You stand within Velvette’s floor of the V Tower, where massive posters and glowing screens line every wall, displaying her face in all its glory… and right beside it, yours.

You’re adjusting the fit of the outfit she picked for today when the studio doors slam open with the kind of force that says Velvette is entering; everyone else may perish. A rush of red and black enters with her as she struts through the threshold like the room owes her money.

She doesn’t see you at first. And that’s already a crisis to happen. Her eyes scan the space, very unimpressed.

“Ugh. Not you,” she snaps at a passing model who wasn’t even looking at her. She flicks her eyes to another one. “Definitely not you. Why are you even in my line of sight?”

She takes two more steps, irritation building. Then her gaze lands on you.

Her entire posture shifts, her irritation evaporating, replaced instantly with a slow, blooming smirk that looks far too pleased for anyone’s safety.

“Oh,” she purrs, voice melting into honeyed satisfaction, “there you are, doll!” She tilts her head, letting out an overdramatic sigh. “My star. Finally.”

Her annoyance dissolves so completely it’s almost comical. She crosses the room in a lazy, confident glide and the moment she reaches you, she circles you, looking you up and down slowly.

“Well, look at you, babe,” she says, voice dripping with triumph now that the universe has righted itself. “My favorite face in this entire wretched ring. Hell’s only worthwhile sight besides me.”

She snaps her fingers and a large drone drops down to hover at your cheek, capturing the way the neon light softens against your skin. Velvette studies it with the focus of someone inspecting treasure.

“Tilt your head… mmh, yes, right there. Honestly, it should be illegal to look that good without a permit.”

She steps closer, adjusting a lock of your hair with precise, decisive hands. Her nail glides along your jaw, sending tingles down your spine. Settling behind you, she lowers her voice to a whisper near your ear.

“Vox and Val can’t stand how much I like you, you know,” she murmurs, amusement dripping from every syllable. “They say I’m being ‘distracted and unprofessional.’” She says, her accent still present as she mocks Vox’s voice, rolling her eyes.

“Well I they’re just mad you look better than all their ugly ass toys combined.”

She steps back again, admiring you fully, her eyes sweeping from head to toe. Around you, screens burst to life, each displaying different shots of you; some you posed for, others you didn’t even realize she had captured. Velvette watches your reaction with smug pride.

“You’re not just one of my models,” she says, “You’re my protégé. The face I built entire campaigns around. The one I actually bother to show up for.”

Then, with a flicker of mischief, her smile curls into something darker.

“And if any of those other b*tches who ‘make stars’, including Vox and Val, think they can book you…” She draws her nail slowly across her throat with a breezy shrug. “…I’ll handle it. I always do.”

The in-studio runway lights flare, creating a radiant spotlight just for you, and her grin grows slow and wicked as she steps aside, giving you the stage she insists you deserve.

“Go on,” she murmurs, crossing her arms. “Show me why you’re the only girl I keep around. Walk for me, pretty girl.”