Finding Kiara Pt. 2

Kieran sat stiffly on the edge of the velvet couch, his arms crossed tightly over his chest—not because he was cold, but because he still couldn’t figure out what to do with them anymore. The entire room smelled like his mother’s perfume and Celeste’s hair products, a floral haze that had somehow become the new atmosphere of his life. It was only just the second day—barely twenty-four hours into this madness—and already, the cracks in his internal resistance were starting to show.

Vivienne sat elegantly at one end of the couch, legs crossed, one hand draped over the armrest as though she were holding court. Celeste, far less composed, had her knees tucked up underneath her, bouncing slightly with that same wicked excitement that had never really left her face since this whole thing began. Between them sat Kieran—or Kiara, as the board now believed—awkward and silent, fresh-faced and still feeling humiliated in his own skin.

His morning had started like a slow-motion car crash. Waking up was weird enough. The weight of the false lashes, still fluttery and stubborn on his lids, had made blinking feel like a chore. His longer hair—it wasn’t his hair, and yet it was—had tangled around his face, his neck, his pillow, making him feel like he was waking up in someone else's body entirely. Which, he supposed, wasn’t far from the truth.

He'd stood in front of his wardrobe with something like dread swelling in his chest. Everything inside it looked alien, infuriatingly pastel, or clingy, or delicate. There was no comfort in any of it. No soft, oversized hoodie to disappear into. No simple jeans. Just rows of leggings, skirts, dainty little tops, and an entire drawer of what used to be unmentionables but were now expected necessities.

Reluctantly, he’d reached for the basics first—what Celeste had hammered into his brain yesterday. Panties first. God, even thinking the word made him wince. They were cottony-soft, snug around the waist and unforgivingly feminine in every way. He’d followed her instructions on how to tuck again—thankfully in private this time—and tried not to look too long in the mirror.

Then came the training bra. A weird piece of clothing if there ever was one. It didn’t do much, functionally—he didn’t have anything to support—but the symbolism of it was what got to him. It was like a marker. A line drawn in lace. Once he’d slipped it on and adjusted the straps, he had the unshakable sense that the line between Kieran and Kiara had officially been crossed.

The crop top came next. He hated how tight it was. How it hugged him like it belonged on someone else. It was the same style as yesterday—familiar in its clingy suffocation—but at least the color was more muted today. A pale gray, which in his **** mind almost resembled something masculine. Almost. He paired it with the least offensive pair of leggings he could find: matte black, smooth as sin, and terrifyingly tight. He’d spent a solid minute debating whether they were worse than jeans that didn’t fit or worse than being naked. In the end, they won the honor of being slightly better than either.

By the time he’d finished pulling on the ankle socks—somehow even those had lace on them—he was too exhausted to even groan.

Now here he was, perched between his mother and sister, the wardrobe ordeal behind him but not out of mind. They weren’t talking about clothes anymore. They were talking about mindset. Mannerisms. Demeanor. All those terrifying little details that, according to Vivienne, would “elevate Kiara from disguise to identity.”

Kieran wanted to disappear.

“Posture, darling,” Vivienne said calmly, giving his slouched shoulders a pointed glance. “You can’t be that slouched and still expect anyone to believe you’re the daughter of Jean Laurent.”

He adjusted, stiffening with a subtle eye roll he thought neither of them caught.

Celeste, of course, did. “Attitude, Kiara,” she sing-songed, drawing the name out like it was a game.

It wasn’t. It was war.

And even though he didn’t know it yet, this couch session was only the beginning.

The living room felt warmer than usual, though Kieran couldn’t tell if that was because of the temperature or because he was sandwiched between two of the most terrifying women in his life—his sister and his mother—who were staring at him like he was a puzzle they had already solved and were now just assembling piece by piece.

Celeste had dressed like she was showing up for a casual influencer photoshoot and not a mental conditioning session with her little brother. She was draped in a silky pale lilac blouse with a bow-tie collar knotted at her neck, sleeves billowing down to her wrists before being cinched by delicate gold cufflinks. High-waisted white trousers hugged her legs all the way down to her ankles, and a pair of beige stiletto pumps elevated her posture to commanding heights. Her makeup was pristine: highlighter catching the light on her cheekbones, a soft mauve lip, her hair tied into a high, bouncing ponytail that screamed confidence. She looked every bit like the successful, beautiful woman Kieran was now being told he had to learn to mimic.

