Scharline stood before the mirror, bathed in the soft, dim light of the room. A quiet unease crept through her, curling beneath her skin like a slow-moving current. She was wearing a loose, grey, cropped tank top, the thin fabric barely clinging to her shoulders, brushing her collarbones like a whisper. It hung just delicately enough to conceal, yet hinted at more - leaving her with a strange sense of exposure, as if the air itself could see through her.
Her red and white checked pyjama bottoms had slipped slightly below her waist, the loose elastic dipping just enough to draw the eye - highlighting the soft curve of her hips and the curve of her slender waist. It should have felt casual, effortless. But tonight it made her feel exposed. Vulnerable.
She studied herself in the mirror, her eyes drifting from one line to the next - shoulders, stomach, thighs. Every contour was familiar, yet newly scrutinised. The shadows cast by the dim lighting deepened her insecurities, playing tricks on her mind. She didn't see strength or beauty reflected.
She saw insecurity.
Her fingers twitched. Her breath felt too loud. Questions buzzed around her like static.
Was she enough? Did others see what she saw? Why couldn't she look at herself with the same tenderness she gave to others?
She lifted her arms, slowly, and clasped her wrists together as if to hold herself in place - tender, yet tense. The movement stretched her form, and for a moment she looked like a painting in tension: elegant, yes, but weighed down by invisible burdens.
Her golden hair slipped down her neck, motionless, frozen in mid-fall. It sharpened the angles of her face - the defined jaw, the drawn lips, the wide, watchful eyes. Her mouth parted slightly, caught between a sigh and something unsaid. Her gaze remained fixed on the mirror, unwavering.
Searching.
For confirmation. For proof.
For something kinder than what she could offer herself.
And in the glass, her own reflection seemed to look back with the same haunted expression - filled not only with doubt, but with quiet despair. As if both versions of her were silently asking:
Why can't you see what others see?
A silent interrogation filled the room - an uneasy silence that extended far beyond the frame of the mirror. Something had shifted in Scharline. It wasn't loud or obvious. It was quieter, deeper. Like a crack forming beneath still water.
She stared at her reflection, searching for the source of the crack.
Lisa's words from the other night echoed in her mind, sharp and persistent:
"If you don't want to use your mind, at least know how to use your body."
The sentence didn't feel like advice.
It felt like a dare.
Scharline didn't know which was worse - that Lisa believed it, or that a part of her did, too.
She stood on the edge of two lives: one where she trusted herself, where her ambition led her, where her value came from her ideas. And another - darker, more seductive - where doubt whispered that perhaps her body could open more doors than her mind ever could.
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides. Her jaw tensed.
She narrowed her eyes at the woman staring back from the mirror.
Is that strength I see... or fear? Confidence... or disguise?
The ambiguity hollowed her out.
And then, like a scene in motion, the door creaked open behind her.
Lisa padded into the room, the soft rhythm of bare feet on wood. She looked as if she hadn't slept much - dishevelled hair, an oversized t-shirt that hung just above her thighs, her slender figure gently outlined beneath it. Her eyes sparkled with weariness and mischief.
"What are you doing, Schar?" she asked, her voice tinged with amusement.
Her gaze drifted - unapologetically - over Scharline's body.
"Admiring yourself first thing in the morning?"
Scharline didn't flinch. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her expression changing to something playful. One eyebrow arched, slowly and deliberately.
"Is that a problem?"
There was a fire behind the question - part tease, part challenge.
And maybe, just maybe, a question for herself as well.
Lisa chuckled.
"No, quite the opposite. You look great. That tank top suits you."
She stepped closer, letting her fingers brush lightly over Scharline's shoulder. Her voice dropped to a teasing whisper.
"In fact... it suits you a little too well."
Scharline was used to the teasing. With Lisa, it was as natural as breathing. But that didn't make it any easier to read. She rolled her eyes and turned away, heading for the bed, her movements casual - though Lisa's gaze lingered like heat against bare skin.
Then, out of nowhere - a sharp slap on her hip.
Scharline jumped, more surprised than hurt.
"We're going shopping today," Lisa announced with a grin. "You haven't forgotten, have you?"
