Chapter 1
A House Divided
The Noble House of Black Casting Show
THE OPPORTUNITY OF A LIFETIME AWAITS.
For the first time in history, The Noble House of Black—the world’s most exclusive and influential fashion empire—opens its doors to undiscovered talent. This is not just a competition. This is the gateway to a career beyond imagination.
Selected modeling agencies will each send two hopefuls to compete in the most prestigious reality casting show the industry has ever seen. Under the guidance of the Black family’s elite mentors and designers, only the strongest will rise. Only the exceptional will survive.
Do you have what it takes to walk among legends?
This is your chance to be seen.
To be transformed.
To become iconic.
The Noble House of Black Casting Show
Where the stars of tomorrow are born.
Coming Soon.
@fashiontruthdaily: The Noble House of Black is hosting a MODEL CASTING SHOW?! The world is actually ending. #BlackCasting #EliteOrExploitation
@modelwatch: Imagine thinking you have a chance when the House of Black has been gatekeeping high fashion for DECADES. This show is either a golden ticket or a death sentence.
@industrysecrets: Leaked info says Regulus Black himself will be involved in the selection process. Meaning? The pressure on these models will be INSANE.
@siriusblackfanclub: Not Sirius Black’s evil fashion overlord family launching a casting show. Bet he’s rolling his eyes SO HARD right now.
@futuretopmodel: I DON’T CARE HOW RIGGED THIS IS I WOULD SELL MY SOUL TO BE ON THIS SHOW
The backstage lounge reeked of expensive cologne and champagne, the air thick with the quiet murmur of fashion’s elite. Bright vanity lights cast a harsh glow on the sleek marble countertops, reflecting in the gold-rimmed champagne flutes left abandoned by models and designers too distracted by their own egos to finish their drinks.
Regulus Black stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit with the same meticulous precision he applied to everything in his life. His sharp cheekbones and hollowed features looked even more pronounced under the artificial lighting. He was the heir of the Noble House of Black, the perfect embodiment of its legacy—cold, untouchable, flawless.
And then there was Sirius.
Leaning against the counter, his leather jacket worn and creased, tattoos creeping up his arms and disappearing beneath his shirt, he looked every bit the disgrace their parents claimed he was. The black sheep, the rebellion, the one who had walked away. But now, standing here, staring at his younger brother, he couldn’t help but feel something twist in his stomach.
“You’ve gotten thinner,” Sirius muttered, his voice rough, laced with something dangerously close to concern.
Regulus smirked faintly, eyes still fixed on his reflection. “Thank you. I worked for this body.”
“That wasn’t a compliment, Reggie,” Sirius shot back, his voice sharper now. “You’re way too thin.”
Regulus turned then, finally meeting his brother’s gaze. His expression was unreadable, the practiced mask of someone who had spent years being shaped and molded into perfection. “That’s called body-shaming, Sirius.”
Sirius blinked, then scoffed. “Body-shaming? Bloody, Regulus. You know I don’t judge bodies, but you look downright unhealthy.”
Regulus crossed his arms over his chest, his expression cooling into something almost smug. “Unhealthy?” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Then take a look at yourself. What’s that? Another new tattoo?” His eyes flicked to Sirius’s neck, where fresh ink peeked out from under his collar. “On your neck this time?”
Sirius exhaled through his nose, running a hand over the tattoo as if he had forgotten it was there. The tension between them was suffocating, a weight that neither of them wanted to acknowledge but both carried nonetheless.
Two brothers. Same blood. Same pain.
But standing on opposite sides of a life neither of them had ever truly chosen.
Sirius let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, Reg, it’s called self-expression. You should try it sometime—might help with that whole ‘emotionless mannequin’ thing you’ve got going on.”
Regulus didn’t flinch. He had spent years perfecting his composure, learning how to take every criticism, every harsh word, and turn it into nothing. A perfectly tailored suit of indifference. He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “You think I don’t express myself?” His voice was smooth, dangerously calm. “I do, Sirius. Just not in the way you do—with bad tattoos and even worse music.”
Sirius felt the jab land, but he was used to that. Hell, he had spent his entire life hearing worse. “Right,” he drawled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans. “You express yourself by starving yourself into whatever version of perfect Mother and Father have decided is marketable this season.”
