xndrpressure

[xndrpressure]

Chloe lost herself in the freedom. No clientele would dive into this underground music scene, and even if they did, the nervous energy that usually held her captive had been put to rest—at least for as long as Adam’s stuff continued to work. She didn’t think about the comedown; she couldn’t. It could turn this pleasant rush into a hellish nightmare of a bad trip in an instant. The thought of the inevitable comedown, of how quickly it could twist this bliss into something darker, made her want to ignore it completely. 

Her eyes found Adam once more. The strobe lights painted his sharp features in flashes, each one highlighting the things she’d come to admire in him, things she’d usually only allow herself to appreciate from a safe distance or in the quiet of dimly lit rooms. It took a moment before she noticed the change in him. His movements slowed, his gaze drifting to something—someone—she couldn’t see. His head turned toward a mirror on the wall, but Chloe wasn’t tall enough to see what was pulling his attention. But the way his face shifted, that subtle, almost imperceptible change, told her everything. There was something in him that wasn’t quite right. Something troubled, haunted.

Just as she fought to keep herself from spiraling into negativity, she tried to protect her friend from doing the same. Her hand reached out, small and warm, to cup his heated cheek. The touch was designed to be soft, tender, in order to ground him and guide his focus back to her. She urged him to look at her as she smiled up at him—a smile just a tad too bright, feigning ignorance. This was hardly the place to check in on anything less pleasant, nor did she feel entitled to a glimpse into his life, even if, at times, she wished there were no walls between them. Her other hand also rose, her fingertips tracing along the stubble on his jaw, as if it were the most marvelous thing, as though drawn by something magnetic. “Don’t tell me you’re already tired,” she teased, the words light. “I’ve heard the Brits don't dance much, but you owe me a bit more than that. Please?”

A satisfied smile curled at the edges of her lips as his body shifted, mimicking the renewed energy that surged within her. She let Adam envelop her as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, drawing her closer to him. It was a cocoon of happiness, a safe space from everything and everyone beyond the walls of the venue. To her surprise, a laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her, but it was quickly followed by a sigh—soft, heavy, like a release. All the tension of the week melted away in that single exhale. For a split second, Chloe wished she could stay there forever—wrapped up in this feeling of safety and ease. She pulled him in a little closer, pressing her head against his damp shirt, her arms around hist torso in a hug that felt a little silly, but it was all she needed. And perhaps with it, she could chase away some of which seemed to haunt him as well. She didn’t know if he’d return it, but it didn’t matter. It was brief – and before she could even process the shift, she was pulling away, finding their rhythm again, letting the music carry her.

Adam’s voice cut through the beats, low and clear, and Chloe felt a weight shift. She didn’t respond with words—she simply nodded and took his hand in hers, weaving through the crowd while holding tightly onto him like an anchor. She glanced over her shoulder more than once, just to make sure he was still there, as if he might vanish if she wasn’t careful.

The moment they stepped outside, Chloe flung open one of the back doors, the rush of cool air a welcome relief against the heat inside the building. She let go of Adam’s hand and took a deep breath, letting it fill her lungs as she spun around, arms wide. The freedom of open space instead of the crush of bodies made her grin. As her spin slowed and came to a stop, her gaze drifted upward, drawn to the night sky. It was partly cloudy, but even the haze couldn’t hide the stars twinkling just beyond the veil.

Adam wished he could feel like this all the time, which is exactly why he knew he couldn't. The comedown tomorrow would suck, like really suck, because it always did when Adam took molly. He'd be deep in his pit of despair, regretting every decision he's ever made, and it would be enough to keep him from getting high again for a while.

For now, everything felt so good, white light bounced around inside him, nothing outside of this moment felt important. He watched Chloe, dancing with zero coordination or care, the lights hitting her like rainbows. She's so beautiful, he thought, and would've felt out of place next to her if he wasn't so far past caring about anything. Usually, he worked hard not to notice her like that, their friendship was inappropriate enough, but it was kind of impossible not to. Not that he'd ever tell her that, of course.

The room looked and felt weird now. There were mirrors on some of the walls, every now and again he'd catch his own reflection looking back at him and falter, recognising and struggling to put the pieces together. He used to walk through life with his spitting image at his side, now that his brother was gone he never realised how much he looked for him. He blinked at his reflection now, his brain taking a moment to catch up, before reminding Adam: it's not him, he's gone, it's just you now.

He looked away and refused to let it get to him. So, he stayed as he was, his body moving and his mind leaving him behind.