Scharline turned back, her expression tight with irritation. But the wrinkle in her forehead quickly softened, replaced by something more guarded - concern, perhaps.
"Seriously? Violence? First thing in the morning?"
Her voice carried the dry edge of disbelief, laced with something harder to name.
Lisa just shrugged and sat down on the edge of the bed. Her body was relaxed, but her eyes held an intensity that belied her tone.
"Just motivating you, sweetheart." She smiled lazily. "Also... do you remember what I asked you last night?"
The question hung in the air - thin, weightless, yet heavy with implication.
Scharline frowned, sifting through half-formed memories, bits of their late-night conversation like puzzle pieces in the shadows.
"Using my body?" she said slowly, the words tasting foreign and unfinished on her tongue.
Lisa tilted her head, her grin deepening into something richer - something unreadable.
"Yes," she said simply. "Exactly."
Now Scharline was fully facing her, her curiosity flickering behind her eyes like a flame waiting to be lit.
"Would you like to elaborate?"
Lisa studied her, her eyes narrowing slightly. Then, with a slow inhale - measured, deliberate - she offered that smile again. The kind that made you wonder what she knew that you didn't.
Her voice fell, deep and conspiratorial, laced with something older than mischief.
"Sweetheart," she said, each word steeped in meaning, "I'm talking about the oldest game in the world."
The silence that followed was thick, electric. Scharline felt it settle over her like velvet - soft but suffocating. The meaning behind Lisa's words curled around her mind like smoke, shapeless but potent.
And deep inside, where her questions lived, something began to stir - uncertainty, temptation, perhaps even recognition.
Whatever came next... she knew it would change her.
Scharline crossed her arms, her posture guarded, but her gaze locked on Lisa with laser focus. The dim morning light cut across her face, sharpening the lines of doubt and curiosity in equal measure.
"And what exactly is this game?" she asked, her voice low, sceptical but open, like someone asking for the rules before deciding whether to play.
Lisa leaned to the side, her lips curling in amusement. There was a sparkle in her eyes, as if she were about to share a secret passed down through generations.
"Something women have always had... but most never learn to use," she said, her tone laced with subtle seduction.
"Power, Schar. Real power. But only if you know how to use it properly."
Scharline raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching into a grin.
"So let me get this straight," she said with a small laugh, trying to keep it light. "You're saying I can get anything I want... just by getting a man's attention?"
There was disbelief in her tone - but not enough to dismiss it completely.
Lisa smiled, slow and knowing. Her fingers brushed under her chin, as if to frame her next words with elegance.
"I'll tell you more than that."
Her voice was velvety. Certain.
"If you catch the attention of the right man, you could have the life most women only dream of - sun-drenched holidays, diamond earrings dropped into your wine glass, freedom from every boring worry. But it's not just about your body."
She leaned forward now, the air between them electric.
"It's about how you sell your story. How you market who you are - and what you make them think they're getting."
Scharline bit her lip, the words curling around her mind like tendrils of smoke. Part of her recoiled at the idea - manipulation, performance. But another part... a quieter, more curious part... leaned in.
Could it really be that easy? So calculated?
Still, something tugged at her chest, something raw.
Her voice dropped, barely a whisper - but steady.
"And what about love?"
Lisa blinked, the question cutting through her imagination like a shard of glass. Scharline's eyes didn't waver, wide open, vulnerable, searching for something real beneath the surface of all that power and polish.
"What about real feelings?"
There it was.
The heart beneath the armour.
The woman underneath the game.
Lisa rolled her eyes - a slow, deliberate gesture, heavy with scepticism.
"Darling," she began, her tone edged with hard truth, "love is a luxury for the rich. The rest of us? We survive. We adapt. And in this world, you're just another option."
She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in.
"What kind of option you want to be... that's up to you."
The sentence echoed like a silent challenge.
Scharline sat with the words, letting them swirl. Her fingers traced the elasticated waistband of her pyjama bottoms, a small grounding gesture - an anchor in the familiar. Lisa's vision of the world was clear, transactional. But was it hers?
