Chapter 130: The Life of a Model

Barbara ended the call but for some reason, she didn't put her phone down right away. 

Instead, she sat there, staring at her screen, her thumb hovering uncertainly over Tristan's name in the call log. Her pulse pounded incessantly in her ear—an occurrence that had begun just recently, yet left her frustrated each time.

She blinked.

What the hell was she doing?

Hadn't she been the one to tell him that she wanted to take things slow? She'd meant it as well. Or so she had believed.

Shaking her head, she finally set the phone down beside her and sank deeper into the pillows, letting out a slow breath.

She hadn't even thought about going back to sleep—not after that, not after seeing him like that.

The stupid towel barely hanging onto his hips. The way his muscles flexed so effortlessly when he ran a hand through his damp curls. The way his abs looked, defined just enough to be obvious, but not in a try-hard way.

Then the suit—God, the suit.

Barbara let out a long sigh, dragging a hand down her face, trying to erase the thought.

How had they gon from a casual conversation to…well whatever this was?

They had met, what? Ten days ago? Maybe less. She wasn't exactly keeping track, but it felt so much longer than that.

Like she had known him for months instead of just a handful of days. 

And that was what really got to her.

Because it wasn't just about his looks—though to be honest, those alone were criminally unfair.

It was the way they just… clicked.

How easy it was to talk to him, even when he was being an insufferable flirt. How he made her laugh without even trying. How he could tease her relentlessly in one breath and then say something so sincere, so thoughtful, that she almost forgot how to respond.

And tonight?

Tonight, she had seen him nervous for the first time.

Tristan Hale, the most self-assured, mature, confident nineteen-year-old she'd ever met, had actually been shy about his big interview.

Sure she was 20, turning 21 in two weeks, but she matured quickly. Considering how dark the modeling industry could be, it had to be that way. 

She didn't do this.

Look out for yourself, because no one else will. She had practically engraved that motto onto her heart, so why did her fingers twitch with the urge to call him back?

She had sat there, watching him go through one suit after another, offering opinions to help him choose the perfect colour. Heck, she had even given him a small pep talk, assuring him that he wouldn't mess up his first meeting with Lineker, a man he so obviously admired.

Barbara had spent years around men who made big promises but practically had a foot out the door the second things got serious. The kind who reveled in the perks of being with her yet failed to see her. Never even bothering to listen.

Tristan was different, though. 

He actually listened. Even when she teased him, even when she rolled her eyes at his flirting—he remembered things. Noticed things. Cared.

Here she was, fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of her pillow as she stared up at the ceiling.

She had no business thinking about him this much.

Barbara let out a loud groan, smothering her face with the pillow. 

They weren't even in the same country—hell, forget that, they weren't even anything.

And yet, for some reason, she was lying in bed, unable to get her mind off how unfairly good he looked in a suit, and whether his interview was going well.

She should just go to sleep. Screw that, she needed to sleep.

But, she already knew the moment she closed her eyes—

Her mind would wander straight back to Tristan.

She needed to move. Do anything but sit here replaying the last ten minutes of that call in her head.

Barbara sighed heavily and shoved the blanket off, swinging her legs to the side of the bed.

A shower.

That's what she needed—something to clear her head, reset, and maybe stop thinking about Tristan Hale for five damn minutes.

She turned on the water, letting the steam slowly fill the space, warming the cool air. The steady hum of the shower drowned out the noise in her head as she peeled off her hoodie and shorts, tossing them onto the counter without a second thought.

The second she stepped under the warm spray, her body relaxed, but her mind didn't.

Because instead of focusing on the water, the heat, the steam—she was thinking about him again.

It was stupid, really.

She barely knew him.

Two weeks, maybe less. That's all it had been. A handful of days. A few too many FaceTime calls.

And yet?

She pressed her hands against the tiled wall, exhaling slowly.

She hadn't even realized how little she'd eaten until he pointed it out. And sure, she had given him crap for it, teasing him about acting like a nagging husband, but deep down, she had liked that he noticed.

Liked that he cared.

Then there was the hat.

She still had his blue Leicester City cap—the one he had tossed onto her head so casually. It was in her hotel room, and she wore it more than she expected.

But the real problem?

Tristan was doing the same thing with her hat.

She had seen all the fan pictures and videos—Tristan walking around Leicester, heading to training, even doing interviews still wearing her black hat.

She had given it to him as a joke, not expecting him to actually keep it.

But he did.

And for some reason?

That did something weird to her.

Barbara exhaled, shutting off the water before she overthought this even more.

Wrapping a towel around herself, she stepped out, running a hand through her damp hair as she sat on the edge of the bed.

She really needed to stop thinking about him.

But at this point?

That wasn't happening anytime soon.

Especially not when her entire schedule was now built around him.

Barbara sighed, running the towel through her damp hair as she sat on the edge of the bed. She reached for her phone, half expecting a message from Tristan, half knowing she wouldn't get one yet.

Instead, she was greeted with a flood of notifications—emails, texts, schedule updates.

And just like that, the weight of what she had actually done hit her all over again.

Her schedule was supposed to be easy.

Paris Fashion Week had been the last stop on the circuit—New York, London, Milan, then Paris. Normally, she would have wrapped things up smoothly, done her final shoots, attended the last few shows, and then take a breather before moving on to her next commitments.

But then, Tristan happened.

And suddenly, she was rearranging everything.

At first, it was small changes—shifting some meetings and moving a few fittings around. But when she realized she wanted to stay longer, to actually see him instead of just exchanging texts and FaceTime calls, it turned into something bigger.

Cancellations. Rescheduling.

Calling her agency to explain why she had to move things around, why she couldn't do a last-minute campaign in Milan, and why a runway spot she had already agreed to suddenly wasn't happening anymore.

It was a mess. A headache. And she was exhausted.

But she didn't care.

Because it meant she could surprise him.

