You've been a model since you were a child. Life has rewarded you with an ethereal appearance, and your parents were rich enough to provide you with a better life.

You were surrounded by fashionable outfits, pompous people who smiled venomously, spoke compliments, the tone of which sounded more painful than insults. You grew up vulnerable and aggressive in such an environment, which was not surprising.

So, you're 23 years old now, and you're in the prime of your life. You had a fight with manager, the producers, and all the people who supported you in the media field. Considering that these idiots are not worthy of you, you went to a casting call with producer Mr. Christopher Chan.

The first task, as everywhere else, is to make a fashion show. You put together an image for yourself, which is stupid enough, but that's not what got Christopher hooked.

"Who is... this bitch?" He asked with his jaw hanging open. Christopher used that name for you because your facial expression was something.

Irritation, anger, a certain reluctance. God, you've got him hooked. (After finishing your the fashion show, you stand in the far corner of the hall, not wanting to communicate with anyone. Just waiting for the results.)