He'd been right about the pills, once they were in his system he felt misshapen inside his own skin, the peak of the high coming almost too quickly. He was still grinning, still laughing, wrapping his arms around Chloe's shoulders and pulling her too him because he couldn't comprehend anything beyond this is nice.

"I need a cigarette," he eventually said, overheated, desperate for some fresh air. The words didn't sound like they were coming from him, it made giggle, he felt like a mess.

[xndrpressure]

where : LA neighbourhood

who :Mick (@mickcallahan)

The night was thick with the kind of quiet that only money could buy. No honking, no sirens, just the hum of distant streetlights and the occasional rustle of leaves along perfectly manicured sidewalks. Antonella had just wrapped up a client meeting in one of those houses—marble driveways, security cameras, the works. And a empty-looking hallway that was just begging for the latest, most desired piece of art on the market. Her stomach grumbled ever so quietly, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten properly since this morning. Nothing a quick trip to the nearest take-away restaurant downtown wouldn’t fix. A simple solution and an easy fix, if not for a damn motorcycle parked directly in front of her car which she spotted the moment she rounded the corner.

Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag, jaw ticking as she let out a slow breath through her nose. A bike like that didn’t belong here—too rugged, too out of place in a neighborhood that smelled like imported wine and old money. And yet, here it was, blocking her in like some kind of invitation. Or a challenge. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, heels clicking against the pavement as she approached it, scanning the street for its owner. Her pulse had already picked up—not with fear, but something sharper, something that tasted like the beginnings of a fight. With not a single moment of hesitation, she raised her foot and gave the polished chrome a kick. As hard as her expensive red heels would allow. Hoping to set of an alarm to draw out whoever had dared to double park her.

[xndrpressure]

where : The Echelon

who :Camilla (@camibarone)

Antonella had never been one for sentimentality. Loss had long since stopped feeling like an open wound and instead settled into something quieter—like an old scar, faded but never quite gone. So when she heard about everything that had unfolded at the Manor of Hope Gala, involving both their fathers, there was no pity, no empty encouragements of hope. Just the cold, familiar understanding of what it meant when men like them disappeared and others rose to power.

The brunette leaned against the sleek marble bar of the dimly lit lounge, one hand curled around a crystal glass, the amber liquid inside catching the low light. The scent of aged whiskey and something richer—something unspoken—hung between them as she lifted her gaze to watch Camilla walk over to her.

"Didn’t think I’d see you back here so soon." Her voice was smooth, measured, but there was something in the way she studied Camilla—calculating, careful. "Then again, we can simply put our heads down in good prayer and wait, can we?"

Antonella had always felt somewhat akin to Camilla in a way she never had with many others in their world. They were both daughters of men who thought power was a birthright, who mistook control for love. Camilla had been a wildfire in her own right—sharp-tongued, daring, unwilling to be caged, even when the weight of expectation tried to crush her. Antonella saw pieces of herself in that defiance, that quiet suffering beneath the force of a father who demanded too much.

And maybe that’s why, when Antonella moved back to L.A. after her years in Mexico, she hadn’t hesitated to reconnect. Some people, no matter how far you run, find their way back into your life. She had chosen Camilla was one of them.

[xndrpressure]

where : El Despertar

who : Elion (@cfcrossfire)

The music pulsed low and steady, a hypnotic thrum beneath the murmur of conversation and the clink of top-shelf liquor meeting crystal glass. El Despertar was in full swing—glamour and excess wrapped in dim lighting and velvet opulence. The kind of place where power moved in whispers, where secrets traded hands between slow sips of aged whiskey. Antonella had long since grown used to the weight of eyes in a place like this. Putting a wedding band on her left hand had unfortunately not made people forget about her last name. But tonight, there was one gaze in particular that she couldn’t shake.

She tipped back the last of her drink, the warmth settling in her chest as she pushed off the bar. Her so-called friends had ditched her, probably tangled up in some fleeting distraction, but that wasn’t what had her blood humming with irritation. No, it was the quiet presence lingering just out of reach, the unrelenting pull of a stare she had felt all night. 

She knew who he was. A bodyguard. A shadow in service of the Family. Maybe here for one of the Barone’s, maybe not. Meetings between the members of the Family members weren’t uncommon. A daughter of the late leader would know. But Antonella wasn’t one to let unanswered questions fester.

