Finding Kiara Pt. 9

The pressure was starting to mount subtly, and the air was thick with tension. Kieran—or rather, Kiara—stood in front of the mirror, dressed in the same stunning pencil skirt, turtleneck, and heels. The makeup, perfectly applied, had already transformed him into a polished version of Kiara Laurent. His mother, Vivienne, and Celeste had been there every step of the way, guiding him, perfecting every detail, every nuance. The preparations for tomorrow’s boardroom unveiling were now in full swing.

The door to Kiara’s bedroom opened, and Celeste stepped inside, a tablet in hand. She looked over Kiara’s attire with a critical eye before giving a nod of approval.

“Perfect,” she said, her voice calm but precise. “We’re going to start the real practice now, Kiara. The boardroom is about presence. You need to command it. But, more importantly, you need to make them believe that you are the one who belongs at the helm of Euphorica Industries.”

Kiara nodded, the nerves creeping up once more. She had spent so much time focused on looking the part, but this—this was about more than appearance. This was about owning the role.

Vivienne entered the room then, her presence filling the space like a sudden shift in the air. She had on her own business attire, a stunning dress in dark tones that perfectly matched her authoritative yet graceful demeanor. She studied Kiara for a moment, her expression unreadable.

“Let’s get started,” Vivienne said, her tone all business. “Celeste, I want you to test Kiara. Let’s see if she has what it takes.”

Kiara felt her heart race. It was now or never. She straightened her back, took a deep breath, and tried to settle her nerves.

Celeste set the tablet aside and took her position at the edge of the room, crossing her arms. “Kiara, we’re going to start with your entrance. When you walk into that boardroom tomorrow, you need to command attention. Remember, confidence is key.”

Kiara nodded, pushing the rising anxiety down. “Yes, Celeste.”

“Good,” Celeste said with a small smile. “Now, walk toward the door. Imagine the board members are sitting there. Walk in as though you are about to take your place as CEO.”

Kiara stepped forward, heels clicking against the floor. She imagined the room filled with the most powerful men and women in the company. She could see the eyes of the board members on her, watching every move. She adjusted her posture, shoulders back, chin held high, and walked toward the door. Her steps were slow, deliberate, and with every step, she felt herself settling into the role. It was instinct now—Kiara’s walk was elegant, poised, with just the right amount of confidence.

Vivienne stood silently, watching, while Celeste took notes on her tablet.

“Stop right there,” Celeste said after a few moments. “That was better. But you were stiff. You’re not just walking into a room. You’re walking in as Kiara Laurent, the future of Euphorica Industries. You need to make it look effortless. Smooth, poised, but with a quiet confidence. Try again. But this time, think about every step. Think about how you move, how you stand. Everything you do must be deliberate.”

Kiara took a deep breath and nodded. She turned back and started again, walking with the same deliberate, but slightly more fluid, movements. She imagined how Kiara would hold herself—graceful, yet commanding, every movement purposeful. With each step, her confidence grew. It wasn’t perfect, but it was closer. She could feel the role clicking into place.

“Better,” Celeste said, tapping her tablet. “But remember, don’t overthink it. Confidence must come naturally, or it’ll come off as ****. You want them to see a leader, not an actress pretending to be one.”

Kiara exhaled slowly, processing the feedback. “Okay. I think I can do that.”

Vivienne, still silent, observed with a thoughtful expression. Finally, she spoke. “Let’s move on to how you carry yourself once you enter the room.”

Kiara looked at her, still feeling a bit nervous, but more focused now. Vivienne motioned for her to sit at the chair near the vanity.

“Kiara,” Vivienne began, “when you walk into that boardroom, you’re not just a placeholder. You’re not just filling a seat. You are taking the reins of a multi-billion-dollar empire. You need to own that power, but in a way that feels natural. Sit with authority, but also grace. When you speak, every word needs to matter.”

Kiara nodded, absorbing her words. She tried to imagine herself as the CEO of Euphorica, not just in name but in presence.

Vivienne continued, “Now, you need to be aware of the details. Your smile. Your posture. Your gestures. Everything matters. Let’s practice that next.”

Kiara sat up straight, nodding. She shifted slightly, attempting to relax into the seat, but still keeping her back straight. She lifted her chin just a little, making sure she wasn’t slouching. Her hands were resting calmly in her lap, her fingers lightly curled, nails immaculate. She attempted a soft, confident smile, like she had seen in business leaders—warm, but not too much.

Vivienne gave a subtle nod, watching. “The smile is good, Kiara, but remember, don’t overdo it. Too much will make you seem ****. A business leader’s smile is subtle, but inviting. Try again, but this time make it natural.”