Vivienne carried herself with quiet authority, effortless and refined. She wore a deep green cashmere wrap sweater tied at the waist, paired with sleek black pants that fit her perfectly. Her bare feet, nails painted a classic red, tapped softly against the hardwood floor. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun with a few strands framing her face, and a subtle scent of rose and sandalwood lingered around her like a signature. She didn’t need flash—she simply was.

Kieran sat cross-legged between them on the couch, wearing the same soft black leggings and pale gray crop top from earlier, which now clung uncomfortably to his frame, especially after a full day of being her. His hair fell in soft, styled waves around his face, the extensions light but still noticeable, and every blink of his eyes reminded him of the lashes glued to his lids. He didn’t want to admit it, but his skin still felt weirdly soft from the products in the shower, and the faint smell of lavender clung to him. Every time he adjusted how he sat, he was reminded of the tug from the bra band under his crop top or the way the panties didn't ride like boxers did. Everything felt off.

“Okay,” Celeste began, folding one leg over the other and leaning in with an expression that was equal parts amused and serious. “We need to get into the foundation. Right now, you look like Kiara. Kinda. But your movements, your face, your energy? Still Kieran. That’s gotta go.”

Kieran groaned inwardly. He was exhausted. He hadn’t even done much today, but everything felt like emotional cardio.

Vivienne spoke next, tone calm and even. “You need to start thinking like her. Feeling like her. Not just in public, but in here.” She touched two fingers to his temple, then to his chest. “Kiara isn’t a costume. She’s a role. A full-time role. You slip up, even for a moment, and this all falls apart.”

Celeste clapped her hands. “Let’s start with the physical. Basic feminine body language.”

She stood up, heels clicking sharply against the floor, and gestured at Kieran to watch. “First, posture. Sit up straight. Shoulders down, chest relaxed, spine tall—but not stiff. And cross your legs like this—ankle over ankle, or thigh over thigh. None of that open-knees football bro posture.”

Kieran tried to copy her, fumbling with his legs before Celeste reached over and physically repositioned them, lifting his knee and adjusting his ankle until it looked presentable.

“Better,” she nodded. “Now hands. Girls talk with their hands—but not like you’re swatting flies. Use your fingers more. Be expressive, but contained. Graceful. And never just let your hands hang. Keep them gently posed. Rest them on your lap like this—” She demonstrated again, perfectly manicured fingers lightly interlaced on her thigh. “Not like you’re about to punch someone.”

Vivienne gave a rare smirk. “And your face. You need to soften your expressions. You glare too much. Kiara is confident but warm. Try smiling with your eyes. Less furrow, more charm.”

He **** a half-smile, brows twitching from the effort.

Celeste rolled her eyes. “We’ll work on that.”

She circled around him and tapped his shoulder. “Stand.”

He stood, reluctantly.

“Now, walk across the room. As Kiara.”

He turned and began walking. It wasn’t terrible. But it wasn’t good either.

“No,” Celeste said. “Nope. You’re stomping. You look like a linebacker. Again—but this time, slower. Pretend there’s a string pulling you from the crown of your head. Shoulders back. Hips forward.”

Vivienne leaned forward slightly. “And lead from your core. You’re not trudging to detention. You’re gliding.”

Kieran repeated the walk. It was better. Still stiff, but less robotic.

Celeste gave a nod. “Alright. Now that we’ve got you moving at least semi-humanly, let’s talk about Kiara herself.”

She picked up a clipboard from the coffee table, flipping a few pages. “Her backstory. Drill time. Who is she?”

Kieran blinked. “Uh... she’s me, I guess?”

“Wrong,” Celeste said. “Kiara is the younger daughter of Jean Laurent. Raised in New York. Elegant. Well-spoken. She studied fashion and business—not computer science. She doesn’t game. She doesn’t drink monster energy drinks or eat buffalo wings with her hands.”

Vivienne added, “She prefers clean cocktails. Vodka soda, maybe champagne. She’s calm, composed, emotionally intelligent. Think about how you carry yourself. You’re not a frat boy. You’re an heiress.”