Sliding through the crowd, she found him exactly where she expected—watchful, unreadable, always just on the edge of something dangerous. “You’ve been staring,” she said, smooth, unhurried, but with that unmistakable sharpness beneath the surface. Her head tilted, dark eyes catching the flicker of the club’s neon glow as she studied him. “I can’t tell if I should be flattered or concerned.”

[xndrpressure]

where : Establos Puesta del Sol

who :Celestina (@celestinadlcruz)

Her painted toes wiggled inside her riding boots as she stepped out of her small city car, the worn soil of Establos Puesta del Sol firm beneath her feet. No heels today. No towering stance of power or precision. Just the solid ground—real, unpolished, and steady beneath her. She rolled her shoulders back as she shut the door, barely resisting the sigh that slipped from her lips at the sight of settled dust streaking the red paint. A car wash was inevitable after this. She had clients to meet, deals to close, and an image to maintain. But today? Today wasn’t about work.

It was about grounding herself, about forcing the world to quiet down for just a little while. A return to something familiar, something that still lived in the marrow of her bones. The scent of expensive leather and rosy perfume still clung to her, but already, the wind was replacing it with the raw earthiness of hay and horses. She welcomed it. Reminding her of her time spend in Mexico. Even if her body would ache by the end of the day, it was the kind of exhaustion that came with purpose, not pressure. And right now, she’d take that over the chaos that usually followed her.

“Cel!” she called out for her cousin, her voice cutting through the stillness, effortless but commanding. A few workers turned, glancing her way, but she barely acknowledged them. Let them look. She was here on her own terms, and for once, that was enough.

[xndrpressure]

where : Los Feliz, LA

who : Luciano (@staincdvermillion)

The city never slept, but Antonella had learned how to carve out slivers of silence in the spaces between—between the closing breath of a deal and the first whisper of its consequences, between the inhale of trouble and the exhale of survival. Tonight, that silence barely lasted a second. She stepped out of the car, the cool night air brushing against her skin as she adjusted the cuffs of her jacket. Her eyes swept the street infront of her apartment with the kind of knowing that came from experience, from always expecting the worst in this city. And then, right on cue, there he was—an outline she'd know from any distance, her brother, leaning against a streetlamp like he’d been waiting all damn night.

She let out a slow breath, tilting her head as a smirk tugged at her lips. “You always show up when I least expect it,” she mused, voice smooth, touched with something between amusement and warning. She didn’t believe in coincidences. Not in LA. Not with him. The new boss in town, so she had heard. The air between them carried the weight of unspoken things—of past conversations cut short, the impact of the looming shadow of their now late father. May he rest in hell. “So tell me,” she drawled, stepping closer, heels clicking against the pavement, “is this just bad omen for me, or are you looking for something?”

[xndrpressure]

where : The Royal bid hous

who :Dilan (@dilanseyfi)

The air inside Royal Bid House always smelled expensive—like aged leather, ink on crisp contracts, and the kind of money that didn’t always need to announce itself. Whatever kind of air-freshener they picked to accomplish it, it sure always smelled a bit like home. Antonella had learned to move through these halls more like a ghost, always present, always watching, never lingering long enough for anyone to pin her down. Not unless she wanted to be seen. But tonight, she wasn’t the one doing the watching. She felt it before she saw it, a tingling feeling at the back of her neck as she observed LA from behind the tinted window—that quiet weight of someone waiting.

She turned, slow and deliberate, catching the assistant standing just outside the threshold of her office. “Let me guess,” she drawled, crossing her arms, “you flipped a coin before knocking and lost.” What followed was a beat of silence. She was hardly the kind of woman to with easy problems, or to have a nice little chat. Not at work, anyway. “Go on, then,” she said, tilting her head just slightly. “Tell me what’s got you looking like you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

[xndrpressure]

EIZA GONZÁLEZ Photographed by Robby Klein at SXSW 9.3.2025

[xndrpressure]

❧ //. Is that ANTONELLA CABRERA NÉE DE LA CRUZ? I heard the TWENTY NINE year old works as an ACQUISITION SPECIALIST AT THE ROYAL BID HOUSE. Which makes sense, seeing how they are ANALYTICAL, but can also be UNPREDICTABLE. Do they know what’s going on in the city? I heard they are a CLEAN CIVILIAN

_____________________________________________________________

    &.AESTHETICS ,   BIOGRAPHY   , MUSING ,  PLAYLIST  ,  PINTEREST  ,

[xndrpressure]

EIZA GONZALEZ via instagram

[xndrpressure]

Delyse didn’t mean to smile, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her, lifting just slightly at the other woman’s praise. She’d never set out to be assertive for show—or for the sake of womankind, for that matter. She did it because working among a sea of brutes meant she either held her own or got drowned in their bullshit.

