Chapter 2: Beneath the Surface

The morning after the show dawned gray and sullen, a sharp contrast to the vibrant lights and glittering gowns of the previous night. Rain streaked the windows of Lila’s small Parisian apartment as she sat curled up on the couch, a steaming cup of coffee cradled in her hands. The headlines were impossible to ignore. Every major outlet splashed the story across their pages:

"Model Found Dead After Antoine Morelle Show—Foul Play Suspected."

Her phone buzzed incessantly with messages from concerned friends, nosy reporters, and industry colleagues. She ignored most of them, unable to muster the energy to respond. The events of the night before replayed in her mind on an endless loop—the applause, the whispers, the grim faces of the paramedics as they wheeled away the lifeless body of Marie Dupont, one of the newer models.

Marie had been sweet, if a little reserved. They hadn’t been close, but Lila couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. Should she have noticed something? Had there been any signs?

A sharp knock at her door startled her from her thoughts. She set her coffee down and padded over to the door, her heart skipping a beat. When she opened it, she found Detective Claire Rousseau standing there, her dark trench coat dripping from the rain. Claire was a sharp-eyed woman in her forties, known for her no-nonsense demeanor and an uncanny ability to solve even the most perplexing cases.

“Miss Ashton,” Claire said, her tone polite but firm. “May I come in?”

Lila stepped aside, gesturing for the detective to enter. “Of course. Is this about Marie?”

Claire nodded, removing her coat and hanging it on the back of a chair. “I’m afraid so. We’re treating her death as a homicide. I need to ask you a few questions about last night.”

Lila’s stomach twisted. “A homicide?” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think someone… killed her?”

Claire’s expression was unreadable. “We’re exploring all possibilities. You were one of the last people to see her alive. Did you notice anything unusual? Was she acting differently?”

Lila shook her head, trying to recall any detail that might be helpful. “She seemed fine when I saw her. Nervous, maybe, but that’s normal before a show. I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. She was professional, as always.”

Detective Rousseau nodded, jotting notes into a small leather-bound notebook. “Do you know if she had any conflicts with anyone? Perhaps another model or someone from the team?”

Lila hesitated. “Not that I know of. But this industry… it can be competitive. People can be… jealous.”

Claire’s sharp eyes flicked up from her notebook, meeting Lila’s gaze. “Jealousy can be a powerful motive, Miss Ashton. If you remember anything—anything at all—you must let us know.”

Lila swallowed hard. The weight of the detective’s words settled heavily on her chest. “I will.”

As soon as Claire left, Lila paced her apartment, the detective’s questions swirling in her mind. Was it jealousy? Or something more sinister? She thought back to the whispers she had overheard backstage. The word “poisoned” echoed like a haunting refrain. If someone was targeting models, could she be next?

Her phone buzzed again, breaking her thoughts. This time it was a message from Antoine: “Come to the atelier. We need to discuss the press and the future of the collection. Urgent.”

Lila sighed, reluctant to leave the safety of her home. But if Antoine needed her, she couldn’t refuse. She grabbed her coat, bracing herself against the rain as she stepped out into the Parisian streets. Little did she know, the answers she sought would only lead her deeper into a world of deceit and danger.