It meant more time—more them.

Barbara pulled her phone off the nightstand, scrolling through the messages she had ignored during her call with Tristan. A few from her manager. A couple of irritated messages from designers. Nothing she couldn't handle.

What she wasn't going to do, however, was tell Tristan just how much she had turned her schedule inside out for him.

She was almost 100% sure it would break his sweet heart.

The guy already worried about her eating enough—if he found out she had been running on fumes just to carve out extra time for him, he'd probably feel guilty as hell.

That was the last thing she wanted.

Barbara tossed her phone onto the bed and let out a long breath.

It was worth it.

He was worth it.

Even if she was completely running on empty.

She had barely finished towel-drying her hair when a sharp knock came at the door.

Barbara didn't need to open the door to know who it was.

"Finally," Sophia huffed as she walked in, arms full with a duffel bag and a protein shake. "I was starting to think you drowned in there."

Barbara rolled her eyes, stepping aside to let her in. "Relax, I was only in there for like twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes too long when we have this disaster of a schedule to deal with." Sophia dumped the duffel bag on the bed, turning to face Barbara with her hands on her hips. "You do realize how much work I had to do because you decided to turn your calendar into a complete mess, right?"

Barbara grabbed a hair tie off the nightstand and began tying her damp hair into a ponytail.

"You act like I didn't warn you."

"You warned me that you were adjusting a few things. What you failed to mention was that you were going to cancel runways, reschedule shoots, and throw a grenade into your Fashion Week obligations."

Barbara shrugged, reaching for her workout leggings and tank top. "Things happen."

Sophia shot her a flat look. "Oh, please. Tristan happened."

Barbara ignored the heat creeping up her neck and turned toward the wardrobe. "Are we working out or not?"

Sophia let out an exasperated sigh but grabbed her own gym clothes. "Yeah, yeah, let's go before I have a stress-induced breakdown."

The hotel gym was packed—but that was expected.

This wasn't just any hotel—it was the place everyone wanted to be during Paris Fashion Week, the kind of place where models, designers, and industry insiders either stayed or got in through the right connections.

Barbara and Sophia had barely stepped inside when she immediately recognized familiar faces.

Sara Sampaio was stretching by the mirrors, her long dark hair pulled into a high ponytail. Gigi Hadid, still relatively new but already a rising star, stood near the free weights, chatting with Devon Windsor. Across the room, Stella Maxwell adjusted a resistance band, while Doutzen Kroes, already finished with her lunges, sipped from a water bottle.

Barbara had planned to just keep her head down and work out, but the second Gigi's eyes landed on her, she knew that wasn't happening.

"Oh my God," Gigi grinned, tossing her towel over her shoulder. "Look who finally decided to show up."

Barbara smirked. "Missed me?"

"A little," Gigi admitted, pulling her into a quick hug. "But mostly, I just wanted to know—are you actually here to work out, or did you just come to hide?"

Barbara raised an eyebrow, pretending not to hear that last part.

Devon, tying her platinum blonde hair into a ponytail, shot her a knowing look. "You have been disappearing a lot lately."

Sophia snorted, dropping her bag onto the floor. "Tell me about it."

Barbara sighed. "Oh, here we go."

Sara, who had just pulled out her headphones, blinked in confusion. "Wait, what's happening?"

Doutzen smirked, taking a sip of water. "They're talking about Tristan."

"Ohhh." Sara's lips curled into a slow grin. "Now this I want to hear."

Barbara sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You guys are unbelievable."

Gigi crossed her arms, leaning against a treadmill. "Babe, the entire internet is talking about it. We're just ahead of the trend."

Devon raised an eyebrow. "So… what's the deal? Because first, it was just the photos and videos of you guys in Milan. Now we're seeing clips of him walking around Leicester with your hat."

"And you still have his hat," Stella pointed out, arms crossed. "Don't think we haven't noticed."

Barbara exhaled, adjusting the strap on her sports bra. "There's no deal. We met, we got along, we talked. That's it."

Sophia snorted. "That's what he said in his interviews."

"Because it's the truth," Barbara shot back.

Devon smirked. "Suuuure. And how often do you guys talk?"

Barbara hesitated for half a second—exactly half a second too long.

Gigi's jaw dropped. "Oh my God, it's every day."

Barbara sighed, stepping onto the treadmill. "Can I please just do my workout in peace?"

Sara grinned, adjusting her ponytail. "Nope. We need details first."

Barbara shook her head, pressing the treadmill buttons to start her run. "Unbelievable."

The girls laughed, but as the conversation moved on, Barbara couldn't help the small smile creeping onto her face.

Barbara had every intention of actually getting through this workout.

After the relentless teasing from the girls, she figured she could at least pretend to be focused. She adjusted her ponytail, turned up the speed on her treadmill, and settled into a steady rhythm, eyes on the digital screen in front of her.

It was going well. For about thirty minutes.

Then her phone buzzed on the treadmill's ledge.

She tried to ignore it, but when she saw the name Tristan light up the screen, she barely hesitated before grabbing it.

 Tristan: Finished my interview with Gary. Did everything you told me to. ❤️

Attached was a video.

Barbara hesitated, glancing around. Most of the girls were busy with their own workouts—except for Gigi, who was eyeing her from the weights section, already suspicious.

Barbara rolled her eyes and hit play.

The video opened with Tristan in the BBC studio still in his suit, looking relaxed as he leaned back in his chair.

"Look who's officially a media-trained professional now."

Barbara bit back a smile.

"Handled the interview like a pro. Didn't trip over my words, didn't say anything too stupid—" Tristan smirked, tilting the camera slightly as if to let her see the empty studio behind him. "—and, most importantly, I took all your amazing advice. You proud?"

The video ended with a close-up of his face, followed by a wink before the screen went black.

Barbara felt the blush creep up her neck.

Because God, he was annoying.