“I think it’s a mix of exposure therapy and a deep-seated allergy to other people’s nonsense,” she said with a shrug, setting her drink tray on the bar before reaching into a cabinet for a fancier glass.

“A cocktail made by my hand?” Her lips twitched with amusement. “You don’t need me as a teacher—you’re already a brave woman. The sign on the wall doesn’t say it, but the good patrons know I don’t exactly measure things by the book.”

With her elbow rooted in place and her chin cushioned against the bony jut of her knuckles, Angelica leaned over the polished surface of the counter, a curious look settling on her doe-eyed face as she watched the scene unfold with something like an awe-struck expression.

Men. She would usually sneer, like most women, rolling her eyes out of habit and swallowing down the faint disgust clinging to the back of her throat. And then she would go about her day. Did anybody ever stop or intervene? Sometimes, she wondered how culpable everyone else was—sitting at their tables, pretending not to see. Not that she thought this was anything out of the ordinary for a waitress to endure. Hell, she doubted this was even the first gross comment made by some yellow-toothed caveman today.

No matter. It didn’t seem like the girl needed a hand after all. She looked more than capable of handling herself—and anyone else who wanted to come along, for that matter.

Angelica had picked up the odd job here to keep herself afloat while studying, dealing with her fair share of weirdos, but never with the same effortless authority in her voice. She frankly didn’t think she had the commanding presence to sell the act, even if she wanted to.

"Um, yeah—well, I was gonna order a cocktail," she admitted, realizing she had gotten a bit distracted by the commotion. "But if you're selling a course on how to do that—I'd looove to learn how to do that."

[xndrpressure]

Delyse shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Sometimes, we just gotta take a thing or two for ourselves—celebrate small successes and shit. Or pick ourselves up when the world decides to knock us down again. So yeah, local women’s day it is.”

She caught the blonde’s silent signal—an empty beer bottle lifted in her direction—and was already halfway to the fridge before she even processed the thought. A quick flick of her wrist, the cap popped off with a satisfying hiss, and she slid the fresh bottle across the counter like it was second nature.

“Less screaming, more blood? Doesn’t sound too peachy—Though depends on how the screaming stopped.” Her dark eyes flicked up toward the patron as she mentioned getting hit on by a man with a head wound. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “Well, you’re always a beautiful, Tay. I can only imagine what you’d look like in the technicolor glow of the twisted mind of a bashed-in head—must be magical.” A chuckle slipped past her lips. “But ‘angel hands,’ huh? Damn. Guy really thought he had a shot then. Probably spent too many nights watching Grey’s Anatomy with his mom."

Taylor let out a dry laugh, one that was a little hoarse from the cold snap and not enough sleep, then leaned forward against the bar on her elbows, her fingers absently tracing the condensation ring from her last drink. “Local woman’s day, huh?” she said, one brow lifting as she shot Delyse a crooked grin. "Shit, I'll take it." She said, sitting back. “God knows I’m not above free booze.” With a flick of her wrist, she lifted her empty beer bottle, signaling to the other woman she just wanted another beer.

A dramatic sigh fell from her lips before shooting the woman a mock-serious look. “Hospital’s the same. Bit more blood this week, less screaming." She shook her head. "Had some idiot hit on me while he was bleeding from his head. Told me I had angel hands." Her eyes rolled so hard that for a moment she was worried they would stay that way.

"A real charmer."

[xndrpressure]

Delyse’s dark gaze flickered between the stovetop and her fellow crew member as she sauntered over to the table where he sat. His rugged exterior, contrasted by the slightly dorky glasses he removed to rub his eyes, was an amusing contradiction. They were probably prescription, but she couldn’t help but wonder if they also served as a small shield—just enough to fool a cop into thinking his deeds weren’t as dark as they seemed. As he rambled on about speed traps, she listened, idly entertained.

It had been a while since she’d taken her bike out. Long hours, staff shortages, and the mess at home kept her tethered to the grill. But she understood—speed traps were the kind of thing most of the crew could rant about for hours. So she let him finish, allowing the silence to settle before finally speaking.

“It’s casual, but I think instead of a drink, you might need a nice smoke and a nap. Those bags under your eyes don’t exactly scream ‘L.A. designer.’”

Before deciding to take a seat, she made a beeline for the stovetop, casually rummaging through the kitchen cabinets for a mug, as if she were back at the grill rather than someone else’s home.

