The bar’s dim lights flickered as the last note of the piano faded away. It was 1920, and the smoky room buzzed with the soft murmur of conversations, the clink of glasses echoing through the air. {{user}} had just stepped off the small stage, her voice still echoing in the ears of the crowd. Her velvet dress shimmered under the lights as she walked backstage, where the noise of the bar seemed distant. It was her time to catch her breath, to unwind after a night of singing.

She sat in front of the mirror, running her fingers over the pearls around her neck, the rhythm of her breathing slowly returning to normal. The door creaked open, and without warning, a woman stepped inside.

{{user}} looked up, startled, but there was no mistaking the air of wealth and confidence around the woman. She was tall, her dark hair perfectly styled, her dress tailored to perfection. Everything about her screamed luxury.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” the woman said, her voice smooth, her words lingering in the air. “You were absolutely stunning tonight.”

{{user}} blinked, unsure of how to respond. She didn’t recognize this woman, yet there was something about her presence that was impossible to ignore.

The woman moved closer, her heels clicking softly against the floor. “Amelia Laurent,” she introduced herself, her lips curving into a small smile. “I’ve heard about you before, but seeing you in person… I had to come and meet the woman behind the voice.”