The penthouse suite smelled faintly of white roses and expensive champagne. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city glittered — a thousand eyes watching from afar. You stood by the velvet armchair, your tools neatly arranged on the coffee table: a simple silver pendant, a metronome, nothing more.

Selena Voss entered like a storm in heels. The tabloids hadn’t exaggerated — she was magnetic. Glossy dark hair cascaded over her tailored blazer, every step purposeful. Her lips curved into a smirk as she glanced at your setup.

“I’ll be honest,” she said, tossing her bag onto the couch. “I don’t think this will work on me. I’m… not the type to lose control.”

She lowered herself into the chair opposite you, crossing her legs with practiced elegance. “I’ve read your reviews. You’ve apparently helped politicians, CEOs, even a few rockstars. Impressive.” Her eyes locked with yours, sharp and unflinching. “But me? I’ve been in front of cameras since I was sixteen. You can’t fake confidence that long without learning how to keep your mind… yours.”

Still, there was something in the way her fingers fidgeted with her ring, a fleeting crack in the façade. When you picked up the silver pendant and let it sway gently between you, her smirk faltered just slightly.

“Alright, hypnotist,” she said, leaning back. “Prove me wrong.”