Fading Stars

James wasn’t sure what was worse—the fact that he had been dragged out of bed at seven in the bloody morning or the fact that he had no idea why.

He shoved his glasses higher up his nose as he walked down the quiet hallway of his agency’s office, stifling a yawn. His hair was a complete disaster—he could feel it sticking up in every direction—but considering he had barely been awake for twenty minutes, fixing it had not been high on his priority list.

Beside him, Lily Evans was the exact opposite of his disheveled state. Even at this hour, she was effortlessly put together. Her red hair was smooth, her makeup flawless, and her fitted blazer made her look like she had been up for hours, conquering the world. If she was just as tired and confused as James, she didn’t show it.

“How are you this awake?” James muttered as they walked down the hall toward the conference room.

Lily smirked. “It’s called professionalism, Potter. You should try it sometime.”

He scoffed. “Right. Because the industry is dying for more exhausted twenty-somethings with bad posture and a caffeine addiction.”

Lily chuckled, but James could see the tension in her shoulders. She might have looked put together, but she was just as confused as he was. It wasn’t normal for two models to be called into a meeting together, and definitely not this early.

“You think we’re getting fired?” James muttered as they reached the frosted-glass door of the conference room.

A hundred possibilities ran through James’s head as they reached the conference room. Had they screwed something up? Were they about to be dropped from the agency? That would be a real kick in the teeth, considering he had rent to pay and university tuition hanging over his head like a guillotine.

Lily gave him a quick glance before pushing open the door. “If we are, I’m blaming you.”

Inside, the agency’s head, Eleanor Whitmore, sat at the long glass table, flanked by two of her managers. The room was small but modern, with sleek black chairs and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city skyline. Their agency wasn’t big—not like the giants that dominated the industry—but it had kept them both employed. They were surviving, not thriving.

Which was why James couldn’t imagine what was important enough to drag them in at seven-thirty in the morning.

“James. Lily,” Eleanor greeted, her tone unreadable. “Take a seat.”

James slid into one of the chairs, his fingers instinctively reaching up to adjust his glasses. He hadn’t had time for contacts this morning, which meant his already slightly disheveled look was now accompanied by the distinct air of a university student who had just rolled out of bed. Great.

Lily sat beside him, her posture impeccable, hands folded neatly in her lap. James did his best to mirror her, but his knee was already bouncing under the table.

Eleanor folded her hands on the table, studying them with that sharp, calculating gaze that always made James feel like she was two steps ahead of the conversation. “I assume you’ve heard of the Noble House of Black Casting Show.”

James blinked. “Uh—yeah. Obviously.”

That was an understatement. Everyone had heard of it.

Lily, ever the composed one, simply nodded. “Of course.”

“Good, then I’ll get straight to the point,” she said. “You’ve both been selected to participate in it.”

For a second, James thought he had misheard.

He blinked. Then blinked again. His brain refused to process the words. He stared at her, waiting for some kind of clarification. A punchline. Something that made this make sense. But Eleanor just sat there, watching them with the same calm expression, as if she hadn’t just casually dropped the biggest bombshell of his career.

Lily, ever composed, simply said, “I’m sorry—what?”

One of the managers, Camille, leaned forward. “The House of Black is launching their first-ever reality competition to find fresh talent. They sent out limited invitations to agencies across the country. We were one of them. And after careful selection, we submitted your names.”

James let out a short laugh, completely unable to help himself. “You`re kidding.”

Eleanor’s eyes flicked to him, cool and assessing. “I don’t joke about business, James.”

James gripped the armrests of his chair, trying to ground himself. His heart was pounding. This isn’t real. This can’t be real. He shook his head, still trying to wrap his mind around it. This was the biggest casting of the year—maybe even the decade. Thousands of models had applied, and their tiny agency had somehow secured two spots? And they picked him? The Noble House of Black wasn’t just a brand—it was a dynasty. He could barely book a campaign for indie sneaker brands, and now they were telling him he was about to be thrown into the same competition as models who had been groomed for high fashion since birth?

Lily, still far too calm for James’s liking, asked, “And they… approved us?”

Eleanor nodded. “Yes. You’ve made it through the first selection process. You’ll be competing for a place in the show.”