Something flickered in Regulus’s eyes—just for a second, barely there, but Sirius caught it.
“You don’t know anything about my life,” Regulus said, his voice still controlled, but Sirius could hear the edge now.
Sirius tilted his head, studying him. “No? I know exactly what it’s like to be their perfect little doll. To be dressed up, paraded around, made into something that looks expensive and untouchable but feels like nothing at all.” He took a step closer. “I also know what it’s like to break free from it.”
Regulus’s jaw tightened. “You didn’t break free, Sirius. You ran.”
Sirius’s smirk faltered, just slightly. “And you stayed.”
Regulus inhaled sharply through his nose, his hands clenching at his sides. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sounds of the fashion world hummed around them—photographers shouting directions, models laughing in that artificial, airy way, champagne glasses clinking. A world built on illusion.
“I didn’t have a choice,” Regulus said finally, his voice quieter now.
Sirius searched his face, looking for something—anything—that would prove his brother was still in there, buried beneath all the expectations, the control, the hunger for approval that would never be enough.
“You always have a choice,” Sirius murmured. “You just have to be willing to lose everything.”
Regulus let out a soft, almost bitter laugh. “That’s easy for you to say. You lost them, but you had somewhere else to go. I don’t.”
Sirius opened his mouth, ready to argue, to tell him that wasn’t true—but Regulus was already turning away, straightening his suit jacket, slipping seamlessly back into the role he was born to play.
“Enjoy the show, Sirius,” he said, voice perfectly composed once again. “I have a runway to walk.”
And with that, he was gone.
Sirius stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where his brother had been, feeling a weight settle in his chest.
He had walked away from the House of Black.
But Regulus was still trapped inside it.
Fashion Insider – Exclusive Report
“The Noble House of Black Breaks Tradition with Groundbreaking Casting Show”
For decades, The Noble House of Black has been the pinnacle of high fashion—an untouchable empire that dictates trends rather than follows them. But in an unprecedented move, the Black family has announced the launch of their first-ever reality casting competition, sending shockwaves through the industry.
For years, aspiring models have dreamed of being discovered by the House of Black, but the chances of even stepping into their world were near zero. Now, for the first time, the untouchable has become (almost) attainable. With a select number of modeling agencies invited to submit their most promising fresh faces, the competition is set to be one of the most exclusive and brutal the industry has ever seen.
“This isn’t just a reality show,” said an anonymous insider close to the Black family. “It’s a power move. The House of Black is proving that they don’t just dictate the industry—they create it.”
With Regulus Black, the heir to the fashion empire, rumored to be heavily involved in selecting the winners, the stakes are higher than ever. Will this be a revolution in high fashion—or a ruthless display of elitism?
One thing is certain: the world will be watching.
Regulus stepped off the runway, the bright stage lights still burning behind his eyes. His posture remained impeccable, his expression cool and unreadable, even as exhaustion pressed down on his limbs. Assistants swarmed him immediately, unfastening jewelry, adjusting the hem of his velvet coat, murmuring in hushed voices about the success of the show. He barely acknowledged them. It was just another performance, another flawless execution of what was expected of him. He had done his job. He had walked flawlessly, had worn the garments like they were stitched into his skin, had played his part to perfection. The audience had applauded. The cameras had flashed. Another show, another success, another moment where he had been exactly what the House of Black needed him to be.
He was almost free—just a few more steps, and he could retreat into the dressing room, away from the chaos.
And then he saw him.
Sirius stood just beyond the chaos, arms crossed, an all-too-familiar storm brewing behind his eyes. He looked out of place among the models and designers, with his scuffed boots, his ripped t-shirt, his tattoos inked into his skin like a rebellion he refused to let go of. He didn’t belong here. He never had.
Regulus exhaled through his nose and turned away. He knew Sirius well enough to know that ignoring him wouldn’t work, but at least he could postpone the inevitable.
It didn’t work.
And then Sirius was there.
Regulus barely sighed as his brother stepped into his path, arms crossed, looking entirely out of place among the polished elite. The tattoos peeking out from under his shirt collar, the unruly hair, the way he held himself like he belonged to a different world entirely—because he did.
“We need to talk,” Sirius said, voice firm as he fell into step beside him.
Regulus barely spared him a glance. “Now really isn’t the time, Sirius.”
