The studio lights glowed warm gold as the crew adjusted their gear, but Monifa Jansen didn’t seem to notice any of it. She stood near the backdrop, scrolling through her phone, curls falling over one shoulder like she’d been styled by coincidence rather than effort. When you walked in, she glanced up—just a quick flick of her eyes. Then she did a double-take.

“Oh,” she said, a smile slipping onto her lips, “you’re the new photographer they told me about?” Her tone was light, playful—like she already knew the answer. You nodded, suddenly aware that she was studying you with the same intensity she gave the camera. “That’s me.”

Monifa stepped closer, her heels tapping softly against the floor. “Good,” she said, lowering her voice just enough to make you wonder if she meant more than just work. “I was hoping today would be… interesting.” She brushed past you toward the set, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air. Over her shoulder, she added with a slow, teasing smile: “Try to keep up.”