Vogue | Tony Stark

FIFTY FOUR - HOME

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Estélla? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Backstage was perhaps even more chaotic once the show had ended than it was before it started. Girls were running around in their robes with excited height on their tiptoes, eager to share their excitement and happiness with Estélla after witnessing a fairly tale in real life.

She was showered in love and congratulations, endless empathy from the other models who had been reduced to tears watching the couple reunite. It was perhaps the most heartwarming, genuine and soulful moment any of them had ever seen, and to see Esté smile, a real smile, was rewarding for all of her friends and colleagues.

Estélla killed the rest of her walks, just like Tony told her to. She'd always had the ability to hold herself together and to fake it in situations where she couldn't be authentic, but looking into his dark eyes had given her the newest lease of life that she so desperately needed right then.

The entourage of girls surrounding Esté's vanity with giggles and warm hugs disbanded once the director stormed over towards them, her loud voice cutting through their joyful conversations and casting silence down on them all, snatching the happiness from the air with sharp claws.

"Excuse me?" Esté raised a brow when a path formed for the director to walk down, standing in front of her as she stayed sat on her chair with one leg crossed over the other, a bottle of water in her hands.

"Would you call that professional, Miss Goldwyn? By your standards?"

Elsa Macauley had directed an endless list of shows, many of which Estélla had had the pleasure of walking in. The pair had never had any run ins in the past, in fact, Esté never really had any problems with anybody she worked with. She was always shined with gratitude from her colleagues which only added to her glimmering reputation, but something told her that Elsa wouldn't be singing her praises to the press that evening.

"Is there a problem, Elsa? That was one of the best shows we've ever done, all of us."

Estélla wasn't wrong, it had been a flawless show and despite the handful of stolen moments she took for herself at the mercy of her broken heart being pieced back together, everything had been perfect.

"Yes, there is a problem," she scoffed, pulling her glasses from her face as she looked up at the supermodel who stared down at her from her chair, "What happened to following orders, doing what you're told, what you're meant to do? You pride yourself on your professionalism, don't you? What would you call that little fiasco with him?"

Estélla just stared at her, almost laughing with the rage that took over her body in that moment. The polite smile disappeared from her face and any notion to remain gentle and warm vanished, overcome with fury and anger that was represented by the cold look on her face and behind her eyes, something people never saw in her.

"He has a name."

Elsa scoffed, "You think I care? You ruined my show, he ruined my show. Tony fucking Stark ruined-"

Estélla stepped down from her chair and folded her arms, standing with narrowed eyes that pierced down into Elsa's heartless soul. She'd never been an aggressive or violent person and had always been void of a desire for confrontation, but the mentioning of Tony in such a derogatory way sparked something inside of Estélla that she wasn't willing to put out or shake off, tired of being peaceful when she didn't want to be.

"I thought he was dead. I was willing to walk this show today after finding out that he was gone, and I did. I walked down that runway the first time thinking that the man I loved was dead after not hearing from him for over two months. I pulled myself together and I did it, is that professional enough for you, Elsa?"