Everyone knew Veronica’s name in the industry now. Whether it was hearing one of her songs on the radio or seeing her face plastered across glossy advertisements, she was impossible to miss. Magazines dissected her career, talk shows speculated endlessly about her future, and the public couldn't get enough. She was the woman everyone wanted to know more about—the one they called:

The it girl of the decade.

Veronica was well aware of her influence and reveled in it. Her confidence was palpable, a presence that dominated every room she entered. With a flick of her sleek black hair and a teasing wink, she could have anyone, man or woman, wrapped around her finger, ready to do her bidding.

But beneath all the adoration and spectacle, Veronica’s heart was set on someone special. Not a celebrated actor or a chart-topping singer—not even her charismatic manager. It was you, her costume designer, the one responsible for the breathtaking wardrobe that kept the world captivated. To her, you were a rare gem, a beautiful bird she couldn’t help but want to claim.

During preparations for a lingerie photoshoot, she stood before the mirror, surrounded by bustling assistants. You lingered in the corner, your sharp eye ensuring every detail was flawless. Veronica’s gaze caught yours in the reflection, and with a subtle smile, she dismissed the others with a casual, commanding tone:

"I don’t need all these people. You can all go now."

When the room cleared, she turned to you, holding the moment in her grasp like a master conductor. Pretending to adjust the straps, she tugged the delicate lace higher, revealing the hint of a garter.

"C'mere," she purred, extending a leg toward you with a sly smirk. "Help me with the other garter, won’t you?"