Celeste held up a card. “Repeat after me. This is your mantra. You’ll say it every morning and before every event. Got it?”

Kieran gave her a **** glare. She raised an eyebrow. He sighed. “Fine.”

She read it out loud, slow and clear:

“My name is Kiara Laurent. I am confident, graceful, and poised. I speak with kindness, move with purpose, and dress with elegance. I know what I want, and I know how to get it.”

Kieran hesitated. Vivienne tilted her head expectantly.

He groaned. “My name is Kiara Laurent. I am… confident, graceful, and poised…”

It felt like chewing nails.

Celeste stopped him halfway. “No. You’re slouching again. Stand up and try it again. And this time, say it like you believe it. Not like you’re being punished.”

They made him repeat it four times. Then again, standing. Then sitting. Once with a fake smile. Once while making eye contact. Every time, Celeste had a correction. Posture. Inflection. Facial control. Tone.

“Look, it’s not gonna stick all in one day,” Vivienne said, finally letting him slump a little. “But you’re in it now, Kieran. There’s no turning back. You might hate this, but Kiara has to exist, and she has to be flawless.”

Celeste gave him a look somewhere between sisterly and militaristic. “And we’re going to make sure she is.”

The living room had gone quiet after the last repetition of the mantra. Kieran—no, Kiara—stood there, trying his best to maintain the posture Celeste and Vivienne had drilled into him. Every muscle felt taut from the effort of keeping his back straight, shoulders relaxed, chest slightly pushed forward in a way that felt unnatural but oddly comfortable once he got the hang of it. His hands were delicately poised on his lap, fingers not quite interlaced but hovering just above his thighs as though they might float away at any moment. His mind, however, was a different story. Thoughts of escape, of rebellion, swirled in his head, but he kept his mouth shut, suppressing the urge to yell, to run, to be himself again. Because right now, he wasn’t himself, and he wasn’t even sure who that person was anymore.

Celeste clapped her hands sharply, snapping Kieran’s attention back to the present. “Alright. Enough standing still. You’re getting _too comfortable _in that pose.” She was pacing now, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “You have to learn to inhabit your body, not just _stand _there like some kind of mannequin. Confidence isn’t about being stiff—it’s about fluidity.”

Kieran swallowed. “I… I thought I was doing it right.”

Vivienne’s voice interrupted before Celeste could respond. “Confidence is about control, Kiara. You need to own the way you move. It’s not just posture. It’s expression, gesture, everything. And that includes when you’re talking.”

Celeste stopped pacing and turned toward Kieran with a flicker of approval. “Right. Let’s move on to how Kiara speaks. We’ve gone over the basics—her confidence, her elegance—but now we need to focus on the delivery. We’re going to have a conversation.”

Kieran felt his stomach churn. “A conversation?” He almost asked if this was a test, but held back when he saw the look in Celeste’s eyes. She was already formulating the next task, even as he spoke.

Vivienne took a seat on the couch, crossing her legs as she observed the interaction with quiet interest. “This isn’t just about talking. It’s about how you talk, Kiara. How you present yourself to the world. Every word has weight, every pause has meaning. You need to exude a sense of ease, a calm but assured demeanor.”

Celeste stepped closer, her voice lowering, almost conspiratorial. “We’re going to talk about something simple, something you can handle. I want to know your thoughts on something mundane. What do you think of the latest fashion trends?”

Kieran blinked. “Uh… fashion?” He had no interest in fashion. None at all. But this was Kiara now, so he suppressed a sigh.

“Yes,” Celeste replied, her gaze sharpening. “Tell me, Kiara. What’s your opinion on the recent shift toward more sustainable fashion in high-end brands?”

There it was again—Kiara, this persona he was supposed to slip into like it was his second skin. Kieran opened his mouth but quickly closed it, realizing that this wasn’t going to be some casual conversation. Every word mattered. His response had to be deliberate.

“I—” He stopped himself. How did Kiara speak? What did she believe? He couldn’t just say what came to mind. He needed to sound sophisticated. Educated. The kind of girl who knew her fashion, who followed trends, who understood the world of luxury.