Kiara relaxed her face more, taking a deep breath. She allowed the smile to come naturally, her lips curving slightly as if greeting an old acquaintance. It was softer, warmer this time. Not over the top, just confident enough to seem approachable.

“Better,” Vivienne said. “But don’t forget your voice. The way you speak will also convey a lot about who you are. You need to sound in control, but still feminine.”

Kiara nodded and took in the feedback. She was beginning to realize how much more there was to all of this. The details. The small movements. Every single thing had to be calibrated just right.

Celeste stepped forward, breaking the silence. “Now let’s focus on your voice,” she said, her gaze sharp as she looked at Kiara. “You’ve been speaking well, but we need to make sure it’s consistent. When you speak, you need to sound like Kiara. No slips back into Kieran’s tone. You need to be light, but not childish.”

Kiara’s stomach fluttered, the pressure mounting. She nodded again. “Okay, Celeste.”

“Start by saying your name. Full sentence. With confidence.”

Kiara opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her throat for a moment. She cleared her throat softly and then spoke in a smoother tone, focusing on her feminine voice. “I’m Kiara Laurent.”

Celeste tilted her head, analyzing her carefully. “That’s good, but let’s try it again. This time, a little more like you mean it. Say it with confidence. Say it as if you are Kiara Laurent and you believe it.”

Kiara squared her shoulders, took a breath, and tried again. “I am Kiara Laurent.”

Celeste nodded approvingly, but her gaze remained sharp, taking note of every detail. “That’s better, but still not quite there. Try to say it like you own it. Like you know you are Kiara, and nothing will make you waver from that.”

Kiara repeated the phrase, this time with more ****. “I am Kiara Laurent.”

Vivienne smiled approvingly. “Good. It’s getting there.”

Celeste stepped forward, adjusting a strand of Kiara’s hair. She glanced at her, still focused. “Now, let’s talk about your gait when you’re walking. You need to walk with purpose, like every step has intention. Don’t just walk—strut. But do it with grace, with confidence. Walk like the room is yours.”

Kiara felt the weight of Celeste’s words. She had to move through this world as though she owned it. Each step had to be calculated, each motion perfect. She took a deep breath and nodded.

Celeste continued, checking Kiara’s posture as she stood. “That’s better. But remember, Kiara, don’t just focus on walking. Focus on every part of your body. Your arms. Your hands. How you move them. Little things, like how you adjust your gaze. Don’t overdo it, but make sure every little movement is feminine and polished.”

Kiara stood up, her shoulders back, trying to focus on every little detail Celeste mentioned. She practiced the way her hands should move, how she should tilt her head, the way she should look at someone. Every detail was important.

“Good,” Celeste said after a moment. “But keep the pace up. Don’t let yourself get too slow, too hesitant. Walk with confidence. Speak with confidence.”

Kiara nodded, still taking in all of the information, feeling the pressure mounting, but at the same time, she began to understand. This wasn’t just about looking good. It was about embodying Kiara. Every movement, every word, every glance—it all had to feel natural. And it had to feel like Kiara belonged there.

Vivienne stepped forward then, motioning toward the door. “Let’s move to the final step of this phase: the handshake. When you meet people, you need to exude warmth and authority. You’re not just meeting someone—you’re claiming your place at the table. Let’s practice that now.”

Kiara approached her mother, extending her hand as she had practiced. Her hand felt steady, firm. Vivienne grasped her hand and gave it a small shake.

“Not bad,” Vivienne said, squeezing her hand gently. “But tomorrow, you’ll need to be flawless.”

Celeste smiled, stepping back to review her notes. She glanced at Kiara one last time, eyes narrowing slightly as she scanned every inch of her sister’s posture, her poise, her aura.

“You’re getting there,” she said. “We’ll make you perfect.”

Kiara nodded, her breath shallow but steady. There was still a mountain ahead—but she was climbing it, step by step.

And Celeste and Vivienne weren’t going to let her miss a single one.

The light filtering through the penthouse’s tall windows shifted gradually across the room as the hours passed, but neither Kieran—now so deeply folded into his role as Kiara—nor his two ever-watchful mentors seemed to notice. The room felt more like a corporate battlefield than a living space, and today’s campaign was far from over.

Kieran shifted subtly in his seat, aware of how the shapewear hugged his hips and thighs, how the pencil skirt constricted every motion just slightly. The weight of his new C-cup silicone inserts was something he still hadn’t gotten used to, and as he inhaled to prepare for yet another question, he could feel the light resistance of the fitted turtleneck over his chest. It wasn’t uncomfortable per se—Celeste had made sure of that—but it was undeniably present. Always there. Always reminding him.