James swallowed. His pulse was thundering in his ears.

This was impossible. A dream so out of reach that he had never even considered it. He had grown up seeing the House of Black’s campaigns in the biggest fashion magazines, their models on the covers of Vogue, their faces staring down from billboards in every major city. And now they were telling him that he had a chance to be one of them?

It didn’t make sense.

James exhaled sharply, running a hand through his already messy hair. “This is a joke, right?”

Eleanor’s expression didn’t change. “I assure you, it’s not.”

He shook his head. “But we’re not—” He gestured vaguely at Lily, then at himself. “We’re not them. We don’t come from money, we don’t have connections, we don’t have some high-profile last name. We book jobs for indie brands and department store catalogs.”

Camille exhaled, clearly expecting this reaction. “That’s the point, James. The industry is shifting. House of Black wants to prove they can find talent anywhere. You have the look. You have the potential. And they saw that.”

James let out another disbelieving laugh. “Well, that makes one of us.”

Lily elbowed him. Hard.

He winced. “Alright, fine, two of us.”

Eleanor’s sharp gaze flicked between them. “This is an opportunity most people would kill for. It will be competitive. It will be brutal. But if you succeed, you won’t just be working with the biggest fashion house in the world—you’ll belong to it.”

The weight of those words settled over James like a storm cloud.

He had spent years juggling university and modeling jobs just to scrape by, balancing photoshoots with studying, wondering if any of it would ever amount to anything. He had never dared to dream this big because dreams like this weren’t meant for people like him.

And yet—here it was. The chance of a lifetime.

Lily was still processing, her expression unreadable. “So… what happens now?”

Eleanor folded her hands on the table. “You will be moving into a shared accommodation with the other competitors. The casting begins in six weeks. You’ll be representing this agency, and we expect you to act accordingly.”

James mouth worked before his brain could catch up. “And if we say no?”

Eleanor arched a brow, as if the idea were so absurd it barely warranted acknowledgment. “Then you’re passing up the opportunity of a lifetime.”

James swallowed. He could say no. He could stay in his tiny apartment, juggling university and small-time modeling gigs, scraping by like he always had.

Or he could take the biggest risk of his life.

He turned to Lily, half-expecting to see hesitation, but her green eyes were steady. Calculating.

Then, after a long pause, she nodded. “We’re in.”

James turned back to Eleanor and forced himself to smile, even as adrenaline buzzed under his skin like an electric current.

He had no idea how this had happened. No idea if they even stood a chance.

“Guess we better start practicing our runway walks.”

The café was small, tucked away in a quiet London street, the kind of place that always smelled like freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries. A bell jingled softly as James pushed open the door, his heart still hammering in his chest from the whirlwind of the past twenty-four hours. He spotted Lily immediately—curled up in a corner booth, stirring a cappuccino with the same dazed expression he probably had since they’d gotten the news.

The news.

They were in.

They were actually going to compete in The House of Black Casting Show.

James slid into the seat across from her, barely able to contain his grin. “Okay,” he exhaled, setting his coffee down with a thud. “Are we freaking out yet? Because I feel like we should be freaking out.”

Lily let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, I’ve been freaking out since last night. I barely slept. Do you realize what this means?”

“We’re going to be inside the Black Mansion,” James said, leaning forward. “Like, actually standing where only the most elite people in the industry have stood. Breathing the same air as the Blacks.”

Lily groaned dramatically. “God, can you imagine? Their lives are so—so untouchable. It’s like they were born in a different universe. They have private chefs, couture wardrobes, drivers, James. They don’t even have to book their own flights.”

James smirked. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s the part that makes them royalty.”

She rolled her eyes, but her excitement was palpable. “You know what I mean! They’re legends. And we’re—” she gestured between them, “—just two broke nobodies who somehow got let in.”

James took a sip of his coffee, trying to wrap his head around it. “We’re really doing this,” he muttered. “Competing in their show. Under their rules.” He leaned back, rubbing a hand down his face. “I mean, it’s insane. This isn’t some small agency gig. This is The House of Black.”

Lily nodded, but her fingers fidgeted around the handle of her cup, her excitement dimming just slightly.

James caught the change immediately. “Lil?”

