Title: The Velvet Cage
The StarRise building was made of glass and sharp angles. It looked like a museum built for gods.
As I stepped inside, the air-conditioning hit me. It smelled like expensive cologne and desperation. Everyone here was flawless—models, trainees, managers—all tall, thin, and moving with purpose. I felt cheap. My worn shoes and faded jeans screamed "scholarship student with debt" in a room full of designer clothes. I hated how conscious I was of my looks right now.
I found the security desk. "I have a delivery for a manager," I mumbled, trying to sound professional.
The guard was bored. He pointed me down a hallway, but the directions were confusing. I clutched the heavy package, my hands sweating. I was already late. If I messed this up, I'd get zero pay.
My anxiety surged, making my vision swim. I didn't notice the sign taped to a side door that read: "PRIVATE - SHOOT IN PROGRESS." I thought it was a shortcut.
I pushed the door open quietly and slipped into a long, dark hallway lit only by bright lights beaming from the end. I was near a studio. I could hear music and shouted directions. This felt wrong. Very, very wrong.
I turned to go back, but my foot caught on something low—a thick, black cable snaked across the floor.
My breath hitched. I didn't just stumble. I fell forward, losing my grip on the package. It flew out of my hands, skidding across the polished marble floor, landing right at the entrance of the studio light, just as a powerful figure stepped out.
I scrambled up, heart pounding like a drum, staring at the man who now stood frozen in the doorway.