LOGINThe whole campaign launched and ended quietly. At least, that was what Maisön Étoile intended. There was no extravagant premiere or countdown. The first photographs simply appeared across the brand's official platforms one Tuesday morning, accompanied by a short caption introducing the anniversary collection. By noon, the internet had done the rest. I woke to dozens of notifications waiting on my phone. Most came from Zurich's communications team. Others were from fashion magazines requesting interviews, photographers asking for availability, and international publications hoping to feature the campaign in their editorials. My assistant stood beside the breakfast table with a tablet in one hand and an apologetic smile. "I think today will be busy." "I anticipated." She turned the screen toward me. The first image filled the display. Azeirah and I sat on opposite ends of an old wooden balcony overlooking Stockholm's harbor. None of us looked at the camera. She was reading a
The cursor blinked beneath Xavier's last message, waiting for an answer I couldn't seem to give. But there's something you should know. I read it again. Then again. For months, I had trained myself not to ask questions about the Philippines. Every article I refused to read, every missed call I ignored, every memory I pushed away had been part of a decision I believed was necessary. I left because I wanted to survive. And surviving meant refusing to look back. Yet now... A single message from my brother had managed to shake a certainty I had spent months building. I exhaled slowly and rested my elbows against the kitchen counter. Outside, Zurich continued its quiet evening. Trams glided past illuminated streets while distant conversations drifted upward from cafés below. Life here had become familiar. It become comfortable and predictable. Exactly the kind of life I had worked so hard to build. So why did one message make it feel fragile? I unlocked my phone aga
The campaign launched on a quiet Thursday morning. By noon, it was everywhere. The first images appeared on Maison Étoile's official platforms. Azeirah and I stood together on a rain-soaked balcony, wrapped in oversized wool coats, our foreheads nearly touching as if silence alone was enough conversation. Another photograph followed. We were sitting across from each other in a small kitchen, sharing coffee before sunrise. The campaign wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. It was ordinary. And somehow, that was exactly what people loved. The comments multiplied by the minute. "I've never seen chemistry this effortless." "They don't even have to touch." "Tell me they're together." "You can't fake looking at someone like that." I closed my phone before I reached the next page. It didn't matter. I already knew where it was heading. By the following afternoon, entertainment pages had begun stitching together every public appearance Azeirah and I had made over the p
The campaign slowly stopped feeling like work. Not because it became easier. If anything, Maisön Étoile only demanded more from us as filming progressed.The expectations grew higher with every completed scene. The directors no longer corrected where my hands rested or how long I should maintain eye contact.Instead, they asked questions."What would Ena do here?""What would Azeirah do?"Not our characters. Us.They wanted pieces of our personalities to quietly find their way into the campaign. Authenticity, they called it. People could always recognize the difference between something rehearsed and something lived.I was beginning to understand what they meant.-Stockholm welcomed us with pale mornings and streets lined with old stone buildings.The first outdoor sequence required us to spend nearly twelve hours moving between different locations; A bookstore, a flower market, a quiet café overlooking the river.By the end of the afternoon, everyone looked exhausted, except Azeirah
The campaign had not even been released yet. But somehow, people had already become invested in the story behind it.It started with entertainment articles across Europe. Then fashion blogs and magazines.Within days, the headlines had crossed continents. Even the Philippines wasn't spared.One morning, while I was waiting for my makeup artist to finish preparing the next look, my assistant walked over with a tablet in her hands."I thought you should see this."I accepted it. Several articles filled the screen.Filipina Supermodel Ena Garden Spotted Frequently With European Star Azeirah Blakesön.Who Is The Woman Always Beside Azeirah Blakesön?International Campaign Sparks Curiosity Among Filipino Fans.I scrolled quietly. Most of the photographs were harmless.Azeirah and I in coffee shops, bookstores. Walking beside each other after rehearsals. Looking through mood boards while laughing at something the camera hadn't captured.Someone had even taken a picture of us waiting for the
The days that followed settled into a rhythm I hadn't expected. Maisön Étoile wasn't exaggerating when they said chemistry required work. It wasn't something we discovered overnight. It was something we practiced. Every morning began the same way. Then hours of conversations the creative team insisted were just as important as everything else. "You don't need to become best friends," one of the directors reminded us. "But strangers cannot convince the world they've built a life together." So we talked. Sometimes while walking through the studio. Sometimes over lunch. Sometimes while waiting for makeup artists to finish adjustments. There wasn't a script. Only time. And surprisingly... Time did what rehearsals couldn't. I slowly began understanding Azeirah. She wasn't particularly talkative. At least not in the way some people expected. She preferred listening. Whenever someone spoke, she gave them her complete attention, never glancing at her phone or looking around the room.
She didn’t say anything after that. She just looked at me with that knowing smile—the one that made me feel like she’d already read a chapter of me I was still trying to understand myself. “Don’t look so proud,” I said, turning back to the chopping board. “I can’t help it,” she replied lightl
“Will you be my girlfriend?”Her question echoed in my head like it was my favorite song. Her face flushed as she waited for me to answer.“Aria…” I stopped to process what she asked for the nth time.Her smile faded a bit, maybe thinking of the worst. I tilted my head and smiled sweetly at her.“O
“Hey, you’re mean.” I hissed at her and turned to Francis, “Enjoy your fruits. You can stay for a while if you want, don’t mind her.”But he just smiled politely and prepared to leave.“Thanks, but I need to go now. Just let me know if you two need something,” he said and turned his back on us.I f
“Where are we going?” I asked, when I noticed Aria taking a different way to her house.“Home,” she said, eyes still fixed on the road.I paused for a while but couldn’t help but ask.“Why are we taking a different way?”She glanced at me and smiled, then glanced back to the road before answering.







![Scarlet Obsession [BL]](https://yfbwww.goodnovel.com/pcdist/src/assets/images/book/43949cad-default_cover.png)