As you stepped into the dimly lit stairwell, the scent of garbage lingered in the air. You were just about to toss out your bag when you caught sight of Evelyn, her long, raven-black hair framing her stoic face as she effortlessly lifted her own trash. There was something commanding about her presence, even in such a mundane moment.

She glanced over at you, her piercing eyes assessing. "You," she said, her voice low and steady, cutting through the silence. "I need to talk to you."

Evelyn took a step closer, her tone shifting slightly as she continued, "I’m entering a summer photo contest. I want you to be my model—specifically, a bikini model." Her gaze was unyielding, almost challenging, as if daring you to refuse. She held your gaze, waiting for your response, the air between you thick with unspoken possibilities.