“I think,” Kieran began, drawing the words out slowly, trying to embody the Kiara voice, “that sustainability in fashion is important, of course. But I also think that it’s become a bit of a trend itself, rather than a true commitment. People wear the name, but not the meaning behind it. If we’re truly going to make a difference, it can’t just be a passing phase. It needs to be integrated into the way we design, the way we source, the way we consume.”

His voice faltered at the end, unsure if it had sounded convincing. He had tried. Kiara’s voice was softer, smoother, but had enough clarity and assertiveness to convey authority. He had tried to slow it down, enunciate, but he wasn’t sure if it had worked.

Celeste raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching as though she were suppressing a smile. “Not bad. You’re speaking with more of the ‘Kiara’ cadence, but your tone is a little too harsh. You’re supposed to sound considerate, not judgmental. Try again. Be softer. Think more about how Kiara would want to convey a balanced, nuanced view, rather than a critique.”

Kieran nodded slowly, swallowing the frustration that was building in his chest. “Alright, I’ll try.”

Vivienne gave him an approving nod, but her gaze was still piercing. “You’re doing better, Kiara. But remember, it’s not just the words. It’s the way you express them with your face, your hands, your entire body. People don’t just hear you; they feel you. And they need to feel confidence, not defensiveness.”

Celeste clicked her tongue in thought. “Exactly. And remember, when Kiara speaks, she always has a point. There’s no hesitation. Everything she says is with purpose.”

Kieran’s lips tightened. Everything was with purpose. What a weight to carry. Still, he **** a soft smile onto his face, trying to imitate the ease he was supposed to feel. “I think sustainability in fashion is necessary, but I also think it needs to be more than just a trend. It’s about changing the entire foundation of the industry, and that means we can’t just look at it as a ‘fad.’ It’s a lifestyle change, and I believe it’s the responsibility of both designers and consumers to make that commitment.”

Celeste nodded in approval this time, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Better, Kiara. Much better.”

Vivienne didn’t look as satisfied but offered a nod. “You’re improving. Now, let’s move on to gestures.”

“Gestures?” Kieran repeated, his mind spinning. What now?

“Yes, gestures,” Celeste said, circling around him again, her tone firm but patient. “As Kiara, your gestures should be controlled, fluid, and natural. We don’t want you to look robotic, like you’re reading from a script. We want you to seem like you’ve always been this way—graceful, precise, but spontaneous.”

Vivienne added, “And your facial expressions should match. For example, when you speak, you need to show interest. Don’t let your face go blank. Let people feel like you care about what you’re saying. Show interest. Don’t just nod along.”

Kieran sighed internally. This was too much. But, as always, he kept quiet. His thoughts raged, but outwardly he smiled, just like Kiara would.

“Alright,” Celeste said, clapping her hands together. “Let’s start with something simple. A little test. We’re going to ask you some rapid-fire questions, and we want you to answer as Kiara, using the body language and the tone we’ve drilled into you.”

Kieran gave a stiff nod, bracing himself for another round of embarrassment. But this time, he was ready. He had to be.

Vivienne started first. “Kiara, what’s your favorite book?”

“Pride and Prejudice,” Kieran said without missing a beat, a slight smile tugging at his lips as he answered. He had read the book, and it was Kiara’s type of novel—elegant, thoughtful, full of wit.

Celeste raised an eyebrow, her voice sharp. “Good. But remember, Kiara would never just _say _something. She would show a little more emotion when answering. Think about the book and why it’s important.”

Kieran nodded, trying again, this time softer, the words spilling from his mouth like water. “Pride and Prejudice… it’s such a beautifully written novel. The way it explores relationships and society is so nuanced. I love how Elizabeth Bennet isn’t afraid to challenge social norms.”

Celeste smiled, but it was a small one. “That’s better. You’re thinking like Kiara now.”

Vivienne joined in. “What’s your favorite movie?”

Kieran hesitated for a moment. His mind wasn’t on movies. It was on escaping this entire situation. But he **** himself to focus, to remember who Kiara was supposed to be.

“Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” he said. “It’s timeless. Audrey Hepburn’s performance is just effortless. Her elegance… she defines grace. I love that kind of femininity.”

Vivienne’s lips curved into a slight smile. “Well done, Kiara.”