And worse? He knew exactly what he was doing.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, trying to think of a response that wasn't too obvious.

Barbara: A miracle. You actually listened to someone other than yourself.

Tristan: I only listen to you, Barbara. 😉

Barbara rolled her eyes, but she could feel her lips twitching.

Her actions weren't as discreet as she hoped, as Gigi called her name from across the gym. "You're smiling at your phone," she said, wiping down her weights.

Barbara immediately put her phone face down on the treadmill. "No, I'm not."

Sara, who had been deep into her workout, suddenly pulled out her headphones. "Wait, what's happening?"

"Barbara's getting cute little messages from a certain footballer," Gigi smirked.

Barbara exhaled. "I swear to God—"

Before she could even finish, her phone buzzed again.

Tristan: Oh, and I was going to send you a photo of me in the suit, but you already saw it… so I guess I'll just have to wait for your next FaceTime call.

Barbara froze.

And that was when Sara, Gigi, and Devon pounced.

"Okay, nope. Who is that from?" Sara demanded, lunging toward Barbara's treadmill.

Barbara quickly locked her phone, holding it to her chest. "No one!"

Devon raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me 'no one' just texted you that and made you look like you got caught doing something illegal?"

"Exactly," Barbara deadpanned.

Sophia sighed dramatically, grabbing a nearby towel. "I'm too tired for this. Just admit you're obsessed with him so we can all move on with our lives."

Barbara huffed, hopping off the treadmill. "You guys are exhausting."

Gigi chuckled, deciding to forego any more teasing.

Barbara grabbed her phone, quickly typing out a response to Tristan as she walked toward the lockers.

 Barbara: Don't hold your breath for that FaceTime.

 Tristan: Too late, lol.

Barbara bit her lip, shaking her head as she tucked her phone into her bag and went back to her workout.

…..

One Hour Later 

Barbara pushed open the door to her room, sighing as she tossed her bag onto the chair by the window.

She was exhausted.

Not just from the workout. Not just from the shows yesterday.

From everything.

The teasing. The speculation. The constant reminders of him.

God, even when Tristan wasn't around, he was everywhere.

She pulled her damp ponytail loose, running a hand through her hair as she wandered toward her suitcase.

Today was going to be brutal.

Not just one event. Multiple.

Her schedule was packed with last-minute runway shows, brand appearances, and interviews. To top it all off, the night would end with a private Chanel party—an ultra-exclusive invite-only event filled with designers, models, and VIPs.

Normally, she'd be excited.

But right now?

She'd rather be anywhere else.

Preferably lying in bed, ordering room service, and maybe FaceTiming a certain English footballer.

Not that she was thinking about that. Obviously.

She let out a slow breath, rolling her shoulders before pulling out a pair of black jeans and a cropped sweater, and slipping them on.

Her next stop? Hair and makeup.

But before leaving, she reached for a hat—the one that felt most comfortable—and slid it on.

Then she caught her reflection in the mirror.

And froze.

Because the hat on her head?

Wasn't hers.

It was his.

Tristan's blue Leicester City cap, the one she had been keeping in her room.

The one she had absolutely no reason to be wearing right now.

Barbara stared at herself, blinking.

How had she even—?

"Wow."

Sophia's voice cut through the room.

Barbara turned sharply, already finding her assistant standing in the doorway, arms crossed, smirking like she had just hit the jackpot.

Barbara exhaled sharply, adjusting the hat like it was totally normal for her to be wearing it. "Don't."

Sophia raised her hands in mock surrender, but the smirk didn't budge. "I'm just saying—it's a bold fashion statement, that's all."

Barbara grabbed her water bottle and took a long sip. "It's just a hat, Sophia. It's not that deep."

Sophia tilted her head. "Oh, totally. It's just so interesting that out of all the hats you own, you went straight for that one."

Barbara rolled her eyes. "It's comfortable."

"Uh-huh." Sophia leaned against the doorframe. "And totally not because it smells like him, right?"

Barbara almost choked on her water.

Sophia grinned. "Oh my God, it does, doesn't it?"

Barbara set her bottle down a little too aggressively. "You're actually the worst."

Sophia snorted, pushing off the doorframe. "You're just mad because I'm right."

Barbara ignored her, but she also didn't take the hat off.

Twenty minutes later, Barbara sat in front of the vanity, while Sophia stood behind her, applying her makeup.

This wasn't normal—there was supposed to be a professional makeup artist, but because her schedule had been a disaster, there wasn't time to book one.

So here they were.

"Stay still," Sophia muttered, blending foundation along Barbara's jaw.

Barbara huffed, checking her phone. "I am still."

Sophia flicked her ear. "You're fidgeting."

Barbara muttered something under her breath but let her continue.

Sophia finally set the brush down and let out a long sigh.

"Alright, I've held my tongue long enough."

Barbara glanced at her in the mirror. "That's a first."

Sophia ignored her. "You're really about to walk into a Chanel party wearing that?"

Barbara adjusted the cap slightly. "Yep."

Sophia threw up her hands. "Babe, I love a rebellious fashion moment, but I feel like Karl Lagerfeld is gonna haunt you for this."

Barbara smirked. "Sounds like a him problem."

Sophia groaned, rubbing her temples. "Okay, but just to be clear—you're wearing this why exactly?"

Barbara picked up her phone, pretending to be very busy scrolling through texts. "It goes with the outfit."

Sophia snorted. "Sure. And it has nothing to do with the fact that it's Tristan's?"

Barbara looked at her phone pointedly. "Nope."

Sophia tilted her head, totally unimpressed. "So if I handed you a different hat right now, you'd swap it out?"

Barbara paused.

For exactly two seconds too long.

Sophia's smirk widened. "Thought so."

Barbara was about to argue but held her tongue, knowing it was pointless.

Sophia just shook her head. 

"Yeah, you're down bad."

Barbara ignored her, standing up and grabbing her bag.