She hesitated, then sighed, eyes flicking down to her drink. “It’s just… I know I’m good. I know I can model. But…” She let out a small, self-conscious laugh. “I don’t exactly look like the girls they usually pick, do I?”

James frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” She gestured vaguely to herself. “I don’t have the kind of body they love. I have hips, James. I have boobs. I don’t look like some six-foot waif with legs for days.”

James shook his head. “Lily, stop. You’re gorgeous, and you know it. Your curves? That’s what makes you stand out. Besides, modeling’s changing. It’s not all about being rail-thin anymore.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “Tell that to the House of Black. Their whole brand is ice-cold, sculpted perfection. Regulus Black alone looks like he was carved from actual marble.”

James snorted. “Okay, fair point. But listen to me—you got in. They picked you. That means something.”

She exhaled, playing with the sleeve of her sweater. “Yeah. I just… I don’t want to be the girl who’s sent home first.”

James reached across the table, squeezing her hand. “You won’t be. You’re Lily Evans. You don’t just fade into the background.”

She gave him a small smile, then exhaled. “God, this is going to be brutal, isn’t it?”

James grinned. “Absolutely.”

Lily took a deep breath, straightening in her seat. “Alright. If I’m going to survive this, I need cake. A big one.”

James laughed, waving over the waiter. “Make that two.”

As they placed their order, the initial nerves settled into something else—determination. Fear or not, they were about to walk into the world of the Blacks. And no matter what happened next, they were ready.

The “Golden Times”  restaurant was one of those places where silence carried more weight than conversation. Everything—from the gold-dipped cutlery to the private VIP booths tucked behind velvet curtains—screamed exclusivity. It was a sanctuary for the elite, a place where privacy was ensured, and indulgence was expected.

Regulus Black sat with perfect posture, his expression impassive as he watched Evan Rosier lounge across from him with an ease Regulus had never quite mastered. Evans suit, perfectly tailored yet effortlessly worn, contrasted against the sharp angles of his mischievous smirk. He looked every bit the picture of effortless luxury. His blonde hair was perfectly styled, and his tanned skin glowed against the deep hues of the refined decor. Evans smile was warm and genuine—an open invitation to forget the rigid expectations of their shared past, if only for a moment.

“You haven’t touched your drink,” Evan noted, swirling his own glass of wine before taking a slow sip. “Bad day? Or just the usual existential dread?”

Regulus exhaled through his nose, picking up his glass but not drinking from it. “I don’t have the luxury of existential dread.”

Evan laughed, tilting his head. “Ah, of course. Because you’re the perfect heir. The prodigy. The future of the Black empire.” He set his glass down, leaning forward slightly. “That’s exactly why I wanted to talk to you.”

Regulus arched a brow. “About?”

Evan grinned, stretching his arms out over the back of the booth. “The casting show, of course. The biggest thing to happen to the industry in years. I’d be a bad friend if I didn’t demand an inside scoop.”

Regulus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “You act as if I’m running some sort of circus.”

“Aren’t you?” Evan teased. “A grand spectacle. Hopefuls clawing their way toward relevance. The prestige, the drama… and all of it orchestrated by the oh-so-impeccable Regulus Black.” He sighed dramatically. “You should enjoy it more.”

Regulus finally took a sip of his wine, savoring the rich flavor before answering. “Enjoyment has never been the priority.”

Evan shook his head, clicking his tongue. “See, that’s the problem with you, Reg. You’ve built yourself into this unshakable pillar of the Black dynasty, but where’s the thrill? Where’s the fun?”

Regulus leveled him with a cool gaze. “I find satisfaction in success.”

“Success is meaningless if you’re bored out of your mind,” Evan countered, propping his chin on his hand. “Which is why I’m grateful I’m not you. I get to play in the chaos.”

Regulus sighed, setting his glass down with precise care. “You really think this will be fun?”

Evan’s grin widened. “Of course. It’s the perfect mix of high stakes and unpredictability. New faces, new talent, the kind of tension you can cut with a knife. For once, the industry isn’t just about the untouchable elite—it’s about the unknown, fighting to be seen.”

Regulus studied him for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. “And what are you hoping to get out of it?”