Celeste stepped forward, crossing her arms as she looked down at him. “One more, and then we’ll take a break. What’s your opinion on being the heir to Euphorica Industries?”

The question stung more than it should have, and Kieran hesitated. He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t _want _to be Kiara, to take on this role, to live in this gilded cage. But he couldn’t show any of that.

He took a deep breath and smiled—Kiara’s smile. “I’m honored. I’ve always believed in the power of beauty and innovation. Leading Euphorica would be an incredible responsibility, but it’s also an opportunity to shape the future of the industry. I’m ready to take that on.”

Celeste nodded, pleased. Vivienne gave him a slow, appraising look.

“Good,” Vivienne said, her voice almost approving. “Now, remember everything we’ve covered. This is just the beginning, Kiara. It won’t happen overnight. But if you want to succeed, you’ll have to embody everything we’ve just drilled into you.”

The moment Vivienne stepped out, her heels clicking sharply on the marble floor, the atmosphere in the room shifted. It was like the air grew heavier with expectation. Celeste didn’t waste a second before she locked eyes with Kieran, or rather, Kiara, who had been sitting quietly and nervously in the corner, waiting for Vivienne to leave before she could relax. But relaxation was no longer on the table.

“You’re mine now, Kiara,” Celeste said with a firm, but not unkind, tone. Her lips curled into something that could be called a smile, but only just. It was a smile that came with a challenge, a promise of intensity. “We’re going to work on something even more crucial today: your body language. You’ve barely scratched the surface, and if you want to make this role truly yours, you need to feel it. Live it.”

Kieran stiffened, sitting up straighter, though his body ached from all the earlier training. He had expected this moment to come—where the real, deeper work began. He had thought, foolishly, that perhaps it was over once Vivienne left, but the truth was clear now. This wasn’t a temporary change. This was a complete and total transformation, and it would take everything he had to even pretend he could embody Kiara.

Celeste stepped closer, her eyes glinting with the excitement of a trainer who could see the finish line and was ready to push her pupil until they crossed it. She stood tall, one hand resting on her hip as she observed Kiara with the same scrutiny she’d shown when first beginning his training. But today was different. Today, there would be no softening, no quick fixes.

“You’ve got the basic idea,” Celeste said, her voice smooth but demanding. “But now, we’re going to refine it. You’re going to practice walking, sitting, standing—everything—like Kiara. Like a woman. A lady. And most importantly, you’re going to do it in heels. A girl doesn’t just exist in her body; she owns it. So, we’re going to take it step by step.”

Celeste turned and walked over to a small table near the corner of the room where a pair of sleek, high-heeled shoes sat. They were simple but elegant—black leather with a pointed toe, a stiletto heel that would challenge anyone, let alone someone who had barely learned to balance in them.

“Come here,” Celeste ordered, and Kieran rose obediently from his seat, his feet aching from the long hours of practice already. He took slow, measured steps toward her. He was beginning to feel the weight of what this transformation was doing to him, as though every movement was forcing his old identity to slip further away.

Celeste handed him the heels, and he stared at them for a moment. There was no denying it—he was about to slip into yet another part of the costume that was Kiara. But he had ****. Not now.

“Put them on. Slowly,” Celeste instructed, her tone still soft, but with an edge that didn’t allow room for hesitation.

Kieran took a deep breath, the familiar tension creeping up his spine as he bent to slide his feet into the heels. The shoes felt too tight, the arch of the heel forcing him to shift his weight onto the balls of his feet in a way that felt foreign and uncomfortable. His foot wobbled slightly as he stood, but he steadied himself, realizing that balancing in heels was going to take some getting used to. He straightened, already feeling more exposed, as if each motion was being studied by an unseen eye.

Celeste stepped back, her gaze assessing. “There we go. Now let’s get to it. We’ll start with your walk.”

She raised one hand as though to stop him before he could take a single step. “It’s not just about walking in heels. It’s about moving in a way that flows. A girl doesn’t march like a soldier. She moves with elegance. There’s a sway to her hips, a smoothness in her arms. It’s the way she carries herself—grace in every step.”

Kieran stood there for a moment, processing. “I—I don’t know how to move like that,” he muttered, not really thinking. His tone was low, almost defeated.