Vivienne asked crisply, “Kiara, the quarterly report shows a dip in R&D expenditures. A board member wants to cut the budget further to preserve profits. How do you respond?”

Kieran straightened. He smiled—feminine, gentle, practiced. He kept his voice soft but clear, focusing on that upward lilting tone Celeste kept drilling into him.

“I would remind the board that long-term innovation is our greatest competitive edge,” he said, pausing to smile again. “Preserving profits should never come at the cost of our brand’s future. I’d propose reallocating from less impactful sectors first.”

Celeste arched an eyebrow. “You sound like a junior intern playing dress-up. Where’s the conviction?” she snapped.

Kieran’s smile faltered, only slightly. His brows tensed for a fraction of a second before he caught himself and softened his expression again. He crossed his legs delicately at the knee, trying to settle the annoying twist of emotion in his stomach.

Vivienne glanced at her daughter. “Celeste,” she said warningly.

“What?” Celeste gestured toward Kiara. “She’s still too rehearsed. She has the words, but not the presence. Her eyes are timid, her tone’s inconsistent. She’s slouching again.”

“I am not slouching,” Kieran said quickly, sitting up straighter. The shape of the bra made him hyperaware of how he carried himself, and the heels—he hardly walked around without them anymore, he realized—**** his posture upright anyway. He was trying so hard to get it right.

Celeste stepped closer, lightly adjusting Kiara’s shoulder. “Then stop acting like you are. Board members smell weakness.”

“Celeste,” Vivienne said again, her voice firmer this time. “Ease up.”

Celeste turned her head, lips tight. “We don’t have time for easing up. Tomorrow she faces the board.”

“And whose fault is it that we don’t have time?” Vivienne’s tone was like ice wrapped in silk. “You didn’t want this role. You never did. We’re here because someone had to take this seriously.”

That silenced the room.

Kieran, still sitting tall with legs crossed and hands delicately folded, fought the urge to look smug. He didn’t. But he felt it. That truth—finally spoken—was one he’d been biting down all week.

Celeste let out a tight breath through her nose and nodded. “Fine,” she said, stepping back a little. “You take the lead then.”

Vivienne returned her focus to Kiara. “Again. But this time, sit forward. Don’t lean back like a man who’s getting comfortable. You’re Kiara. Every gesture, every word, every glance should exude intention.”

Kieran nodded, adjusted his skirt beneath him, and shifted forward with a polite grace. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear—he was growing used to that small, feminine tick—and offered another smile.

“Confidence is key,” Celeste muttered from the side, crossing her arms. “Don’t just say the right words. Say them like you own them.”

“Understood,” Kiara replied, his voice lilting upward at the end, as if punctuated by a practiced sweetness.

Another question. Then another. One hypothetical, one strategic, one financial. Vivienne threw curveballs. Celeste nitpicked his phrasing, his tone, his posture—“Don’t gesture so wide,” “Smile with your eyes,” “Stop gripping your hands like you’re bracing for a fight.” Every little thing, every glance and motion, was under review.

And through it all, the same thoughts kept brushing the back of Kieran’s mind: how tightly the shapewear hugged him, how heavy his chest felt when he moved too fast, how his smile was beginning to ache. His voice still took effort to keep high and soft, but it was getting easier. Almost natural. Almost.

And that scared him more than anything.

But Vivienne was proud. Celeste, though exacting, was quietly pleased as the afternoon moved on. Kieran could see it in the way her critiques softened—by millimeters. He wasn’t perfect. But he wasn’t floundering either.

He was… becoming.

And that, too, terrified him.

But when Vivienne asked one final mock question and he gave a sharp, confident answer without a beat of hesitation—and without dropping his feminine voice—there was a moment of stillness.

“Good,” Vivienne said softly. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Kiara sat back, just slightly, allowed himself a breath, and exhaled through parted lips painted with yesterday’s perfectly matched mauve. The pressure still pressed on him like shapewear on his ribs, but it no longer felt suffocating.

At least for now.

The golden haze of late afternoon filtered into the penthouse like a warm exhale, casting long shadows across the marble floors. The skyline shimmered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, glittering as if watching from afar—an audience already waiting. But inside the Laurent residence, the mood was anything but calm.