"Come on," she said. "We have a long-ass day ahead."

Barbara didn't stop moving all day.

From the moment she left her hotel room, she had been on a relentless schedule—hair, fittings, rushing to different venues, slipping into couture pieces worth more than most people's rent, strutting down runways like she wasn't already running on fumes.

The Chanel event was in full swing by the time Barbara stepped inside.

The venue was Parisian luxury at its finest—grand chandeliers cast a soft golden glow over the marble floors while towering floral arrangements filled the space with the scent of fresh roses and jasmine.

The hum of conversation mixed with the low rhythm of jazz and modern beats, creating the kind of effortless elegance that only Fashion Week could pull off.

Waiters moved through the room, silver trays in hand, glasses of champagne balanced delicately as they weaved between groups of designers, models, and industry insiders.

Barbara barely noticed.

She wasn't here for the scene.

She was here because she had to be.

Her schedule demanded it. Her contract required it.

So she walked in, shoulders back, head high, moving through the crowd like she belonged there—because she did.

This was her world.

She had been in it for years.

Barbara slipped toward the back of the room, where a sleek, expansive bar stretched along the wall, bottles of the finest champagne and liquor glinting under the warm lights.

She had just reached for a glass when she felt it.

That familiar sensation.

Like someone was watching her.

She turned slightly, her gaze catching on a man nearby—a model she vaguely recognized.

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

His voice was smooth, casual.

Barbara offered a polite nod, but nothing more.

"Busy day," she replied simply, sipping her champagne.

The guy leaned against the bar, offering a small smile. "I figured. You've been everywhere this week. Thought you might be avoiding this party, though."

She was avoiding it.

At least, she had wanted to.

But instead of saying that, she just offered a shrug. "Work's work."

He nodded, studying her for a moment before speaking again. "You know I don't think we've ever properly met."

Barbara let out a quiet breath.

She knew where this was going.

Not because he was arrogant or overbearing.

He wasn't even being pushy.

But she still wasn't interested.

Not in this. Not in any of it.

Because the truth was—

She didn't want some random guy at a Paris party who knew her name but nothing about her.

She wanted someone else.

She wanted Tristan.

And suddenly—it wasn't just an idea anymore.

It wasn't something she was fighting against or overthinking.

It was clear.

The flirting, the teasing, the back-and-forth she had with Tristan—it wasn't just fun anymore.

She missed him.

She wanted his presence, his attention, his stupid jokes, and the way he always found something to bicker about.

She wanted the way he looked at her like she was more than just another face in a crowd.

She wanted his energy, his honesty, the way he always seemed to know exactly what to say.

And most of all—she wanted to be around him.

Screw taking things slow.

Barbara's fingers tightened slightly around her champagne glass.

She was standing here, at an event everyone wanted to be at, surrounded by people who admired her, chased after her, and wanted her attention.

And yet—

She didn't want any of it. 

She only wanted to be somewhere else.

Barbara turned her focus back to the model beside her, realizing she had barely been listening.

He wasn't being rude. He wasn't trying too hard.

He was just making conversation.

But it didn't matter.

Because she knew what she wanted.

And it wasn't him.

She set her glass down gently on the bar.

"Sorry," she said, offering him a small but genuine smile. "I'm not interested."

The guy blinked, looking slightly taken aback but not offended. "Oh. Well, that's—"

Barbara shook her head lightly, her voice soft but firm. "Not in a rude way. I just… already know who I want."

He studied her for a moment before offering a small, knowing nod. "Lucky guy."

Barbara just smiled, not saying anything more.

Back in her hotel room, Barbara flopped onto the bed, exhaling as she kicked off her heels with a sigh so deep it could've ended a rom-com. She had lasted just over an hour at the party before finally calling it a day.

The small talk? Draining.

The fake smiles? Exhausting.

The industry gossip? Couldn't care less.

The entire time, her mind had been somewhere else.

Or rather—on someone else.

She grabbed her phone off the nightstand, already knowing what she was about to do.

Her thumb hovered over the recent call list.

Tristan.

She hadn't even texted him tonight, but somehow, she knew he'd be up.

She hit FaceTime before she could overthink it.

The call rang once.

Twice.

Then the screen flickered to life.

Tristan appeared—controller in hand, headphones over his curls, completely immersed in a FIFA match.

"Oi, shoot, shoot—Vardy, you're through!" he barked.

Barbara blinked. "Did you just answer me mid-game?"

Tristan's eyes barely spared her a glance, before they snapped right back to the game. 

"Barbara, you have the worst timing."

Barbara smirked, sinking deeper into her pillows. "You could've ignored the call."

"Nah," he said easily, his focus still on the TV. "I like seeing you, and we didn't talk much today."

Before she could reply, a new voice cut through the speaker.

"Wait, wait, wait—who's he talking to?"

Another voice followed, sharper, more amused.

"Tristan's on FaceTime with a girl. Who do you think it could be besides Barbara?"

Barbara raised an eyebrow. "Uh… what's happening?"

Tristan let out a huge sigh, muting his mic for a second.

"Alright, before this gets out of hand—you're about to meet my very annoying friends."

Barbara grinned. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."

Tristan unmuted, and the teasing began immediately.

"Oi, Tristan, introduce us, mate!"

Tristan rolled his eyes but tilted his phone slightly, giving Barbara a full view of his screen.

A FIFA match was on display, but at the bottom, a list of players appeared in the voice chat.

Jesse Lingard. Riyad Mahrez. Jamie Vardy.

Barbara's eyes widened slightly.

She wasn't obsessed with football, but she definitely knew who Tristan's teammates were.

"Lads, this is Barbara," he introduced, inwardly bracing himself. "Barbara, these idiots are Lingard, Mahrez, and Vardy. Be nice. Don't be dickheads. Swear to God."

"Oi, oi, oi—THE Barbara?" Lingard immediately chimed in.

