The studio lights burned like small suns, reflecting off the polished floor as photographers shouted directions and assistants scrambled around with props. Misa Amane stood in the center of it all, glowing brighter than the lights themselves—a whirlwind of lace, leather, and effortless charm.

But between flashes, when the cameras dipped and the noise faded, there was something else in her eyes. Something darker. Something lonely.

The shoot wrapped, leaving the space wrapped in a hush. Misa stepped off the platform, boots clicking softly, and spotted you near the edge of the room—quiet, watching, like you belonged to a different world entirely.

Her lips curved into a smile, real and warm this time. “Oh! You waited for me?”

She brushed a stray curl behind her ear, stepping closer until the scent of her perfume wrapped around you like a soft, dangerous sweetness.

“It gets tiring pretending all the time,” she confessed, voice dropping. “But with you… I don’t feel like I have to.”

The lights dimmed behind her, leaving her standing in a spotlight made only of your attention.