.jpg)
Chapter 6: Unscripted Exposure
Two weeks later, Jade was standing in the open-air courtyard of Coastal Eleven, the boutique hotel perched on a Sentosa cliffside like it was trying to flirt with the horizon. Her camera was in hand, her itinerary was tucked in the back pocket of her jeans, and the tropical heat was threatening to melt her spine.
“Jade Tan, Photographer Extraordinaire,” said the hotel's events liaison, handing her a clipboard. “We’ve got the models arriving at 3, the mocktail bar setup at 4, and the jazz trio at 6. Easy day, lah.”
Jade smiled, unconvinced. She knew better than to trust any schedule involving models, bartenders, and sunset lighting.
As she began scouting the angles of the hotel’s infinity pool (ridiculous view, but risk of wet lens: high), her phone buzzed.
Twenty minutes later, he appeared. In sunglasses, linen shorts, and with two iced lattes in hand.
“You dress like an influencer on a staycation,” she said.
“Thank you,” Lucas replied. “I take my unpaid intern duties very seriously.”
He followed her around as she snapped shots of rattan chairs, local orchids, and a chef flambéing prawns with unwarranted enthusiasm. Lucas held reflectors, blocked rogue sun flares with a towel, and carried her gear like a man auditioning for boyfriend-of-the-year.
But it was during the golden hour—when the sun hit the bay just right and everything looked like it had been filtered through honey—that things went off-script.
One of the hired lifestyle models hadn’t shown up. The hotel staff were mid-panic, whispering things like “Instagrammable disaster” and “cancellation fee,” when the events coordinator suddenly looked at Lucas.
“You!” she said. “You’re perfect. Put on this linen shirt. Stand here with the champagne glass and pretend to be laughing at a joke about overpriced oysters.”
Lucas blinked. “I’m not—uh, I don’t model.”
“You don’t need to. You just need to have a face and not spill things.”
Jade burst out laughing. “Oh, you’re unbelievably doomed.”
Within minutes, Lucas was standing by the pool with two other models, holding a flute of sparkling grape juice and trying to smile like he’d just been told he inherited a yacht.
Jade couldn’t resist. She raised her camera, zoomed in on his awkward, semi-squinting expression, and clicked.
“You look like a man who doesn’t know whether to toast or call security.”
Lucas muttered, “If this photo ends up on a billboard, I expect royalties.”
But after a few minutes, he relaxed. His smile became real. He threw his head back laughing, glanced sideways at Jade, and for a fleeting second, there was something unfiltered in his expression.
She caught it.
Click.
Later, as the sun set and the jazz trio began playing under fairy lights, they stood at the edge of the hotel lawn, barefoot on warm grass, watching the sky shift through every shade of fire.
Lucas nudged her. “So, what do I get for saving your campaign?”
“You mean besides eternal gratitude and a thousand photos of your unsure face?”
“I mean something tangible. Like… dinner. Next week. Just you and me. No cockles. No interrogations.”
She considered it. “Dinner’s negotiable.”
Lucas smiled. “That’s practically a yes.”
As they turned to leave, walking slowly under the string lights, their shadows long and overlapping, Jade felt something settle.
Not certainty. Not yet.
But a quiet, unmistakable sense that something real—something worth the mess, the unpredictability, and the shellfish near-death experiences—was unfolding.
One frame at a time.
Chapter 7: Unfinished Business
It started innocently enough—just a ping in her inbox.
Subject: URGENT: Regarding Previous Project – NDG & Partners
Jade stared at the email header like it was a spider crawling across her keyboard. NDG & Partners. She hadn’t heard from them in over a year, not since that unpleasant stint photographing their soulless corporate gala and accidentally overhearing the CEO trash her work over a lukewarm canape.
She hesitated, then clicked.
Attached: a blurry scan of her contract—highlighted, underlined, and aggressively annotated in red.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered.
Her laptop nearly took flight across the kitchen counter.
Later that evening, over beer-battered fish at a casual seaside joint with Lucas, she relayed the drama mid-fry.
“Let me get this straight,” he said, pausing mid-bite. “You did the job, delivered the final images, and now—a year later—they’re trying to shake you down for RAW files?”
Jade nodded. “And those RAWs contain a lot of unedited, unapproved shots. Background drama, bad lighting. Stuff that could make them look... legally compromised.”
Lucas raised a brow. “Like what?”
“Like their CFO drunkenly snogging a woman who was not his wife beside the company step-and-repeat banner. And let’s just say HR did not approve the guest list.”
He winced. “Ah. That level of corporate chaos.”
“Exactly. If they’re fishing for dirt, I want nothing to do with it.”
Lucas leaned back, thoughtful. “Can you legally say no?”
“Well, technically, the clause says they’re entitled to request assets related to the event... but it doesn’t say they get everything, or unedited content. I just... didn’t expect this to rear its ugly NDA’d head again.”
He leaned in. “Want my advice?”
“Only if it involves fewer cocktails and more solutions.”