Barbara laughed. "That depends. Who exactly is THE Barbara?"

"The one that's got this guy acting different." Mahrez snickered. 

Vardy chimed in. "The one whose hat he hasn't stopped wearing."

Barbara smirked, glancing at Tristan. "Oh? So you're still wearing it?"

Tristan groaned, running a hand down his face. "Why did I pick up this call?"

Lingard cackled. "Oh, mate, this is too good."

Barbara adjusted the phone slightly, getting more comfortable. "So, how's FIFA going? Should I be impressed or embarrassed?"

Mahrez jumped in instantly. "Depends. Do you like watching a man get cooked in real time?"

Tristan scoffed. "Don't listen to them, Barbara. They're just jealous."

Vardy snorted. "Jealous of what?"

Barbara bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

Tristan pointed at his screen. "See what I deal with? Constant slander."

Lingard grinned. "Nah, nah, we're just surprised. Didn't think you had time for FIFA with all those Vogue shoots and Fashion Week calls."

Barbara arched an eyebrow. "Oh? You've been keeping up with that?"

Mahrez chuckled. "Hard not to when this guy won't shut up about it."

Tristan shot daggers at the screen. "I hate all of you."

Barbara tilted her head. "So, Tristan… you've been talking about me?"

Tristan sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "You're never letting this go, are you?"

Vardy grinned. "Mate, you might as well confess now. It's over for you."

Lingard jumped in. "Oh, Tristan's finished. This man's already down bad."

Barbara grinned. "Yeah, Tristan. You down bad?"

Tristan rubbed his temple. "This is bullying."

Barbara just leaned back, smirking.

Because for the first time?

She wasn't the one getting teased about Tristan.

It was the other way around.

And she?

She was loving every second of it.

The FIFA match ended, and one by one, Lingard, Mahrez, and Vardy signed off, their laughter and banter fading until it was just Barbara and Tristan on the call.

The silence that followed was different.

Barbara shifted under the covers, tucking herself in like she wasn't planning on moving anytime soon.

"So… that was interesting."

Tristan let out a long sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah, remind me to never let you meet them again."

Barbara grinned. "Oh, absolutely not. That was the best part of my night."

Tristan shook his head, but she could see it—the way his lips twitched, he was fighting back a smile.

And just like that, her exhaustion felt a little lighter.

Tristan's voice softened. "You back at the hotel now?"

Barbara nodded. "Yeah. Left the party early."

Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Didn't feel like staying?"

She hesitated, then shrugged. "I don't know. Just… wasn't in the mood for it tonight."

Tristan watched her through the screen, eyes flickering across her face like he was trying to figure something out.

"You alright?"

Barbara let out a slow breath. "Yeah, just tired. Fashion Week's been a lot."

Tristan nodded, propping his chin on his hand. "You've been running around nonstop."

Barbara smirked. "You keeping tabs on me now?"

Tristan didn't even hesitate. "Obviously. Can't have you passing out on a runway or something."

Barbara laughed lightly, but deep down, it warmed her.

She rolled onto her side, head resting against the pillow.

"You know, for someone who spends all his time on a football pitch, you sure have a habit of worrying about me."

Tristan's voice was quiet but sure. "Yeah, well… someone's got to do it."

Barbara stilled for a moment, her heart doing something annoyingly warm in her chest.

She could've said something back.

Could've teased him, made a joke, changed the subject.

But instead, she just let the silence settle between them.

Not uncomfortable. Just there.

Then, after a beat, she remembered.

"Oh! Your interview with Gary Lineker—how'd it go?"

Tristan's face lit up slightly. "It was good. You're gonna like it when BBC releases it."

Barbara smirked. "Oh? Should I be worried?"

Tristan chuckled. "Let's just say… there were some interesting questions."

Barbara narrowed her eyes. "Did he ask about me?"

Tristan leaned back, grinning like an idiot. "You'll have to wait and see."

Barbara huffed dramatically. "Fine. But if you embarrassed me on national television, just know—I will find you."

Tristan let out a lazy yawn, stretching his arms. "Terrifying."

Barbara smiled softly, watching him.

He looked comfortable, like this—just talking to her at the end of the night—was exactly where he wanted to be.

And honestly?

She felt the same.

Tristan exhaled. "You should get some sleep."

Barbara hummed, closing her eyes for a second. "Yeah. You too."

Neither of them hung up right away.

Neither of them rushed to say goodnight.

Because, somehow, even through a screen—

This was exactly where they wanted to be.

…….

Barbara barely had time to catch her breath.

Her last day in Paris was a blur—hair, makeup, fittings, interviews, runways, events. Every second was planned, every move choreographed. Normally, she thrived on the chaotic energy, the flash of the cameras, and the rush of it all.

But today, it felt different.

Her mind was elsewhere—

Already thinking about what came after Paris.

After New York.

Straight to Tristan.

But first, she had to get through today.

She sat still, eyes closed as a hairstylist carefully curled her hair. The room had every bit of the chaos of Fashion Week—models wove between makeup stations, stylists ran about with designer pieces in hand, and assistants clutched clipboards, trying to ensure schedules were met like their lives depended on it.

“Keep your head still, love,” the stylist murmured, her voice barely audible over the commotion.

Barbara hummed, resisting the urge to check her phone.

Because if she did?

She knew there’d be a message from Tristan.

And if there was a message from Tristan, she’d be tempted to reply.

And she couldn’t afford that—not today.

The frenzy backstage only grew with each passing moment. Models changed in record time, assistants smoothed out clothing, and stylists hurriedly put on final touches.

A stylist was in the middle of fastening the last clasp of her diamond-studded gloves when someone from PR swooped in.

“Barbara, quick interview before the show.”

Before she had time to protest, she was clipped with a mic, a light flashed, and a camera was inches from her face.

The reporter greeted her with an eager smile, while someone behind the camera gave a signal to begin. 