“Didn’t take you for a tea person, but I’ll join ya,” she said. “And what can I say about the cops? They love their little game of cat and mouse, but I doubt the fanatics will get that spike strip idea past the chief. It’d be unnecessary trouble over something so simple. You’d think they’d have bigger fish to catch.”

( @xndrpressure, delyse, eli's home )"wait, before you say anything, is this just casual or business? i want to know if i should stick to tea or grab a beer." eli admitted as he pointed to the kettle on the stovetop before reaching up to take his glasses off and rub at his eyes, the right one itching again. he didn't need a drink, he needed a nap, but everyone knew there wasn't any rest for the wicked. "oh, hey, you hear about the damn cops and the speed traps? heard there's some push for them to use spike strips, assholes." there would be hell to pay if their bikes ended up damaged, to say the least.

[xndrpressure]

FKA Twigs wearing VALENTINO – Live Performance at the Fall/Winter 2020 show

[xndrpressure]

“I'm not trying to hide the coffee stain; I’m just getting irrationally frustrated by it,” she mumbled, her voice almost too soft to hear—had he not moved closer to her once more. Leaning casually against the desk that bore the weight of her entire working life, she secretly hoped that same casual air could rub off on the stacks of paper, making them appear less intimidating. Her umber gaze shifted from her busy hands to meet his as she felt his eyes on her. There was something gentle in them, hidden beneath the ever-present layer of sensual electricity.

For a moment, she considered a sensual gesture, like touching his hand in a slightly too suggestive way, just to coax out his more daring side—if only to distract him from watching her so carefully. To keep him from seeing more than she wanted anyone to see. But she quickly pushed the thought away. He didn’t deserve that—her acting in such a way for all the wrong reasons. He didn’t deserve to be manipulated when everything he had given her seemed so genuine. So, instead, she blinked a few times to reset her wandering mind and shrugged apologetically. “I guess I work best when I don’t have time to overthink, when I just make efficient decisions. It keeps me on my toes in the game.” She added, knowing all too well that if she ever relaxed, there was a real chance she’d fall apart. “Thank you for understanding and standing by me, regardless. I really appreciate it.”

When he spoke about her hiding from him, she felt a pang of guilt in her chest, followed by the urge to cross her arms in front of her, but not in the way he had. No, once again, she wished to hide—from those gentle eyes that truly saw her, not the picture she painted. Instead, she turned it into a joke, brushing off his serious tone with a raised eyebrow of her own. Hers, however, was more of a challenge. “Oh, I think I do need more clothes on, unstained this time, just to keep you focused on the conversation we’re having over dinner. Because you can’t keep giving me those teasing remarks and smoldering looks all evening. If I’m not put together, at the very least, I need to cover up to save you from yourself.”

She nodded when he suggested ordering from the Thai place, then snorted at the follow-up question. “Did you forget what’s in my genes, Amado? If you don’t order something properly spicy, I’ll reconsider ever letting you cross my doorstep again.” His wink earned him a roll of her eyes, before she marched toward her closet, smiling with her back to him when he offered to keep the couch warm.

She reemerged with a minute to spare, still wearing the same jeans, honoring his suggestion that she didn’t need to be completely pulled together. She’d paired the denim with a black long-sleeved bodysuit made of soft material that was sure to hide any stains, should she be foolish enough to spill again. It also ensured she'd look put together. The messy bun was gone, and her hair now spilled over her shoulders, neatly brushed. She’d restrained herself from doing much makeup, except for a touch of blush and mascara to look a little more alive.

“Alright, see? I’ve kept it casual,” she announced, spinning in place near the desk before heading toward the couch. “When is dinner set to arrive?”

Rafael chuckled at Chloe’s words, that familiar glint in his eyes making it clear he wasn’t fazed by her teasing. He loved her banter, even when she was being all dramatic and trying to brush off his flirtation. “You know you like it, Chloe,” he said with a smirk, making no effort to hide the lingering look he gave her as she moved around. “I’ve always had a way of making you feel special—even when you’re trying to hide that coffee stain.” He sauntered over to her desk, leaning casually against it as she busied herself. His eyes softened as he watched her, the warmth between them something comfortable, yet electric. “You really have a thing for work, huh?” he said, glancing at the stack of papers. “Always running from life in those files. You never let yourself relax, do you?”