Evan laughed, shaking his head. “The usual. Attention, excitement, a little bit of beautiful chaos.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “And maybe—just maybe—I’ll find something that surprises me.”

Regulus hummed, his fingers lightly tracing the stem of his glass. “Surprises aren’t always pleasant.”

Evan smirked. “That’s what makes them worth it.”

Regulus didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he let his gaze drift over the dimly lit restaurant, the quiet murmurs of the other patrons blending into the soft hum of background music. He had spent his entire life avoiding surprises, ensuring control over every detail of his existence.

But Evan?

Evan thrived in the unknown. And for the first time, Regulus wondered if he was about to be caught in it.

After a moment of silence, Regulus broke it. “Have you seen the interview?” he asked, his voice calm yet edged with an unmistakable sharpness.

Evan barely raised an eyebrow. He set his glass down with deliberate care and flicked his tongue in mild amusement. “Oh, you mean that little drama Sirius ignited again?” He chuckled softly, though his laugh didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course, I saw it. Hard to miss when half the industry is talking about it.”

Regulus continued to study Evan—watching the way Evan ran a casual hand through his impeccably styled hair, a subtle sign that the topic was weighing on him more than he let on.

“And?” Regulus pressed, letting the question hang in the air as he took another slow sip of wine, never taking his eyes off his friend.

Evan sighed theatrically, his gaze turning thoughtful. “Sirius is Sirius. He just can’t help but rebel against the system. But you know as well as I do that he isn’t entirely wrong.”

At those words, Regulus’s jaw tensed imperceptibly. “Of course I know that,” he replied evenly.

Evan’s eyes searched Regulus’s face. “But you won’t talk about it.”

For a long moment, Regulus remained silent, his expression unreadable.

Then Evan leaned forward, his smile lopsided. “You were always better at hiding your thoughts than I was. I know you, Reg. I know it’s affected you more than you’re willing to admit.”

egulus let his glass lower; his face remained impassive, yet in his eyes a flicker of something—vulnerability, regret, or perhaps understanding—briefly shone through.

Softly, Evan continued, “Sometimes I think... I envy him a little.”

Regulus’s gaze darkened. “Envy him?”

Evan shrugged and toyed with his cutlery. “He did what we never could. He broke free, detached himself completely. I love our life, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes… I wonder what it’d be like to be as free as he is.”

After a pause, Regulus replied coolly, “Sirius is not free. He’s merely running from something else.”

Evan studied him for a long moment, then slowly shook his head. “Maybe. Or perhaps he’s simply the only one among us who was truly brave.”

Regulus’s fingers tightened around his wine glass. “Bravery is relative, Evan.” His voice was calm, almost monotone. “Some of us must settle for winning the game rather than abandoning it.”

Evan fixed him with a penetrating look—one that spoke of deep understanding and shared history. “So tell me—do you feel like a winner, Reg?”

Regulus said nothing in reply. Instead, he raised his glass and took a slow, deliberate sip, as the glittering, luxurious world around them continued its relentless hum.

James had never been this exhausted in his life.

Sure, university was tough. Balancing coursework with modeling gigs was even tougher. But this? The brutal, day-in, day-out training for the House of Black Casting Show? It was something else entirely. His days started at six a.m. sharp, and they didn’t slow down until late at night. Every morning, he dragged himself out of bed, shoved a protein bar into his mouth, and sprinted to the studio, where Lily was almost always waiting for him—already warmed up, already focused.

Today was no different.

James stumbled into the studio, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, hair still slightly damp from his shower. He found Lily standing in front of a full-length mirror, perfecting her runway walk in five-inch stilettos, a book balanced on her head.

He blinked. “What. The hell.”

Lily shot him a glare through the mirror. “It’s posture training, Potter.”

James snorted, dropping his bag. “That’s not posture training. That’s a scene straight out of The Princess Diaries.”

Lily rolled her eyes, carefully taking a step forward. The book wobbled but stayed put. “Laugh all you want. You don’t have to worry about heels.”

James smirked. “True. My ankles will live to see another day.”

She scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, she took another slow, careful step. James watched her for a moment, then sighed and turned toward his own training.

He had his own hurdles to overcome.