The idea of aligning herself with wealth, of creating an identity that served someone else's desires in exchange for comfort - it stirred something unsettled deep inside her.
Is this really what I want?
Instead, her thoughts drifted to runways, to lights flashing as cameras clicked, to her image captured on glossy pages. She could feel it in her bones - that longing, that fire. Not for someone. For something. A vision of herself, fully realised.
She shook her head, slowly at first, then with more conviction.
"No, Lisa."
Her voice was firm, though uncertainty still tugged at the edges.
"I don't want to be someone's backup plan. I don't want to be chosen only when it's convenient. I want to be seen. I want to be something. And modelling... that's what I want. That's where I feel it."
Lisa sat back, her expression unreadable. She studied Scharline with a look that was equal parts admiration and warning - like a woman who had once stood at the same crossroads and knew how treacherous the path ahead could be.
"Then be wise," she said finally, her voice softer now, but no less commanding.
Her eyes locked with Scharline's, unwavering.
"If you want to be a model, ask yourself this - who needs to notice you first?"
The question landed with precision, like a seed dropped into the soil of Scharline's ambition. Lisa didn't need to explain.
Scharline felt it in her breast.
This wasn't just about being something.
It was about becoming something - knowing who held the keys and how to make them look twice.
Scharline's eyebrows drew together, a delicate furrow forming between them - uncertainty painted her features. Then, slowly, her eyes lit up with the faintest spark of realisation.
"Are you talking about Ethan?" she asked, her voice fraught with hesitation, the name tasting both dangerous and familiar on her tongue.
Lisa's lips curved into a satisfied smile, like a chess player watching the board tilt exactly as planned.
"See?" she said softly. "You're starting to get it."
Her tone was breezy, but each word fell with intent.
"Ethan could open doors for you, Schar. He's influential, respected, connected. I'm not saying use him. Just... get a little closer."
She paused, letting the suggestion blossom.
"Courage gets noticed. And you already have it."
Scharline turned back to the mirror. The reflection staring back at her held no answers - only questions. Her eyes searched her own face, as if the truth might be hidden in the curve of her jaw or the tension of her lips. She replayed Lisa's words, stacking them up against her dreams like jigsaw pieces that didn't quite fit.
Could Ethan really be the chance she needed?
It felt like an open door - but did it lead anywhere, or just another detour she convinced herself to follow?
Was this ambition... or avoidance?
Inside, her thoughts swirled like a storm beneath calm waters - rife with doubt, desire and the pain of not knowing where conviction ended and temptation began.
Lisa rose from the bed, graceful and unhurried.
"I'm going down for coffee," she said, glancing over her shoulder with a knowing grin. "Think about it. You can tell me what you decide."
Then she disappeared through the door, closing it behind her with a soft click that left the room heavy with silence.
Scharline stood still.
She stared at herself for a moment before taking a long, steady breath. Her chest felt tight - not with fear, but with pressure. The pressure of possibility. Of change.
Perhaps this was the moment she stopped playing it safe.
With a quiet exhale, she reached for the waistband of her pyjama bottoms and slid them down, letting them pile up at her feet. Her tank top followed, leaving her in nothing but pale lace - soft, delicate, barely there. She stood in front of the mirror, naked and exposed, and watched her reflection with a new kind of intensity.
Her heartbeat quickened.
There was vulnerability in this image, yes - but also power.
Not the kind Lisa spoke of. Not yet.
But something was awakening in her.
Something brave.
Scharline's eyebrows furrowed slightly, confusion silently etching itself into her features - until her eyes flickered with realisation.
"Are you talking about Ethan?" she asked, her voice caught between surprise and something more hesitant. A thought she hadn't dared to name until now.
Lisa's lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile. The kind that says: Exactly.
"See? You finally get it."
Her voice carried confidence - measured and deliberate.
"Ethan could help you climb. He's not only strong, he's visible. You don't have to use him, just... get closer. Close enough to be seen where it matters."
She paused, letting the weight of her suggestion sink in.
"Sometimes," Lisa added, her tone dipping lower, more intimate, "what gets you noticed isn't talent. It's courage. And that's something you already have - you just don't know how to wear it yet."
