"I wasn't born into this business like some people out here. I didn't have famous parents or relatives working in entertainment who could teach me how to navigate this world." She let out a self-deprecating laugh. "I was born in a tiny town in Illinois, destined for the same existence as my parents and grandparents. Work hard, make little, get married, grow old. But in my mother's eyes, I became destined for stardom when I was thirteen months old."
This information wasn't in any of the reports he'd read, and Casper was absorbed by her words. "What happened then?"
"Well, I obviously don't remember since I was so young, but this is all family lore told to me. A county fair was hosting a prettiest baby contest. The entry fee was five dollars, and you could submit a photograph of your child. They had different age categories and prizes for each one." She lifted her hands in an exaggerated gesture. "At thirteen months old, I won the one-to-two-year division."
Casper couldn't help but smile, imagining a cherubic version of the woman sitting across from him.
"My picture was chosen as the prettiest baby in that age group, then they took all the category winners and had people vote for an overall grand prize." Her expression grew more serious. "I won that too, which came with a thousand-dollar prize for my parents. From that moment on, they'd found their new life's purpose."
"A purpose you never had any say in," he observed quietly, watching every nuance of expression cross her face.
She nodded slowly. "Looking back, I can understand their perspective to some degree. My parents had always struggled financially, and so had their families before them. Suddenly, they get a thousand dollars for doing nothing more thansubmitting their child's photograph to a contest. It must have felt like hitting the lottery."
"I'm picturing your parents entering you in every child beauty pageant they could find after that."
Her laugh held no humor. "Actually, no. There were no beauty pageants in my future."
Casper's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Really?"
"My parents quickly realized that the pageant circuit required significant upfront investment. Things like elaborate costumes, professional coaching, travel expenses, and entry fees that could run into the thousands. They didn't have that kind of money, and they weren't willing to gamble what little they had." She paused, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her mug. "Instead, they convinced my uncle to become their unofficial photographer. He took what must have been thousands of pictures of me, hoping to capture that perfect shot that would catch someone's attention."
She took a sip of her tea before continuing. "The next year, armed with all those photographs and my newfound ability to smile on command, they entered me in the two-to-three-year category. I won again, both in my age group and the overall competition. This time, the prize was almost two thousand dollars."
Setting her mug on the coffee table, she looked directly at him. "By the time I was three years old, I had earned my parents a total of three thousand dollars in prize money, and they were absolutely convinced they had a future star on their hands."
"That's when they started pursuing modeling for you seriously?"
She nodded while sighing. "They began sending my pictures to every modeling agency they could find—legitimate ones and anyone who claimed to represent child talent. Looking back, I find it terrifying how naive they were about the potentialdangers." Her voice grew quieter. "It's a miracle I wasn't targeted by someone with truly horrible intentions."
"Jesus Christ," Casper muttered, his protective instincts flaring at the thought. "That's exactly how predators and trafficking rings lure children."
He watched a visible shiver run through her body and immediately stood, moving around the coffee table to sit beside her on the sofa. His hand reached out to cover hers, offering what comfort he could. "I'm sorry. That was probably too blunt."
Her eyes were wide as she shook her head. "No, you're absolutely right, Casper. There are truly evil people out there who prey on children, and parents who make their kids vulnerable through ignorance or greed. I was fortunate, even with parents who had no idea what they were doing."
"I know from your file that you were working as a model by age five," he said gently.
She looked away for a moment, her gaze seeming to drift back through time. When she turned to face him again, something almost grateful was in her expression. "That's when my parents hit the jackpot. A legitimate modeling agency contacted my parents… a real company with proper contracts and industry connections. Within weeks of signing with them, we packed up everything we owned and moved to Los Angeles."
Her hand turned palm up beneath his, their fingers naturally intertwining. "As you can imagine, we were as poor as church mice. Child models don't make a lot of money, and the cost of living in LA was astronomical compared to small-town Illinois. But my parents were convinced they were investing in our family's future."
"What happened next?" he asked, now completely invested in understanding the journey that had shaped the remarkable woman whose hand he was holding.
18
Willow cherished the feel of Casper's hand wrapped around her fingers. The warmth of his palm against hers created a connection that felt like so much more than simple comfort or professional courtesy. Something was electric in the way he looked at her when they touched, as though he felt the same tingling awareness that sparked through her nervous system every time their skin made contact.
Talking about her past wasn't something she normally did with such openness. Every interview during her younger years had felt like an interrogation, with journalists who already knew her story angling for more intimate details or waiting for her to reveal some hidden scandal. She'd learned to give practiced answers that revealed nothing of substance, protecting herself behind carefully constructed walls.
Now, sitting in this hotel suite with Casper's patient attention focused entirely on her, it felt almost cathartic to finally explain her upbringing to someone who genuinely wanted to understand rather than exploit. He wasn't hunting for a story or seeking breakthrough journalism that would advance his career. The background reports he'd read before meeting her would have provided all the basic facts. What she sensed coming from himwas something far more personal, as though he had a genuine interest in who she was beneath the public persona.
And that interest was absolutely mutual. But she had a feeling it would take him longer to offer a deeper glimpse into his inner being.
He sat with such patient stillness while her thoughts churned, never rushing or pressing for more than she was comfortable sharing. When she finally emerged from her reflections, she saw concern flicker in his dark eyes, and her heart clenched at his obvious concern for her emotional state.
"I'm okay, Casper. Really," she assured him quickly, not wanting him to worry.
"You don't have to tell me anything you'd rather keep private," he said gently.
