprentice.

I resisted with all my strength to refuse, but Jayce forcibly took me to meet Zendaya Alvarez.

"You're a model anyway. Being a nude model for my protégé should be an honor for you."

"Or maybe you just like being humiliated, wanting more people to see your body?"

Stripped under the glaring lights, I was drugged and forced into compromising poses. I thought that once the painting was done, they'd let me go. But the next day at the fashion show, I was a mess, facing a grilling from the media.

"Ms. Amaia Greene, is your personal life as chaotic as this painting suggests?"

For twenty years, I had worked tirelessly to finally step onto the stage of my dreams and become an exceptional model. After winning an award, I received a message from Jayce.

"Amaia, come back quickly. Zendaya's graduation project needs you as the model. It can only be you."

I stubbornly refused and called him out for his audacity, never imagining he would have me kidnapped to his studio, stripped, and dragged before Zendaya.

"Why are you being so difficult? Just because you've become a star model, you think you're above this? Let me tell you, being Zendaya's model is a privilege. Do you know how many people would kill for this opportunity? Amaia, stop acting so superior."

Jayce's grip on my face was vice-like, making it impossible to move. I glared at him defiantly, resisting with everything I had.

"Jayce Gonzales, I will never agree. Don't you realize that if these paintings go public, my career is over?"

Zendaya, seeing my reluctance, feigned tears and spoke in a soft, wounded tone.

"Brother Jayce, maybe Sister Amaia doesn't want to. It's okay, she's a millionaire model now and probably looks down on a small-time artist like me. I'll just find someone else for the project."

Zendaya's tears, like pearls, fell as she played the innocent victim, while I remained firm.

"Don’t say that, Zendaya. If she won’t agree, I'll make her agree."

Unable to bear seeing his protégé upset, Jayce's expression turned icy as he glanced at me, pulling out a syringe and plunging it mercilessly into my arm.

A sharp pain shot through my body as the cold liquid invaded my veins. My limbs grew weaker and weaker, draining me of strength.

"Jayce, what did you inject me with? I'm your girlfriend. How can you treat me like this?"

I was on the brink of collapse, feeling the strength seep from my body.

"You remember you're my girlfriend now? And yet you refuse to help with something as simple as this? If you're so unwilling, I'll just deal with you differently. Don’t blame me for being ruthless; you're the one making a scene."

His voice was cold, filled with frustration. Then, Jayce turned and gently wiped away Zendaya's tears, guiding her patiently.

"It's okay, Zendaya. No rush on the graduation project. Today, I'll teach you how to draw the human body. We'll create your best work."

The harsh studio lights illuminated my body as Jayce's hands moved over me, his voice gravelly as he instructed her.

"This is the bust. A woman's chest should be drawn full and rounded."

He spoke as he manipulated my body into different poses for Zendaya to observe. I clenched my teeth, the humiliation searing into my soul.

Feigning innocence, Zendaya asked in a sweet tone, "Senior, I don’t quite understand. Could I take some photos to study them more carefully? Don't worry, I won’t share them."

I wanted to refuse, but no sound left my lips. I could only watch helplessly as Jayce ruffled her hair and agreed indulgently.

"Of course you can. Amaia is a model; isn't being observed by others her favorite thing?"

I almost fainted from rage, breathing heavily. Jayce, dissatisfied with my resistance, pulled out a pill from somewhere and forced it into my mouth.

"I didn't want to resort to this. You brought it on yourself."

The effects were immediate, and it was the following day when feeling finally returned to my body. I opened my eyes to find the room dark, with just a sliver of moonlight filtering in. This studio, once filled with love, had now become a prison.

I moved slightly, a sharp pain shooting through me, vivid bruises marking the spots where Jayce's grip had been unrelenting. Through the torment, I gathered my torn clothes, dressed, and stumbled out of that nightmare, tears flowing unchecked down my face.

I'd barely taken a few steps when I was hit with a barrage of insults.

"Amaia, where are you? The show is about to start, and you’re nowhere in sight. Do you think you can throw your weight around now? Let me tell you, if you're not here in thirty minutes, I'll ruin your career."

Without waiting for a response, my manager Gianna Dixon hung up, leaving me with the dial tone. I could only muster a bitter smile and hurriedly hailed a cab to the show.

"Today marks the stunning debut of the young artist Zendaya Alvarez. Her piece, 'Invasion,' has garnered widespread acclaim, with the renowned artist Neil Gonzales expressing his desire to mentor her. As far as I know, this was just Miss Alvarez's graduation project, yet her skillful artistry at such a young age is truly commendable."

The cab's radio echoed Zendaya's triumphs, filling me with a bitter taste before realization dawned—'Invasion' was the painting she had done last night.

Alarm bells went off in my mind, and anger surged through me.

"Zendaya Alvarez, how dare you release the painting? Are you trying to destroy me?"

As we neared the venue, I urged the driver to turn around, but was intercepted by Gianna, who dragged me out of the car.

"What are you doing dawdling? Get out there."

I struggled fiercely, but couldn't escape her grasp as she pulled me backstage and forced me into an incredibly revealing outfit.

Staring into the mirror, I saw a thin, transparent fabric clinging haphazardly to my body, my hair a tangled mess, dark circles under my eyes. My skin bore the red marks and bruises, stark against the white, highlighting my disgrace.

"I need to change. Why is there no makeup or styling? How am I supposed to walk like this?"

I shouted hoarsely backstage, met with cold indifference from the crew. Gianna stood with her arms crossed, taunting me.

"This fits perfectly with today's show theme, 'The Fallen.'"

"Amaia, do you still think you're a top model? This is the end of your career. You should appreciate it; it might be your last show."

With that, Gianna pushed me onto the stage.

The glaring lights illuminated my predicament for all to see. Mocking laughter erupted from the audience, some even whistling.

The music deviated from the lively rehearsal, turning soft and suggestive, leaving little to the imagination. I walked the runway as if on autopilot, the incessant camera clicks drilling into my mind, the whispers and pointing adding to the clamor.

Only when the show concluded did I break free from my daze, rushing off the stage in relief. What once was my proud battlefield had morphed into a nightmare.

Hastily gathering my belongings, I sought to escape the chaos but was surrounded by media, microphones thrust into my face.

"Ms. Greene, is your personal life as tumultuous as the painting depicts?"

Helplessly, I gazed at the crowd until I spotted a familiar figure not far away—Jayce, hosting a banquet for his protégé.