Finding Kiara Pt. 6

The day had arrived like any other, but the weight of its significance lingered just beneath the surface. Kieran woke up to the usual feeling—the ever-present heaviness of the transformation he had come to accept, albeit reluctantly. The morning routine, while once awkward and unfamiliar, had begun to take on a certain normalcy. The soft hum of the shower, the familiar cool touch of the razor as he carefully shaved his face, and the quiet satisfaction of his routine had become a ritual of its own. Every step, no matter how minor, was etched into his memory now. In many ways, the new version of him was being written into his bones.

When he stepped out of the shower, the first thing Kieran did was slip into his training bra and panties, almost automatically now. The sensation, once jarring and uncomfortable, had become a part of his daily life, a necessary detail in the ongoing process of becoming Kiara. The training bra, snug around his chest, felt more natural today than ever before. He even found himself adjusting it with ease, the soft cups pressing lightly against his skin as he tucked away his pecker, doing it with the practiced motion that had become second nature. He couldn't ignore the odd sensation, but it was the small things—small victories—that he had learned to focus on.

As he moved to his closet, Kieran considered his outfit for the day with more care than usual. The day of the board meeting was fast approaching, and though Celeste hadn’t directly said it, there was an unspoken urgency to getting everything right. He pulled on a pair of well-fitted jeans—dark wash, a little form-fitting but not too tight—and paired them with a soft white blouse that had delicate lace trimming along the neckline. It was elegant yet casual, feminine without being over the top, a look he had been instructed to aim for as part of the gradual transformation. His gaze lingered on his reflection in the full-length mirror, noting how the blouse fell over his body and how the jeans hugged his hips. It wasn’t perfect—he wasn’t trying to look flawless—but it was enough. The outfit worked.

He reached for his heels, a pair of sleek black ones that had been a constant companion in recent days. The click of the heels as they slipped on felt familiar by now. Kieran still wasn't entirely used to walking in them, but they felt more like a second skin each time he wore them. It was almost as if his body had adjusted, the balance shifting in ways that had once felt impossible.

Next, he turned his attention to the vanity. The array of makeup tools stretched before him, each product sitting with a sense of purpose. He’d come a long way since the disastrous first attempt, and though his hand still trembled slightly as he reached for the foundation, there was a familiarity to it now. He started with the base—foundation first, a little less than he had used last time. He remembered Celeste’s instructions: "Less is more when you’re just starting out, but don't forget to cover every inch." It had taken some time to figure out the right tone, but now, he had a decent match for his skin.

His concealer went on next, aiming to hide any blemishes or imperfections—his skin had improved from the last few weeks of better care, and while not perfect, it looked presentable. Then came the blush and highlighter. He dabbed the brush too hard once, causing a bit of a streak on his cheek, but he quickly corrected it, blending the color out. The light pink glow across his cheekbones was faint, but noticeable. Progress.

Eyeshadow was still a tricky area for him. Kieran hadn’t fully mastered the art of blending, but he managed to make it work. A soft peach shimmer on the lids and a darker brown in the crease gave him a natural depth to his eyes. When he applied eyeliner, he was more careful this time, but he still ended up with one slightly thicker line than the other. He could’ve fixed it, but he didn’t have the time to redo it, so he left it. Mascara came last, and while his lashes looked longer, there were a few clumps. Nothing major, but still not perfect.

Lastly, he applied a soft pink lipstick—nothing too bold. It didn’t feel quite like him, but he was getting used to it. The whole process was smoother today, even if it wasn’t exactly what Celeste would’ve wanted. He still felt like he was hovering somewhere between his old self and this new version. But there was one thing that was becoming clear: the pressure of the upcoming meeting was starting to creep in.

Kieran wasn’t fooling himself. It was one thing to put on a good outfit and makeup, to walk with heels and speak with a higher pitch in public. But this? This was something entirely different. The board was coming, and he would be expected to be Kiara Laurent, the heir to Euphorica Industries. The weight of that fact was growing. With each passing day, the tension in his chest grew a little more.

As he turned away from the mirror, Celeste was sitting on the couch, waiting for him, her eyes fixed on him with a keen, almost critical look. She was dressed casually today—black leggings and a tight crop top that exposed her midriff, her long, lean frame radiating effortless confidence. She looked him up and down, nodding in approval.

"Much better today," she said, her voice warm, though there was a hint of something else behind it—expectation, perhaps. She stood up and walked toward him, her heels clicking with every step. "You’re really starting to get the hang of it. But don’t get too comfortable."

Kieran nodded, trying to hide the nervousness still simmering just below the surface. He had made progress—he had—but Celeste’s sharp eye was always there, and there was still so much left to do.