“Write a firm but professional reply. Offer access to watermarked proofs, say full RAW delivery violates your ethical guidelines, and offer to schedule a paid consultation for further use requests.”
Jade blinked. “That’s... very detailed.”
“I’ve had a few brand clients try to retro-edit my work into things I never agreed to. Unprofessional doesn’t always mean unintelligent.”
Jade stared at him for a moment, something unspoken flickering behind her eyes.
“You know,” she said slowly, “I keep expecting you to mess up.”
Lucas tilted his head. “That’s... romantic?”
“No, I mean—this. You show up, you say the right thing, you get it. It’s like you’re trying to be too perfect, and it makes me suspicious.”
He grinned. “You want me to be more disappointing?”
“Honestly, a little bit.”
He laughed. “Okay. I’ll admit I once re-gifted a wedding present I never unwrapped. Is that enough imperfection for one date?”
Jade narrowed her eyes. “Depends. Did the new couple like it?”
“They texted me a photo. It was a toaster.”
She groaned. “Unoriginal and unethical.”
But she was smiling.
Back at her studio that night, she crafted the perfect rebuttal email. Firm, clear, legally sound—and Lucas-proofread, of course. She hit send and exhaled deeply.
Just as she was about to shut her laptop, another email appeared.
Subject: CONFIDENTIAL – Internal Investigation Request | Legal Affairs Division
From a different firm. About the same event.
Her stomach dropped.
A different kind of storm was brewing—one that could pull her into something bigger than disgruntled clients or spilled champagne.
She picked up her phone and texted Lucas.
Jade: “Hey… you might need to bring more coffee tomorrow. Things just got complicated.”
Chapter 8: Unraveling the Frame
The second email wasn’t threatening.
That somehow made it worse.
No legal jargon. No red-fonted ultimatums. Just calm, civil authority—the kind that hinted at skeletons buried under boardroom carpets.
Jade sat back in her chair, heart pounding with that unnerving cocktail of dread and curiosity.
She didn’t have to dig deep into her files. She remembered the shot that might’ve started it all: a CFO with flushed cheeks, whispering to a woman beside the logistics manager, a wine glass tilting toward a laptop screen carelessly left open. She hadn't realized it at the time, but in the corner of one wide-angle frame, numbers had been visible on that screen—very large numbers.
And now, NDG wasn’t chasing photos for vanity. They were doing damage control.
Lucas arrived the next morning, coffee in one hand, pineapple tarts in the other (he was on a campaign to support her blood sugar during stress), and took one look at her face.
“You look like someone just told you your lens collection has a secret second life as evidence.”
“Funny you say that,” she muttered, pushing the laptop toward him.
He read the email. Twice.
“This isn’t just corporate drama anymore,” he said quietly. “If you cooperate, you might be dragged into something legally messy. If you don’t, and this explodes—”
“I could look like I was hiding it.”
“Exactly.”
She leaned against the table. “I’m not a whistleblower. I take photos. I make moody edits of strangers holding coffee cups. I don’t want to be in court.”
Lucas was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “What you don’t do is look the other way when people get hurt. Right?”
Jade looked at him.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying… you didn’t ask for this, but that doesn’t mean you pretend it’s not happening. There’s a way to cooperate safely. Anonymously, even. But only if you choose to step into it.”
She was quiet for a long time.
“I need legal advice,” she said finally.
“I know someone,” Lucas replied. “She does creative rights and disclosure protection. Not flashy, but she’s solid.”
The meeting was set for later that week, in a quiet law office tucked above a yoga studio and a noodle shop that smelled aggressively of garlic. The lawyer, Yi Lin, was young, sharp, and wore a pair of glasses that gave her the exact right amount of menace.
“Here’s the deal,” Yi Lin said, after reviewing the photos. “You’re not legally required to cooperate yet, but if you do, we can negotiate terms. Limited release. Blurred faces. Protective clauses. You control what’s shared—and we get written indemnity.”
Jade exhaled. “So I don’t end up in court?”
“Unless you want to testify, no. You’ll be an information provider, not a participant.”
“Can I stay anonymous?”
“Yes. But understand, if this goes public—people will talk. And NDG? They’ll try to spin it.”
Jade looked at the laptop screen again.
She’d never imagined a single accidental frame could turn into this.
Later that night, she sat on the roof of Lucas’s apartment block, nursing a canned Tiger beer and watching the skyline blink against the haze.
“You okay?” he asked gently.
“No,” she said honestly. “But I will be.”
He reached over, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You know, this might sound insane, but... I’m proud of you.”
“For getting accidentally embroiled in corporate scandal?”
“For standing your ground in it.”
She smiled, soft and tired. “I just wanted to take pretty pictures.”
“You still can. But maybe now, you’re also capturing the truth.”
And though the city lights below them flickered and the future felt unpredictable, there was a strange calm in her chest.
A certainty.
That she was not alone.
And that maybe—just maybe—unintended consequences sometimes revealed the most authentic versions of ourselves.
No comments:
Post a Comment