For the next hour, they worked through their respective weaknesses. Lily practiced her walk, perfecting the art of grace and control. James focused on his posture, learning to refine his natural stride without losing the energy that made him stand out. At one point, Lily groaned, pressing a hand to her lower back. “I swear to God, if I see one more stick-thin girl in a campaign ad, I’m going to scream.”

James glanced over. “Uh… you good?”

Lily exhaled, shaking her head. “It’s just—look at me, James.” She gestured down at her body, at the curves that set her apart from the industry standard. “Do you see this? I mean, I love my body, I do. But do you really think the House of Black wants someone like me?”

James frowned, crossing his arms. “First of all, you’re stunning. Second, screw the House of Black if they don’t get that.”

Lily huffed. “Easy for you to say. You fit the mold. You’re tall, broad-shouldered, and you have that stupid effortlessly attractive thing going for you.”

James raised a brow. “You think I’m effortlessly attractive?”

Lily threw a towel at him. “Shut up.”

James laughed, catching it with ease. “Look, Lily, I get it. The industry’s brutal. But if there’s anyone who can walk into that competition and make them change the mold, it’s you.”

Lily stared at him for a moment, lips pressed together. Then, with a reluctant sigh, she nodded. “Okay. Fine. But if I get cut for not looking like a walking skeleton, you owe me free coffee for a month.”

James smirked. “Deal.”

By noon, they were drenched in sweat, but their day was only halfway done. The agency had booked them a full-day schedule, so after runway drills came the Photoshoot Intensive. They moved to a different studio, where a photographer waited, arms crossed.

“You need to learn how to tell a story with your expressions,” the photographer explained, adjusting the lighting. “Looking pretty isn’t enough. Sell me a feeling.”

James and Lily took turns stepping in front of the camera.

Lily nailed it instantly. She knew her angles, how to shift her body, how to radiate confidence with just a tilt of her chin.

James, on the other hand?

“Too stiff,” the photographer called out. “Relax your shoulders, James. And stop looking like you’re waiting for a bus.”

James groaned under his breath but adjusted. He had to admit, it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t just about looking good—it was about control. Every micro-movement of his face, every angle of his jaw, every shift in posture changed the entire shot. Eventually, after about fifty failed attempts, he started to get the hang of it.

“Better,” the photographer finally said, nodding in approval. “You’re learning.”

James stepped back, exhaling. Lily bumped her shoulder against his. “See? Told you you’d get there.”

James smirked. “Yeah, yeah. Shut up and let me suffer in peace.”

By late afternoon, they were in a conference room for Publicity Training, aka “How Not to Get Canceled 101.”

A strict-looking PR consultant sat at the head of the table, clicking through a PowerPoint.

“The way you present yourselves in interviews will determine everything,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “One wrong answer? You’re done. Social media is ruthless.”

James sat back, arms crossed. “So, basically, just talk a lot without actually saying anything?”

The consultant narrowed her eyes. “No. Talk strategically.”

They spent hours practicing interviews. James learned how to dodge invasive questions, how to steer a conversation back to safe topics, how to be charming without oversharing. Lily, however, struggled.

“You’re too blunt,” the consultant pointed out after one of their practice rounds. “You need tact. Right now, you’re too honest.”

Lily frowned. “Since when is honesty a bad thing?”

James snorted. “Since the internet started crucifying people for breathing wrong.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Great. Can’t wait to sell my soul for this.”

James nudged her. “Hey, at least you’ve got me. I’ll teach you the art of dodging questions like a pro.”

Lily sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if I ever say ‘no comment’ in an interview, just know I’ve truly given up.”

James grinned. “Duly noted.”

By the time evening rolled around, they were completely drained.

James collapsed onto the studio floor, limbs sprawled out. “I think I’m dead.”

Lily, sitting on the couch, kicked off her heels and stretched. “Same. Do you think they’ll let us compete in wheelchairs?”

James groaned. “That’d still be more graceful than me on my feet.”

Lily laughed, tossing a water bottle at him. “You were getting better, though.”

James cracked an eye open. “You think?”

Lily nodded. “Yeah. I mean, you’ll never be as good as me, obviously.”

James smirked. “Obviously.”

She grinned, leaning back against the couch. “But yeah. We survived another training day. And that has to count for something.”

James stared up at the ceiling, breathing heavily.