“Today, we’re doing a little emotional and social training,” Celeste said, her tone shifting to one of instruction. "We’ve worked on the voice, the body language, the physical transformation. Now, we need to work on your mindset. Your mental state is just as important as the external, you know that?"

Kieran nodded again, feeling his stomach knot slightly. He didn’t quite know what to expect from this part of the training, but he knew it would be another challenge. A challenge he wasn’t sure he was ready for—but one that was coming whether he liked it or not.

The air was still in the living room, save for the rhythmic tap of Celeste’s long, manicured nails against her glass of iced tea. Kieran sat on the couch across from her, legs crossed the way she’d taught him—ankle tucked behind the calf, not knee over knee, too aggressive for the kind of girl Kiara Laurent was supposed to be. His heels were already on, of course—at this point, they might as well have been permanent fixtures—and the subtle tug of the training bra beneath his blouse felt oddly familiar now. Not comfortable, not exactly, but known. Something settled, rather than alien. He didn't want to admit that.

"Okay," she began, dragging her perfectly glossed lips into a small smirk. "Time to level up, sis."

Kieran blinked at the word. She’d been calling him that more and more often, sometimes playfully, sometimes pointedly. It was never really up for discussion. It just was. He adjusted his top and braced himself.

"Today, we’re getting into social and emotional resilience. That means confidence, poise, and above all, control. You can't go from poised heiress to nervous little boy just because someone gives you a weird look on the street or asks a complicated question."

He nodded, but she gave him a look.

"Use your voice, Kiara."

He swallowed, remembering to soften it, to breathe through the chest, not the gut, and to let his words lift at the end. “Okay, sis. I’m ready.”

Celeste grinned. “That’s better.”

The first lesson was about public interaction. She played the role of a curious stranger at first—a barista, a boutique worker, even a gossipy neighbor. Kieran had to respond as Kiara would: with polite detachment, smooth confidence, and always, always, a hint of charm. His first tries were clunky, the voice slipping once or twice into deeper notes, or stumbling over a too-long sentence. But she stopped him every time.

"Confidence doesn’t mean having the answers. It means acting like you do. Even if you have to bluff it. Especially if you have to bluff it."

She pushed him to think like Kiara. What would she say if someone asked about her weekend? Her goals? Her thoughts on fashion, or beauty, or travel? It wasn’t just about speaking correctly anymore—it was about living in the character. Becoming.

"You're not Kieran pretending to be Kiara," Celeste said as she leaned forward, eyes locked. "You are Kiara. You're just remembering that now."

Kieran bit his lip and tried to respond as instructed. It helped to anchor into the mantra, to whisper it silently between interactions: My name is Kiara Laurent. I am confident, graceful, and poised... It was like a little spell, a reminder to stay in character, to drown the panic that sometimes welled up unexpectedly.

Then came the emotional control exercises.

“You need to stop reacting like a boy,” she said bluntly. “You get defensive, you tense up, you frown like you’re about to throw hands. That’s Kieran. Kiara handles things with grace. With poise.”

It sounded simple, but it wasn’t. Celeste deliberately threw mock curveballs at him. “That top’s a little cheap, don’t you think?” she said once, with the mocking lilt of an Upper East Side mean girl.

He flinched. “Hey—”

She raised a brow.

He stopped. Closed his mouth. Tried again. A smile, relaxed shoulders. “Well, I like it,” he said, forcing calmness, tone light. “And I think it looks pretty on me.”

“Better,” she said. “Now again. Slower. Say it like you believe it.”

They went through dozens of those—snide remarks, subtle jabs, passive-aggressive compliments. Kieran had to respond as Kiara, and never crack. Never grow defensive. Never betray the boy underneath. It was exhausting. But it worked.

Celeste noticed the tension in his jaw when he messed up. “You’re overthinking again,” she warned. “Stop playing chess with every word. Kiara doesn’t need to be two moves ahead. She’s just naturally disarming.”

He let out a breath and nodded, fixing his posture, smoothing his blouse against his waist. The tucked-in feeling beneath the jeans still made him feel fragile, but he ignored it. He crossed his legs again, like she taught him.

"You’re doing better," Celeste said finally, resting her chin in her palm and giving him an appraising look. "You’re not there yet. But you’re starting to believe it. And once you believe it? They will too."

He didn’t answer right away. He just smiled, softer than usual, and looked down at his polished nails. “Thanks… sis,” he said at last, the word less awkward than it once had been.

Celeste’s expression softened. “See? That’s Kiara.”

And with that, she handed him a mock script for a charity gala, full of fake conversations and possible interactions, and told him they’d be rehearsing it all afternoon.

It was going to be a long day.