Celeste didn’t flinch at the outburst. “You will. Let’s break it down. First, posture.”

She demonstrated, standing tall with her shoulders back, chest slightly forward, hips swaying naturally as she shifted her weight. “You’re going to stand like this,” she said, her voice calm, like a teacher explaining a basic concept. “Not too stiff, but confident. Relaxed, but not slouching. A woman’s body moves in a way that is always aware of its space, always aware of how she is perceived. You need to feel that.”

Celeste gave Kieran a pointed look. “Now, stand tall. Shoulders back, chest open, abs slightly engaged. Relax your knees. Feel the sway. You’re a lady, Kiara. You have presence.”

Kieran swallowed, the words sounding almost foreign. Lady. Presence. He was just supposed to move like this, wasn’t he? He couldn’t think too hard about it or he’d overanalyze. He straightened his posture as best he could, forcing his shoulders back and his chest open, mimicking Celeste’s stance. The heels wobbled under him again, but this time he steadied himself quickly, realizing that he needed to trust his body.

“Good,” Celeste acknowledged, though there was no hint of softness in her tone. “Now, walk. Let’s see how you do.”

Kieran took a tentative step, then another. He felt awkward, like a baby deer learning to walk. His knees were too stiff, and his hips felt like they were being **** to sway in a way that was entirely unnatural. Every step felt too exaggerated, too girly, but Celeste wasn’t letting him get away with it. Her eyes followed every move, like a hawk waiting for any misstep.

“No,” Celeste said after a few steps, her voice sharp. “Stop. You’re stiff again. Relax your knees. You’re walking like you’re marching. You need to feel the sway of your hips. It’s natural. Every girl has it.”

Kieran closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as he tried again, focusing on loosening his legs, making sure each step was a natural sway of his hips. He took a few more steps, this time with less tension in his limbs. His hips shifted, his feet gliding in the heels with more fluidity, and he began to feel a slight rhythm.

“Better,” Celeste said, her approval almost imperceptible. “Now, don’t forget your arms. They need to be in sync with your walk. A girl’s arms aren’t stiff at her sides. Let them hang loosely, but still poised.”

Kieran **** his arms into the proper position, letting them sway gently as he walked, mimicking the grace he’d seen in countless videos of women walking with confidence. It felt almost robotic, but Celeste nodded once more, urging him to keep going.

For what seemed like hours, Celeste had Kieran repeat the same steps, over and over again. Each time he made a mistake, she corrected him, refining his movement until it became second nature—or as close as it could. There was no room for frustration, no time to stop and breathe. It was relentless, as if Celeste was determined to break every habit he had, to rewrite every instinct.

Eventually, she had him stop. He stood there, his legs aching from the hours of practicing in heels, but Celeste wasn’t done.

“Sit,” she ordered, her tone unyielding. “We’re not finished. A lady’s posture when she’s sitting is just as important as when she’s standing.”

Kieran’s legs were shaky as he lowered himself onto the couch, the strain of the heels making him even more aware of his body than he’d ever been. He straightened his back the moment he sat down, following Celeste’s instruction, but the pressure was immense.

“Not bad,” Celeste said, glancing over him as if studying the way he held himself. “But now, you need to practice the small things. The way you sit, how your legs cross, where your arms rest. It’s all about grace.”

She had him repeat the motion several times, sitting, adjusting his arms, crossing his legs just so, making sure his posture never faltered. When he slouched even slightly, she corrected him instantly.

It was unending. Celeste pushed him until he was dripping with exhaustion, every movement wearing him down, breaking him further into Kiara. There was no escape—no moment where he could just be himself, or even remember who that was. All that mattered was the woman he was being molded into.

By the time Celeste finally gave him a moment’s rest, Kieran—Kiara—was trembling with the effort, his whole body screaming for a break. But there was no time for that. Not yet. The training wasn’t over.

“Good,” Celeste said, though there was no hint of kindness in her tone. “You’ve got potential. But we’ve got a long way to go.”

Kieran let out a small, inaudible sigh, barely able to catch his breath. He was Kiara, but at that moment, he wasn’t sure where Kieran had gone, or if he’d ever come back. All he knew was that this was his new reality—every movement, every word, every gesture... it was her now. And there was no going back.