Kieran—no, Kiara, as he’d reminded himself a hundred times today—sat stiffly on the edge of the living room’s cream chaise lounge. His legs were crossed at the knee, the seams of his stockings aligned perfectly down his calves, and the arch of his feet remained taut in those familiar nude heels he now wore without second thought. The pressure of the shapewear cinched tightly around his waist and hips, hugging him in a way that was becoming second nature. The weight of the silicone C-cups affixed to his chest subtly pulled at his back, grounding him, reminding him of every step forward, every flutter of his lashes, every syllable he uttered in that carefully calibrated feminine tone.

He was tired.

Not in the way a person is tired after a long day of errands. No—this was a different kind of tired. This was the exhaustion of performance. Of control. Every blink, every smile, every turn of phrase was monitored, evaluated, adjusted. Hours and hours of managing his voice, perfecting his gait, ensuring his posture radiated elegance and not the slouch of a boy trying to hide. And it wasn’t over yet.

Vivienne stood across from him, arms folded, a discerning glint in her eyes.

“Kiara,” she said, her voice cutting through the quiet like a bell, “sit taller. You’re letting your shoulders droop again.”

Kieran shifted immediately, spine straightening, chest lifted in that poised, almost regal way he’d been **** to memorize. The added mass of the C-cups made it feel different than just sitting up straight—it was a whole-body recalibration, a constant awareness of gravity and presentation.

From the side, Celeste was crouched over a small rolling rack of blouses and blazers, comparing color tones under the lamp. Her long brunette hair was tied up in a loose, high ponytail. Despite the casual vibe, her eyes were as sharp as ever.

“Your voice cracked a little on that last sentence,” Celeste said without even looking up. “Breathe through your chest more. That slightly hushed tone you used earlier was better. Like—remember, you’re not just answering questions. You’re captivating the room.”

Kieran nodded automatically, repeating in his mind the advice she’d drilled into him all day.

Gentle lilt. Light vibrato. Smile between thoughts. Speak from confidence. Sound like you know the answer before you’ve even heard the question.

He ran a hand through his styled hair. The brushing against his cheeks, the way it bounced lightly when he moved—it was all so feminine, and despite everything, it looked... real. He looked real. He looked like a young executive ready to command a room, to inherit a legacy.

So why did he feel like he was fraying at the edges?

“We need to review the closing again,” Vivienne said. “It’s the last thing they’ll hear from you tomorrow. You have to land it with grace. Charm them, but leave no doubt.”

Kieran opened his mouth, but the words caught behind his lips. His jaw was starting to ache from holding that carefully softened smile. His voice trembled for a moment, just enough that both Vivienne and Celeste raised an eyebrow.

He tried again.

“My name is Kiara Laurent,” he began, slipping naturally into the cadence of the practiced monologue. “I am confident, graceful, and poised. I speak with kindness, move with purpose, and dress with elegance. I know what I want, and—”

“Pause,” Celeste interrupted.

Kieran blinked. “What now?”

“You’re clenching your hands in your lap,” she said simply, stepping over and gently prying his fingers apart. “Relax. Kiara doesn’t look like she’s trying. She just is.”

He exhaled, forcing the tension out of his fingers, his jaw, his shoulders. Even his calves hurt from standing and sitting in heels all day. The shapewear was digging in slightly under his ribs, but he barely noticed it anymore—not because it didn’t matter, but because everything mattered.

It had been hours. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, painting the penthouse in warm golds and dusky blues. The city beyond the windows buzzed on, unaware of the storm brewing in the heart of one young man—no, young woman—being pushed past her limits.

Kiara stood slowly, brushing nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt. The gesture was second nature now. She walked to the mirror, her gait soft and smooth, swaying gently on instinct. She tilted her head, smiled at her reflection, and practiced her posture one last time.

It was all there.

The polish. The poise. The perfection.

But deep inside, behind the mascara, behind the lipstick and hair and silicon curves and high heels, Kieran’s mind was buzzing. How much longer could he hold this performance? He hadn’t had a moment to himself in days. Even sleep came dressed in Kiara’s silk pajamas.

His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He remembered his mother’s words that morning. The quiet affection. The reason for all of this. For the family. For the legacy. For Father.

He held onto that as tightly as he held his posture.

Vivienne approached and placed a hand lightly on Kiara’s shoulder. “You’ve come a long way,” she said, voice low, pride in her tone. “Tomorrow, they’ll see what I see.”

Kiara nodded, her smile unwavering. “Thanks, Mom.”

From behind, Celeste offered a subtle nod, arms crossed but eyes softer than usual. “You’re almost there. Just a little more polish. One final shine.”

Kieran felt it then—that mixture of fatigue and pride, of performance and identity, of exhaustion and purpose. It was dizzying.

But he didn’t let it show.

He was Kiara Laurent.

And tomorrow, the world would meet her.