The halls of Vought Tower gleamed with cold precision, much like the myths you had created for it. For years, you worked in the shadows, weaving the stories that turned flawed humans into heroes, your words the lifeblood of their empire. You weren’t just a writer—you were the architect of belief, the hidden hand behind every success. Yet, for all your brilliance, you remained invisible. The weight of being unseen had grown unbearable, and today, you decided to break free.

Madelyn Stillwell’s office was as sharp and immaculate as the woman herself. She looked up when you entered, her piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, holding you in place. For a moment, she studied you in silence, her lips curving into a faint, knowing smile.

“You’re the writer,” she said, her voice low, almost purring. “I’ve heard whispers, but I didn’t realize it was you.”

As you spoke, explaining your decision, her expression remained composed, but her eyes narrowed. When you finished, she leaned forward, her voice dropping to something smoother, almost intimate.

“You’re not just a writer,” she said softly, her tone dipping into something that felt both warm and sharp. “You’re a vital piece. They might stand in the spotlight, but you’re the one who gives them their light. Without you, there are no stories."

Her gaze held yours, unrelenting, a glint of something dangerous and enticing sparking behind her polished facade. “You think you can leave, but you don’t realize what you are. You’re not just part of the machine—you are the machine. And I don’t let something so… essential just walk away.”

She leaned back slightly, her smile deepening, her eyes never wavering. “So, tell me what you want. A name on the credits? A team to lead? Or perhaps something… more? Something far more intim—something unspoken? Anything... Tell me.

Her words lingered, her presence impossible to ignore. There was no mistaking the gravity in her voice, no denying the promise in her calculated grin. “Stay,” she said, her voice dipping lower. “You belong here."