“Barbara! You’ve had an incredible Fashion Week. How does it feel to be wrapping up your time here in Paris?”

She effortlessly shifted into media mode, a poised expression settling on her face.

“It’s been amazing,” she said smoothly. “Exhausting, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

The reporter nodded. “You’ve walked for some of the biggest designers this season. Any standout moments?”

Barbara tilted her head slightly. “Every show has its magic. But I think Paris itself is always special. It’s an outlet for creativity.”

The reporter’s smile turned sly, his eyes glinting with something mischievous.

“Well, speaking of special…”

She knew what was coming without him even speaking.

“Fans have been noticing your connection with Tristan Hale. There’s been a lot of speculation. Any comments on that?”

Barbara’s smile didn’t waver.

She had two options—sidestep or lean into it.

And for once, she wasn’t in the mood to dodge.

She shrugged, voice light. “Tristan’s a great guy. We talk, we get along. That’s it.”

The reporter raised an eyebrow. “So… just friends?”

Barbara let the moment stretch, finding enjoyment in the reporter’s discomfort, clearly eager for the next hit. She tilted her head slightly, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

“Didn’t say that.”

Before the reporter could push further, Sophia appeared by her side cutting the interview short.

“We’re done here.”

Barbara turned away, watching the reporter walk away—but she knew this wasn’t the end.

By morning, the headlines would write themselves.

x

Barbara had 30 minutes to scarf down a meal before her next event. She and Sophia ducked into a quiet café, hoping for a moment of peace.

That hope lasted all but five minutes.

The second someone recognized her, it was over.

Paparazzi flashed cameras through the windows, and fans whispered pointedly, phones recording every move.

Barbara sighed. “So much for eating in peace.”

Sophia sipped her coffee, unfazed. “Welcome to your life.”

Before Barbara could take another bite, her phone buzzed.

Tristan: Just saw the interview clip.

Barbara smirked, typing back.

Barbara: And?

Tristan: So you didn’t say we’re just friends? Interesting.

Barbara: Maybe I like keeping people guessing.

Tristan: Or maybe, you just like keeping me guessing.

Barbara froze for half a second, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then she rolled her eyes and typed back.

Barbara: Don’t let it go to your head, Tristan.

Tristan: Too late.

She could almost hear his grin through the screen.

And the worst part?

She wasn’t even mad about it.

x

Barbara’s last event was a closing-night gala for Fashion Week.

She arrived in a stunning Chanel gown, her hair swept back in effortless waves.

The venue was packed, the air buzzing with luxury and exclusivity.

But for the first time this week—Barbara felt ready to leave.

She wasn’t going to New York because she wanted to.

She was going because she had to.

But once it was done she was heading straight to England.

And honestly?

She couldn’t wait.

…..

The Next Day 

The streets of Paris were quiet, the early morning sky still painted in deep shades of blue and silver.

The only sounds were the occasional car passing by and the soft click of camera shutters as a handful of paparazzi waited outside the hotel entrance, hoping to capture one last shot of Barbara before she left the city.

She barely spared them a glance.

This wasn’t the first time she had left a city with cameras flashing, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Sophia walked beside her, dragging a carry-on suitcase behind her with one hand, phone in the other, already buried in emails.

"Alright," Sophia sighed, not even looking up. "New York is going be a tight three days. Two runway shows, three brand events, a magazine shoot, and at least two interviews. Then, the second we’re done, we’re flying straight to England like you wanted."

Barbara hummed in acknowledgment, sliding into the car.

She knew the schedule was a mess. She had brought it on herself, really, and the few extra days of work were just the consequences. But truthfully, she hardly cared.

A few more days in New York were nothing compared to what came after.

Barbara leaned her head against the cool window, watching the streets of Paris blur past. The Eiffel Tower soon disappeared in the distance. 

Paris had been incredible, as always. That wasn’t a surprise. Yet, for the first time, she wasn’t sad to leave.

And she knew why: Paris and New York were just pitstops on her way to where she truly wanted to be.

x

Even in the early morning, the airport was busy—business travelers, tourists, and models still moving between cities as Fashion Week continued.

Barbara slipped through the VIP area, security barely glancing at her passport before hurrying her along, quickly attending to the next person in line.

Once Sophia and her made it to the private lounge, Barbara dropped her bag onto the seat and let out a deep breath.

Sophia, already a few sips into her coffee, glanced at her.

"You alright?"

Barbara nodded. "Yeah. Just ready to get this over with."

Sophia arched an eyebrow. "Wow. New York Fashion Week isn’t exciting anymore?"

Barbara rolled her eyes. "It is. But… you know."

And Sophia did know.

In fact, she was the only one who knew the real plan.

The moment New York was done—the moment she was contractually free—Barbara was getting on a plane straight to England.

Sophia stretched, giving her a knowing look. "So. Have you told him yet?"

Barbara shook her head, taking a sip of water. "Nope."

Sophia raised an eyebrow. "You do realize he’s going lose his mind when you just… show up in England, right?"

Barbara smirked, leaning back against the plush airport lounge chair.

"Yeah," she said. "I know."

She couldn’t wait.

x

The moment Barbara’s plane touched down at JFK, she barely had a second to breathe.

No fanfare. No glamorous arrival.

Just straight to work.

By the time she made it through customs and security, a black SUV was already waiting for her outside. Sophia waved her over as she held up her phone, already on a call.

“Yeah, we just landed. No, she’s fine. Yes, we’re heading straight there.”

Barbara slid into the backseat, barely getting comfortable before Sophia ended the call and immediately launched into scheduling mode.

“Okay. First stop—fitting for the Marc Jacobs show. After that, we have to get you to the Bulgari event.

Barbara rubbed her temples. “No pressure, huh?”

Sophia shot her a pointed look. “That’s what happens when you throw your schedule to the wind just so you can go meet your boyfriend.”