His voice softened as he added, almost with a sigh, “But I get it. Work is your escape.” He was used to seeing her in this mode—the strong, ambitious woman who tried so damn hard not to let her guard down. But Rafael could read her, and right now, he could tell there was more beneath the surface. She was fine, but not really fine. As she pulled the shirt off, Rafael didn’t miss the casual confidence in the way she moved, the comfortable sense of herself despite the discomfort she tried to hide. He leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, letting the moment breathe, and gave her a teasing smirk. “Nice. Now that’s better.”

He had no issues with her being ‘less than perfect.’ They’d had their fair share of messy moments together. But he could tell something was eating at her, even if she wouldn’t say it aloud. He raised an eyebrow, his voice a little more serious as he said, “You don’t need to hide it from me, Chloe. I’m not gonna judge. You never have to be ‘put together’ around me.” Her offer for dinner was a welcome distraction, and he loved that she always let him choose—though he'd never let her know that he was already leaning toward Thai. "Basil sounds perfect. Let’s go for something spicy, yeah?" He tossed her a wink as she turned to head off, already anticipating the chance to have a proper conversation later. "You’ve got 10, but I’m keeping the couch warm for you." When she was out of sight, he let himself relax, but that gnawing feeling didn’t quite leave. She was hiding something, but he’d be patient. He’d always been good at waiting for the right moment.

[xndrpressure]

“Well, I’ve heard you’re in the business of luxurious, exclusive private planes, Mister Sanches. I’d say that’s exactly what princesses like, or am I wrong?” She didn’t exactly appreciate the title he’d chosen for her, but she considered herself in no position to argue. Instead, she twisted it, rolling with it as if she were accustomed to being addressed in such a way. She was here to close a successful deal, not to make demands that might harm her chances.

“I’d say both assumptions are accurate,” she continued. “You see, some important family members of a client need to be flown in from across the pond. After the whole ordeal with the Hollow, it’s become difficult to find trustworthy people for such a delicate task.” Chloe let the silence settle for a few beats. Asking whether the leader of a criminal organization could be trusted would, once again, be ridiculous. The real question was what the price would be to ensure the safety of those aboard the plane—because she certainly wasn’t in the mood to be the one to inform her client that their family had met an untimely end, just before she would meet hers.

“So, what’s it going to cost to get your ironclad promise on the highest level of secrecy and security?”

Nightshade had been in operation for roughly twelve years, meaning that as far as Diego knew, the Network had been in operation for five times as long as he had. Chloe herself was more than twice as old as Nightshade, may have even been working for the Network as long as Nightshade existed, but while certain people thought that meant Diego should have more respect for those on the scene before him, he didn't listen.

He would give Chloe respect based on his interactions with her, with what he saw and heard of her character, and not based on something as arbitrary as how long she's been breaking the law. That didn't mean he didn't enjoy the idea of startling her, or that he wasn't curious about just what she wanted with his people.

"It's not every day that the Network princess requests a meeting with one of my people." If Mei Lin were to reach out on official business, Diego wasn't convinced she would come herself, but he didn't see her daughter showing up for a mere errand, either. "Delicate as in you don't want word getting out of what's arriving and don't want it tampered with? Or something else?"

[xndrpressure]

where : Radiance Wellness

who : Parker Zhao (@messypasts)

When Chloe stepped through the door of the private treatment room, her hair pulled up in a messy bun and a soft, plush robe wrapped tightly around her petite frame, she didn’t expect anyone to be on the other side. Even as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she quickly spotted a figure seated in the corner, where a table and three comfortable chairs had been placed. For a moment, her eyes widened, and her jaw almost dropped, but she caught herself in the blink of an eye. She focused on the man—his perfect hair and even more flawless skin making many celebrities justifiably envious. With her head held high and a touch of haughtiness, she crossed the room in a few quick strides. Rather than sitting, she placed her hands on the back of one of the plush chairs, standing tall and watching him with sharp, observant eyes. The lavender scent of the room, which had become a signature fragrance, didn’t seem to overpower the familiar cologne he wore—a scent she had come to recognize as her mother increasingly placed him in the spotlight beside her. She didn’t envy him, not one bit. But for a stranger—an artist—to be chosen over one of her siblings, she knew that decision hadn’t sat well with certain people in the company.

“Didn’t know you had a part-time job as a masseur, Zhao,” she said, her voice laced with a cool edge. “Your presence is far too radiant to be wasted in such a dimly lit room.” She paused, allowing the silence to stretch before she added, “What could possibly be so important that you felt the need to drag me out to a private meeting room?”