Sirius scoffed. “Yeah? And when is?” His voice was sharp, edged with something raw. “Because it sure as hell seems like you’ve been avoiding this conversation.”
Regulus kept walking, passing off his gloves to an assistant with a flick of his wrist. “And what conversation would that be?”
Sirius let out a bitter laugh, gesturing vaguely around them. “Don’t act like you don’t know. The Casting Show.”
Regulus remained impassive, moving with quiet efficiency as he passed off the last of his accessories. “What about it?”
Sirius’ frustration flared. “Are you serious?” He grabbed Regulus by the arm—not forcefully, just enough to make him stop. “You of all people know what this industry does to people. You know how it chews them up and spits them out. So why the hell are you throwing a bunch of amateurs into the fire?”
Regulus inhaled slowly, feeling the tension creep into his jaw. He glanced around at the assistants, the stylists still hovering nearby, then exhaled and turned towards the dressing room. “Come with me.”
Without waiting for an answer, he stepped inside.
The dressing room was large, dimly lit compared to the harsh white light of the main area. Mirrors lined the walls, framed by golden bulbs, their reflections stretching infinitely in the glass. Racks of clothes stood in perfect rows, fabrics ranging from the softest silks to the stiffest velvets. It smelled of perfume, of luxury, of the unspoken pressure that weighed on everything in this world.
Sirius closed the door behind him, arms still crossed, waiting.
Regulus leaned against the counter, running a finger along the edge of one of the vanities. “You think you know everything, Sirius,” he said quietly. “But you don’t understand.”
Sirius’ lips pressed into a thin line. “Then explain it to me.”
Regulus exhaled, turning slightly to meet his brother’s gaze. “This industry isn’t going anywhere,” he said simply. “And if the House of Black is going to control it, then we decide who gets a seat at the table.”
Sirius shook his head. “You actually believe that?”
Regulus gave a small, humorless smile. “That’s not belief, Sirius. That’s fact.”
Sirius ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “No, Reg. This is just another way for them to pull the strings. You’re not saving anyone—you’re feeding them to the wolves.”
Regulus’ gaze didn’t waver. “Not everyone is like you, Sirius. Not everyone gets to walk away.”
Sirius flinched, just barely, but Regulus caught it.
“Not everyone wants to walk away,” Regulus continued, voice steady. “You ran. I didn’t. And maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to burn this world to the ground like you do. Maybe I want to change it.”
Sirius let out another sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You really think you can? You think the House of Black will ever let you?”
Regulus straightened, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. “They don’t have a choice.”
Sirius studied him for a long moment, something flickering behind his expression. “You sound just like them.”
Regulus’ jaw tightened.
Something unspoken passed between them—something heavy, something that had been building for years.
Sirius exhaled, shaking his head. “You think you’re in control, Reg. But you’re just another part of their game.”
Regulus tilted his head slightly, considering that. Then, with a soft, almost imperceptible smile, he turned back to the mirror. “Then I suppose we’ll see who wins, won’t we?”
Sirius stared at him for a moment longer, something unreadable in his eyes, before he scoffed and turned away.
“Good night, Sirius,” Regulus said, voice cool and detached.
And just like that, the conversation was over.
Exclusive Interview with Sirius Black – Vogue Unfiltered
When the House of Black announced their first-ever reality casting competition, the fashion world went into a frenzy. But not everyone is impressed. In an exclusive interview with Vogue Unfiltered, rockstar and industry rebel Sirius Black, the estranged heir of the Black family, shares his unfiltered thoughts on the spectacle that’s about to unfold.
Vogue Unfiltered: “Sirius, let’s cut to the chase—what’s your reaction to The Noble House of Black hosting a casting show?”
Sirius Black: “Honestly? I think it’s bullshit.”
VU: “That’s… blunt.”
Sirius Black: “What, were you expecting me to say ‘Oh wow, my family suddenly cares about new talent, how inspiring’?” (laughs bitterly) “Come on. The House of Black doesn’t do charity. This isn’t about giving unknown models a shot. This is about keeping control.”
VU: “You think it’s a power move?”
Sirius Black: “I know it is. They don’t ‘discover’ people. They manufacture them. They mold them into what fits their brand. They don’t want originality. They want puppets. And anyone who thinks this show is their big break? They’re in for a rude awakening.”
VU: “So you don’t believe in the competition at all?”
