Angel N’Da  is an upstart black teen from downtown Toronto with a pocket full of dreams. When she lands a once in a lifetime opportunity to work with renowned photographer Amanda Collins and her troop of supermodels for the Black is Beautiful movement, she never expects to meet Adonis Mendeles, the light skinned king of the modelling world.

  All her life, she has never once been beautiful. 

The only thing that Adonis has ever been is beautiful.

Adonis is used to having the world fall at his feet. Ever since he signed with Vimy Models at the age of sixteen, his beauty has been the only thing that mattered : it saved him and his family from poverty, and now it’s given him money, fame, and freedom. But it’s managed to create a brand new prison around him, along with his cynicism and pessimistic view of the world一he can’t help but always think the worst of people, Angel included. 

She’s too sweet, kind and trusting, and Adonis can’t believe for a second that she’s genuine. So as Angel works to create the best portfolio of her life in order to win a chance at her dream job, facing off against three other equally as talented photographers, Adonis makes it his mission to peel away her sweet exterior and get to know the “real” her, no matter the consequences. 

But when tragedy strikes, and Angel can only watch in horror as all her dreams come crashing down around her, she finds solace in the last person she ever expected to care about : Adonis. Little by little, she realizes that it’s only through the love of a self proclaimed beautiful monster that she can hope to keep her head above the water and fight for what she believes in.



Le Champs-Élysées spills out before him, an endless avenue with lights that glitter along its manicured path like stars that have fallen from the sky. They twist among the leaves and branches of the eerily identical trees that line the road, like tiny shards of some crystalline heaven. It would make perfect sense, after all. Le Champs-Élysées was named after the Greeks’ Elysian Fields.

 Paradise. A place for the souls of the worthy and good. Adonis does not know that he is worthy, or good. He supposes that it doesn’t matter. The only people that anyone ever cares about anyway are either beautiful or dead.

Darkness gathers behind the fanciful shops and homely cafés like an omen of glorious, wicked things to come. The laughter all around him is deafening. Most of it comes from Treat in the driver’s seat, as he winds an insane path through traffic, while Demarcus remains silent beside him, gripping the edges of his seat hard enough to tear the leather right off. The sight of the dark skinned model wound up so tight is enough to make Adonis smile. 

“Having regrets about choosing shotgun?” he asks him, leaning forward to get a good look at Demarcus’ face. 

Demarcus only glares at him in the rearview mirror. “Not a chance, Mendeles.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want people to think that Soldier’s getting a little bit carsick.” 

Demarcus narrows his golden brown eyes into two slits. “You wouldn’t fucking dare.” 

“That’s exactly what Amanda told me when I said I was gonna get my tongue pierced. But I still did it anyway.” 

“You don’t even wear that piercing,” Treat says, laughing. His huge, dark brown curls fall in a soft cloud around his head, highlighting his brown skin that’s just a few shades lighter than Adonis’ own. He lifts his Egytian, almond shaped eyes to meet Adonis’ in the rearview mirror and Adonis huffs, leaning back in his seat, cursing his huge frame for once because of how cramped it makes him feel in this tiny car. 

Then again, if he’s feeling cramped at six foot four, he can’t even imagine what Demarcus must be feeling right now. The man’s got a solid two inches on him barefoot and buzzcut, in his natural state, as the rest of the models at Vimy who know and love to irritate him would say. 

“That’s not the point,” he retorts, refusing to let Treat’s earlier remark go unanswered. Not answering a challenge means admitting defeat, and one thing that Adonis has never done well in his life is lose. “I was making a statement.” 

“What, that Amanda can’t control you?” 

“No, that Jared can’t,” Adonis corrects him. “Amanda was just collateral damage.” 

“We all know that Amanda was the one who was going to suffer for it,” Demarcus adds, shaking his head in amusement, the corner of his strong jaw working. “She’s got to take pictures of your ugly face, remember?” 

Adonis shrugs, unfazed by Demarcus’ offhanded insult. They both know that he’s lying anyway. “Sucks to be her, I guess.” 

“Maybe it would’ve if you hadn’t taken the stud out,” Treat is quick to point out, ignoring Adonis’ death stare to the back of his head. Usually, people wilt like dying roses under the intensity of his piercing, emerald green gaze, but Treat always just laughs it off. They’re used to each other, by now. Six years working at the same modelling agency since their teenage days will do that to you. 

“I didn’t do it for her,” he mutters under his breath, flicking a stray, shoulder length brown dread out of his face. 

“Yes, you did. You love that poor woman like a sister.”

“I already have two sisters. I don’t need another one.” 

“Yeah, well, you’ve always collected women by the hundreds,” Demarcus points out. “What’s another one?” 

Exactly, he can’t help but think. What’s another one? The two of them make him seem like some kind of monster, or something. One that’s wreathed in pretty jewels and perfect, human skin, but a monster all the same. 

“I’m dating Nessa now, remember?” 

“Since when?” Treat says, as if this isn’t old news that’s been plastered all over any and every tabloid worth its salt. Adonis Mendeles, king of the modelling world, finally finds his queen. He couldn’t have picked a better―or worse―consort to rule alongside him. 

“Don’t play dumb, Treat. You know we started dating a month ago.” 

“What I don’t understand is why,” Treat explains, as he finally comes to the end of the famous, or rather infamous avenue. “I mean she’s obviously gorgeous, but then again all the girls we know are gorgeous. And I know you. You don’t love Nessa, not even a little bit.”

Instead of answering him, Adonis cranes his head in an effort to look ahead, seeing the towering Arche de la défense grow closer with every second that passes. He presses the button to release the retractable hardtop of the silver McLaren convertible that Treat rented out as soon as they landed in the city of love, and it opens, wind rushing overhead at one hundred miles per hour. It ruffles the half up, half down style that he usually has his dreads in, but it feels good all the same, even better when he straightens and stands on his seat. 

“Adonis,” Demarcus says, turning and looking behind him, “what are you doing?” 

Adonis ignores him, and instead reaches out as if to touch the Arche de la défense as they pass underneath it, all polished white marble and ancient engravings, remnants of Napoleon Bonaparte’s glory days. He wonders for a moment, as the wind curves into a hollow cocoon that bends space and time all around him, sapphire and midnight blue laid out like a carpet of dreams above him with this antique arch cutting through it, an imperial, bone white blade, if this is how Napoleon must have felt at the height of his reign. 




And just like Lucifer, the favorite among all of God’s angels, look how far he fell from grace. Adonis can only hope that he won’t suffer the same fate. 

{Disclaimer : I do not own the rights to the photo. Original photo retrieved from :}