Barbara gave a tired laugh, her eyes already peering out the window.

When she was back in England, it would be worth it.

x

The New York skyline towered above her. It was a vast expanse of steel and glass that reflected the midday sun. Golden streaks of light danced all over the city, shimmering across windows, flickering past people, and spilling onto the streets below—only to be engulfed by the long shadows cast by the lofty towers above.

She really did love this city. Always had.

But this time, she wasn’t gushing over its beauty and planning to extend her stay—she was counting down the days until she could leave.

By the time she stepped into the Marc Jacobs showroom, she was fully in work mode. 

The moment she walked in, the designer’s assistant was on her.

“Barbara! Great timing—come, we need to get you into your first look.”

No greetings. No pleasantries. Just straight to the fitting room. There was no time for small talk, not with her schedule.

Barbara held back a yawn as they slipped her into a structured black blazer dress, the shoulders sharp, the silhouette sleek.

She turned toward the mirror, adjusting the fit slightly.

It was perfect.

Simple, but striking. The kind of thing she loved wearing.

“Thoughts?” the stylist asked, pinning the fabric in a few places, ensuring it would hold.

Barbara turned slightly, studying herself. “I like it. Feels powerful.”

The assistant beamed. “Good. You’re opening the show in it.”

Barbara just nodded. 

There were no nerves nor jitters—it was just work.

She had done this a million times before. And she would do it again tomorrow. 

x

When she arrived at the Bulgari event, Barbara had switched on full model mode.

Flawless makeup. A sleek gown that hugged her frame perfectly. Every detail was curated.

The cameras flashed the instant she stepped onto the red carpet. Blinding white light was flashing in rapid succession, accompanied only by the sound of shutters clicking. A lesser model would have been momentarily blinded, forced to squint at the blinding haze of flashes. 

But not her. Her posture was flawless and her eyes remained trained on the relentless onslaught of light. The rapid clicks of shutters were nothing more than background noise as she posed effortlessly, finding satisfaction in the way the diamonds on her wrist sparkled under the light.

It was second nature.

Inside industry elites mingled and champagne flowed—she didn’t care.

Smile. Pose. Speak.

Repeat.

…..

Next Day 

Barbara adjusted the sleek black dress, disinterestedly watching the stylists make final tweaks through the mirror.

The Michael Kors fitting was moving fast—assistants rushing around adjusting hemlines, and models slipping in and out of outfits. 

The usual pre-show chaos.

Long flights, back-to-back events, cameras in her face no matter where she was—she was exhausted. Tired of the work, the hours, and the people.

But she pushed through.

Because this was her job, and she was damn good at it.

And then—she heard it.

A voice. Familiar, too. 

Irish—and one she used to like way too much before it all fell apart.

“Barbara?”

Her body stiffened involuntarily. 

She slowly turned around, and when she did?

She was met with a familiar sight. 

Niall Horan, standing just a few feet away, dressed in a casual designer jacket, looked like he hadn’t completely humiliated her a year ago.

Barbara’s stomach twisted—not in the way it did when she thought about Tristan nor in the way it had when they broke off.

She expected to feel resentment, anger, or maybe even pain—he had cheated on her so that was only normal, right?

But there was no such feeling. No fury, bitterness, or righteous indignation, instead there was just…nothing.

“Barabara?” he repeated, his voice hesitant.

She exhaled slowly, keeping her face unreadable. “Niall.”

Any hint of doubt melted away when she responded and a smile quickly framed his face. “Didn’t expect to run into you here.”

She crossed her arms, expression flat. “Really? I’m a model, and this,” she motioned to everything around her, “is fashion week.”

He laughed, missing—or perhaps choosing to ignore—the sarcasm entirely. “Fair point,” his grin widened. “I’m just surprised to see you here, it’s been what…four months since we last saw each other?”

“Four months without an apology, indeed,” she replied, her tone level.

His smile faltered, but only for a fraction of a second before it returned. 

“Look, I…I know I screwed up,” he admitted rubbing his neck. “I just thought that—”

“—That you could show up months later, and everything would be fine? It’s too late for that.”

“I just don’t like how we left things.” His voice was softer, yet still had a hint of defensiveness. “Look, I don’t expect you to forgive me; I still wanted to apologize though.”

She nodded lightly. “Well, now you have.”

And with that, she was gone, her heels clicking against the floor.

She should have been shaken. Annoyed. Angry. Anything.

But instead—

Relief. That was all she felt.

Because, even in front of Niall—her cheating ex, all she could think was:

How much time was left until she could see Tristan?

She had something better waiting for her, so why look back?

x

Barbara had just finished a long, exhausting day—runway fittings, interviews, dodging Niall—when she finally made her way back to her hotel room. She didn’t even bother changing out of her clothes, just kicked off her heels and collapsed onto the bed, phone in hand.

Her fingers hovered over her screen for half a second before she tapped Tristan’s name on her phone.

FaceTime: Tristan Hale

It rang once.

Then, his face filled the screen—hair damp, lying on his couch in a hoodie, looking as relaxed as can be while she felt like she had just run a marathon…in stilettos.

"Two calls in two days? Careful, Palvin—people might think you actually like me."

Barbara rolled her eyes. "Shut up."

Tristan chuckled, shifting slightly on his couch. "How’s New York?"

Barbara exhaled. "Annoying."

His brows furrowed slightly. "What happened?"

Barbara hesitated. Then sighed.

"Ran into Niall."

"And?"

Barbara studied his face for a few seconds.

"Are you… jealous?"

Tristan scoffed. "No."

Barbara grinned. "You so are."

Tristan rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "I just don’t like the guy."

Barbara’s chest warmed slightly. "Good. Because neither do I."

"You okay?"

Barbara stretched out, resting her chin on her hand. "Yeah. It was actually kind of funny. I thought seeing him again would bother me, but it didn’t."

