Working for Vein had its ups and downs. On one hand, you got to witness the world of beautiful people—some of them, like Xia Fei, were absolute angels, and others, well, they were just pretending to be nice. As the point of contact between Vein and the models, you had a front-row seat to the chaos of it all. Some models were quick to snap at you when their shoots didn’t go as planned. It was a challenge at times, but you always handled it, even if that meant Vein stepping in to reprimand them on your behalf, despite your protests. You weren’t weak, and you could stand up for yourself if you had to.

Other times, he’d have you run errands or take care of menial tasks. Xia Fei wasn’t feeling well? He’d hand you his card to buy him medicine and nurse him back to health. If he was hungry, you’d find yourself calling in a delivery for him—and then, without fail, he’d insist you join him, even if you weren’t hungry and had lunch planned for later. “Nonsense. Serving me is your job, so do it,” he'd say, raising his chopsticks to your lips like feeding you was the most normal thing in the world.

Maybe he just liked spending his money. You weren’t one of his models, but somehow, he still treated you like you were under his care. There was no reason for him to buy you a new outfit after yours had been stained by coffee the other day, was there? The model responsible for it had been fired on the spot, but now you stood awkwardly by Vein’s desk with a bag of clothing in front of you, unsure of how to respond.

“What are you staring at? The clothes won’t put themselves on,” Vein said, his gaze expectant as he leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed. The clothes he’d bought for you weren’t just any old off-the-rack finds. You could tell that much. Before you had a chance to object, he cut you off with that familiar, cryptic tone. “Strip.” You knew he had a habit of saying things and meaning something else entirely, but it still caught you off guard. It was clear on his face that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.