Scharline slowly turned back to the mirror.
She studied herself, looking for something between the surface and the skin - an answer, a reason, a line she wasn't sure she wanted to cross. Her fingers moved absently to the waistband of her pyjama bottoms, tugging slightly, grounding herself in the soft fabric, the safety of routine.
Was Lisa right?
Was Ethan really the door she'd been waiting for?
The idea sparked something in her - a quiet thrill tangled with unease. Was this audacity... or was it simply escape? The shortcut she told herself she'd never take?
The weight of Lisa's words pressed down like a decision already formed.
Lisa stood, stretching slightly, then looked back with the same teasing smile.
"I'm going to make some coffee. Think about it," she said with a shrug.
"Tell me what you decide downstairs."
The door clicked behind her.
Silence descended like a thick fog. Scharline stood there for a moment, staring at her reflection, her breath shallow. The tension in her chest was impossible to ignore - half resistance, half anticipation.
And then, slowly, deliberately, she slipped out of her pyjamas.
The fabric slipped to the floor in a soft silence. She stood in the stillness wearing nothing but lace - delicate, pale and barely there. The chill in the air kissed her bare skin, yet she didn't reach for anything to cover herself.
Her heart quickened.
There was something electric about the way she looked at herself now.
Still uncertain. Still questioning.
But underneath it all... a flicker of boldness.
Just then, the faint vibration of her phone cut through the silence like a pin dropped into still water. Scharline jumped, startled from her thoughts. The images that had been swirling in her mind - Lisa's voice, Ethan's shadow - dissolved in an instant.
Her screen lit up.
Mum.
She hesitated.
For a moment she just stared at the name, her thumb hovering over the screen. Standing there in nothing but her lace lingerie, the last thing she felt ready for was a conversation with her mother. But the pull was there - familiar, grounding, impossible to ignore.
She silenced the call.
But the guilt gnawed at her.
Seconds later, she sighed, tapped the screen and lifted the phone to her ear.
"Yes, Mum?" she said softly, her voice carrying warmth - and a hint of apology.
The moment her mother's voice came through, something in her chest loosened.
"Good morning, my angel." Carolina's tone was sweet, rich with concern, like honey poured over an old melody. "I wondered if you were coming home this morning. You didn't call."
Her voice wrapped around Scharline like a childhood blanket - comforting, familiar, and heavy with unspoken worry. And suddenly the chaotic thoughts of the morning - Lisa's challenge, Ethan's pull - faded into the background, if only briefly.
Scharline cleared her throat, caught between truth and diplomacy.
"Actually... I was going to come, but Lisa and I are going to hang out a bit longer. I'll be home later tonight."
There was a pause on the other end. A breath. A mother's instinct flickering to life.
"You're not saying you won't be home tonight, are you?" Carolina's voice was calm, but tighter now. Protective.
"No, no," Scharline jumped in quickly, smoothing the moment. "I'll be home tonight. We're just going shopping. That's all."
Another pause - this one softer. Then a long exhale.
"All right," her mother said slowly, "but don't stay out too late, Scharline. Be careful. And keep me posted, OK? Deal?"
Scharline smiled, the tension easing a little.
"Deal, Mum. I promise."
Carolina didn't answer right away. She just listened - listened to her daughter's voice, lively and full of life. For a brief second, she didn't hear the woman her daughter was becoming. She heard the girl she had been.
And in that moment, something settled in her chest. A kind of pain.
Time had passed faster than she had expected.
Once she too had stood in front of a mirror - young, curious, full of questions she didn't know how to ask. Once she too had believed in love as if it were sunlight - endless and warm and always just around the corner.
And now... She pushed the thought away and let her voice soften into something tender, like a hand gently stroking over a memory.
"How's Brown?"
The pause that followed was telling. It wasn't just silence, it was weighted with the kind of hesitation only mothers learn to read. It echoed through the phone like a held breath, and it made the corners of Carolina's lips curl into a quiet, knowing smile.
She knew that rhythm. She had heard it before.
Every time Braun's name came up, Scharline would pause - just a little too long.
