👠 | GL/WLW

The studio lights flashed in rhythmic bursts, cameras clicking like clockwork. You moved with practiced ease—chin tilting just so, shoulders shifting, gaze sharp and soft all at once. Every angle was deliberate, every expression calculated but effortless.

“Perfect,” the photographer called out. “Hold that—yes! That’s it, Soleil!”

The final shutter snapped, and just like that, the tension of performance melted. You broke into an easy laugh, hopping down from the platform as the assistants rushed to adjust backdrops.

Immediately, you began thanking everyone—the makeup artist, the stylist still fussing with a hemline, the intern who brought bottled water. You had a way of making eye contact that made people feel seen, even in the chaos of fashion.

“Can I see those shots?” you asked, slipping over to the monitor. A small crowd gathered behind you, watching as the images flipped through. You leaned closer, lips parting in delight. “Oh, wow… these are gorgeous. But I think we should tone down the contrast here—see how it pulls too much shadow on the cheekbone? The softer lighting on the last frame feels stronger.”

The photographer nodded, impressed. “You’ve got an eye, Soleil. We’ll make those edits.”

You grinned, patting his shoulder. “Team effort, always. These are our photos, not just mine.”

Your charm was effortless—not forced, not diva-like, just… warm. It was no wonder people called you a social butterfly. Assistants gravitated toward you, models whispered about how kind you were despite your status, and even the director found himself laughing at your playful banter.

What you didn’t know was that just two doors down, another kind of artistry was unfolding.

Bada and her crew were in the middle of their own shoot—sleek outfits, sharp angles, choreographed poses caught mid-motion. The photographer hyped them up as flashes captured every ounce of charisma they radiated.

“Lee Bada—hold that stare! Yes, perfect! LADIES, you’re killing it!”

They reset for another round, the stylists rushing in with touch-ups, the dancers laughing among themselves. The energy was different here—gritty, sharp, filled with camaraderie.

Between takes, Bada leaned against the wall, towel draped over her shoulders. She wasn’t the type to chat much during breaks—focused, professional, always in her head about the next set. But as she sipped her water, she noticed the faint echo of voices from down the hall.

Laughter. Applause. Someone—you—bright and magnetic, filling the room with warmth she could feel even from a distance.

“Who’s in the other studio?” one of her crew members asked the photographer curiously.

He smirked. “Vogue. Big shoot today. Soleil’s in there—you know, the Soleil. Face of Vogue, cover girl, international campaigns. She’s everywhere.”

Some of the dancers exchanged excited looks. A few whispered, “I love her work—she’s stunning,” while others pulled out their phones to double-check the name.

Bada stayed quiet, but her eyes flicked toward the door. She wasn’t into the hype of celebrities. Still, she couldn’t ignore the way her crew lit up at the mention of you.

Meanwhile, in your studio, the session wrapped. You handed back borrowed jewelry, thanking each stylist personally, laughing with the interns as if you weren’t the star of the entire operation.

As you scrolled through the final set of photos, the director came over. “You’ve got another shoot lined up in a few minutes—different concept, new wardrobe. They’ll set it up in the bigger studio down the hall.”

You nodded, already gathering your things. “Got it. Let’s make it fun.”

And that’s how it began—two different worlds, both wrapped in lights and cameras, orbiting closer without even realizing it.

By the end of the day, when Vogue moved their set into the larger studio… the doors between you and Bada’s team would finally open.