Sirius Black: (exhales, running a hand through his hair) “Look, I get it. If you’re an amateur model and the most powerful fashion house in the world opens a door, you run through it. I just… I’ve seen what happens behind those doors. It’s not as glamorous as people think.”
VU: “You’re talking about your own experience.”
Sirius Black: (pauses, then smirks dryly) “You want the tragic backstory, huh? Yeah, I grew up in that world. I was supposed to be their perfect heir. But I refused to play along, so they threw me out and put my brother in my place. Best thing that ever happened to me.”
VU: “Speaking of your brother, Regulus is rumored to have a major role in this competition. What’s your take on that?”
Sirius Black: (jaw tightens slightly, then sighs) “Regulus has always done what they wanted. He’s brilliant, talented—one of the best models in the industry. But he’s trapped, whether he sees it or not. And now, he’s the one pulling the strings. That’s what worries me.”
VU: “Worries you how?”
Sirius Black: (leans forward, voice quieter but more intense) “Because he knows what this industry does to people. He knows the pressure, the expectations. And if he’s the one deciding who gets to stay and who gets crushed under the weight of it all… I don’t know if he can handle that.”
VU: “Do you think he’s doing this willingly?”
Sirius Black: (hesitates, then exhales sharply) “I think he believes he’s in control. But no one in that family ever really is.”
VU: “So if you could say one thing to the contestants, what would it be?”
Sirius Black: (leans back, crossing his arms) “Simple. Don’t trust the Blacks. And don’t lose yourself trying to impress them.”
VU: “Harsh advice.”
Sirius Black: (smirks slightly, but there’s no real humor in it) “Yeah, well. No one ever survived the House of Black by being soft.”
@RunwayInsider: Sirius Black calling out his own family on Vogue?? We need a popcorn sponsorship for this level of drama.
@FashionElite: “Don’t trust the Blacks.” Someone check on Regulus, cause his brother just declared war on this show.
@ModelWatch: Okay but is he wrong? The House of Black has never been about actual talent. Just control.
@SiriusBlackFanclub: OUR KING SAID WHAT NEEDED TO BE SAID. PROTECT THE CONTESTANTS AT ALL COSTS.
The video played on the massive flat-screen in Regulus’s penthouse suite, the soft glow of the screen illuminating the otherwise dimly lit room. He sat perfectly still on the edge of the couch, elbows resting against his knees, hands clasped together. The interview had been making headlines all day—his PR team had flooded his inbox with frantic messages, insisting he ignore it, that they would handle the fallout.
But he had to hear it himself.
“They’re using him,” Sirius’s voice crackled through the speakers, low and sharp with frustration. “They’ve always used him. Regulus is their perfect little marionette, and they’ve spent years making sure he doesn’t even realize the strings are there.”
Regulus’s fingers curled slightly against his palm.
“This casting show? It’s just another way for them to remind the world that they own him. That they own everything. And the worst part?” Sirius let out a dry laugh. “He’s the one running it now. He’s the one pulling the strings. And I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”
Regulus exhaled slowly, pressing the pause button. The silence that followed was deafening.
He should be angry. That’s what his PR team would expect. A carefully worded statement, a subtle but firm denial of Sirius’s accusations. He should be drafting a response, shifting the narrative in his favor, making it clear that he was in control.
But he wasn’t angry.
Because Sirius wasn’t wrong.
Regulus closed his eyes for a brief moment, the words echoing in his head. “They’ve always used him.” He had spent years convincing himself that wasn’t true, that he had taken control of his own life, that every decision he made was his own. But Sirius—Sirius had never been one for pretty illusions. He saw the truth and tore into it like a blade.
The worst part was knowing that Sirius still cared.
Regulus pressed play again, bracing himself.
“I tried to save him once. I told him he had a choice. But I don’t think he ever believed me.”
Regulus swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the remote. His heart gave a traitorous, painful lurch at that—at the ghost of something that sounded dangerously like regret in Sirius’s voice.
A choice.
He had spent his entire life believing he didn’t have one.
The interview ended, and the screen flickered back to the standard news broadcast, but Regulus didn’t move. The weight of Sirius’s words settled deep in his chest, pressing against the perfect, pristine image he had spent years constructing.
For the first time in a long time, he wondered if it was already too late to break free.