Then came her daughter's voice, carefully casual, carefully controlled. But not careful enough to hide from a mother's ear.
"He's fine... He called me last night," Scharline admitted, a little too cheerfully.
"But I didn't answer. I was with Lisa."
Carolina nodded, her gaze distant, as if piecing together the truth hidden beneath her daughter's words.
"Mmm... I see."
Then her voice changed - lighter, more playful. There was a sparkle in her eyes as she leaned into the teasing, like a ray of sunlight slipping through parted curtains.
"By the way..." she said, drawing out the words, "I saw the pictures of you and Braun on the beach."
Scharline's breath caught - audibly, sharply, involuntarily.
"Mum!" she blurted, her voice flaring with mock indignation and barely concealed laughter. "Are you stalking me on social media? You're secretly following me!"
Carolina burst out laughing - a full, joyous sound that wrapped around her like a silk scarf in the breeze.
She lifted her shoulders in a playful shrug that Scharline couldn't see, but would undoubtedly hear in the tinge of her voice.
"Not secretly," she declared, boldly and unrepentantly.
"I look openly."
Then, with devilish glee, she added: "Shall I leave a comment under your photo? Something supportive. Or maybe... something saucy?"
Scharline groaned, her laughter bubbling just below the surface.
"Don't," she warned, grinning into the receiver. "I repeat - DO. DO NOT. MUM."
Her voice rang with the unfiltered love that only comes from a bond that's survived time, distance and growing pains.
"Lisa has teased me enough. I don't need you teaming up with her."
Carolina chuckled again, warm and bubbly, like champagne fizzing gently after the cork has popped.
She didn't say anything for a moment - just listened to her daughter's voice, lively and full of life.
And in that soft silence, she felt something that didn't need words.
Time could go on.
But this?
This bond - this love - remained untouched.
Carolina couldn't stop laughing. It rang out, warm and full, echoing softly through the room as she shook her head, her eyes crinkled with amusement.
"All right, all right," she relented.
"But you know, I always find your pictures with Braun... interesting."
Her voice shifted - still light, but touched with something deeper. A flicker of curiosity. A note of concern.
"Are things going well with him?"
On the other end, Scharline let out a long, weighted sigh. The kind that said more than words ever could.
"Yeah... I think so," she replied hesitantly.
"I mean, everything seems fine, but sometimes I just... I don't know what he's really thinking. I don't know if he loves me or if he just likes me."
Her voice trembled at the edges - just enough for Carolina to hear the truth behind it.
That faint thread of doubt. The kind that creeps in late at night when silence feels loud.
Carolina heard it clearly. She knew the song by heart.
The pain of not knowing. The way love could glow one moment and fade the next without warning.
Scharline was walking a path she'd once walked.
And Carolina knew exactly where the twists and turns could lead.
"If a man doesn't bother to show you that he loves you," she said gently, her voice carrying the kind of wisdom that only time and heartbreak can teach, "then maybe... he doesn't love you enough."
It wasn't said to hurt. It was a truth wrapped in care. A small anchor thrown into the sea of her daughter's uncertainty.
There was silence again.
Harder this time.
Scharline's voice returned, softer - barely a whisper.
"I don't know..."
It was all she could manage.
But in that breath lived every flicker of hope, every shard of fear. It was the sound of a young heart trying to understand something too big to name.
Carolina's hand tightened around the telephone.
She trusted her daughter's strength. She admired her independence.
But when it came to Braun... something inside her tensed. A mother's instinct, sharp and quiet, telling her to stay alert. To protect what was most important.
"Well," she said after a pause, her tone balancing tenderness and determination, "we'll talk more about this later."
Then, a smile creeping back into her voice, she added: "But don't be late. Or I swear I'll turn up at Lisa's and drag you home myself."
This drew a full laugh from Scharline - bright and infectious, the kind that could light up a gloomy room like sunshine after a storm.
"Okay, Mum! I promise. I'll call you."
Carolina smiled, her heart full.
Their conversation had danced between love and worry, vulnerability and strength, as it always did. A delicate rhythm. A common language.
One was growing up.
The other was learning to let go - slowly, carefully.
But the bond between them? That was unshakable.
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