Tristan watched her closely. "Why’s that?"

Barbara exhaled, tilting her head.

"Because… he doesn’t matter anymore."

Tristan’s eyes softened. "Good."

They didn’t say much after that, falling into a comfortable silence.

x

Barbara sighed, stretching out. "You’re going be in England when I get back, right?"

Tristan smirked. "Why? You planning on seeing me?"

Barbara shrugged. "No, I was just curious about something."

Tristan’s gaze lingered on her for a second, before he murmured,

"Okay. And let me know when you come back to England—I’m still waiting for my reward."

Barbara felt heat creep up her neck.

….

The next morning Barbara woke up to chaos.

Her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—notifications flooding in, her name trending on Twitter. She already knew it was bad before she even looked.

And she was right.

"Barbara Palvin & Niall Horan spotted together at NYFW—are they rekindling their romance?"

"Barbara Palvin seen laughing with ex-fling Niall—what about Tristan Hale?"

"Tristan Hale—the new rebound?"

Barbara groaned, rubbing her temples as she scrolled through the posts.

There it was—a paparazzi shot of her and Niall backstage, mid-conversation. It was taken at just the right angle to make it seem like something it wasn’t. And of course, there were videos too—because why wouldn’t there be? 

One was of Niall approaching her, another made it seem like they were standing way closer than they had been.

Unbelievable.

She had already told Tristan everything last night.

But now?

Now the whole world had an opinion.

Her phone buzzed again.

 Sophia: Call me. Now.

Barbara groaned, venting her frustrations on her pillow before pressing the call button.

The second Sophia picked up, her voice was impatient.

“Tell me it’s not as bad as it looks.”

Barbara exhaled. “Depends. How bad does it look?”

“Well,” Sophia said dryly, “the good news is, people aren’t turning on you…yet. Most of them are just confused. But knowing the media, it’ll be a couple more hours before your name is tarnished.”

Barbara nodded slowly. “And the bad?”

Sophia sighed. “It’s everywhere, Barbara: Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, tabloids, hell even newspapers have begun printing it. But the worst part? They’re dragging Tristan into it.”

Barbara’s jaw clenched. Of course, they were.

Because it wasn’t just about Niall, she couldn't care less about him, but they were comparing him to Tristan.

Wondering if she had been playing games.

And she hated it.

Because Tristan didn’t deserve that.

Before she could even think of a way to handle the situation, her phone lit up with a new message.

………………

Tristan: I’m assuming you’ve seen the headlines?

Barbara bit her lip, then quickly typed back.

 Barbara: Yeah. It’s ridiculous.

 Tristan: Agreed. You okay?

Barbara felt something in her chest ease.

No accusations. No anger. Just Tristan being…Tristan.

 Barbara: I just hate that they’re dragging you into this.

 Tristan: It’s not your fault. I know how the media twists things.

Barbara hesitated for half a second.

Then she hit FaceTime.

It barely rang once before Tristan picked up.

He was lying in bed, his hair a mess, clearly having just woken up.

 Barbara sighed. "So… you're not mad?"

 Tristan tilted his head. "Should I be?"

Barbara exhaled. "No. But I wouldn’t blame you if you were."

Tristan ran a hand through his hair. "Look, do I like waking up to headlines about you and your ex? No. Did I want to punch something when I saw them? Maybe."

Barbara's lips twitched into a small smile. "Jealous?"

Tristan scoffed. "Obviously."

Barbara grinned, but then her expression quickly softened.

"It just sucks," she muttered. "I already told you everything last night, and now it’s like I have to prove it to the entire world."

Tristan studied her for a second, then nodded. "I get it. But you don’t have to prove anything to me."

Barbara’s breath caught. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear that.

She shifted slightly, voice softer. "For what it’s worth, Niall and I were never in a relationship. We went out on a few dates…then he cheated on me,” she laughed, realizing the absurdity of the situation only when she mentioned it aloud.

Tristan’s jaw clenched. "He cheated on you?"

Barbara shrugged. "Yeah. But I’m over it."

Tristan shook his head. "I swear, football’s got its share of idiots, but musicians? You lot might have us beat."

Barbara laughed, feeling a little lighter. "He’s not worth being mad over."

Tristan shot her a pointed look. "Doesn’t mean I have to like seeing his face near yours."

Barbara bit her lip, watching him carefully. "So… if the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t be seeing headlines about you and an ex, right?"

Tristan smiled. "Nope."

Barbara raised an eyebrow. "No old flings hanging around?"

Tristan’s grin widened. "None that compare to you—besides, as you’re aware, I’ve never even had a girlfriend.”

Barbara rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed. "You’re such a flirt."

Tristan shrugged. "Can’t help it. You bring it out of me."

Barbara sighed dramatically. "And to think I called you just to clear the air."

Tristan leaned forward. "You did. And now I have one question for you."

Barbara arched a brow. "What?"

Tristan smirked. "How are you going shut this down?"

Barbara grinned. "Oh, I already have a plan."

She didn’t waste any time.

Barbara went straight to Twitter, typing out a simple but direct post. No point in beating around the bush.

 @BarbaraPalvin: Just to clarify: Niall and I were never in a relationship. We dated briefly, it ended a while ago, and we have both moved on. No drama, no games, just facts. Hope that clears things up.

Within minutes, the tweet had over 50,000 likes and retweets.

Barbara locked her phone and leaned back, exhaling.

Tristan’s voice came through the phone low, but amused. "That’s one way to do it."

Barbara grinned. "What can I say? I don’t like unfinished business."

Tristan tilted his head slightly. "Good. Because now the whole world knows you’re mine."

Barbara laughed, shaking her head. "You are so smug right now."

Tristan’s smirk widened. "Yeah, but you like it."

Barbara rolled her eyes. "Goodnight, Tristan."

Tristan grinned. "Night, Barbara."

And with that, the call ended.

………..