With an unexpected encounter

The studio door swung open. In the waiting room, with its bourgeois carpet and soft lighting, the subscription members conversed over glasses of champagne. The polite murmur stopped abruptly when Magi, Cloe, and Lara appeared in the doorway, transformed into creatures of ultraviolet light and infinitesimal lycra.

It was then that Magi saw him.

Him. The BMW driver. Leaning against the auxiliary bar, with a glass of cognac in his hand. He wore an impeccable sand-colored linen suit. His gaze, gray and calculating, slid over her without a hint of recognition. The evaluation was cold, aesthetic. To him, she was just another piece of furniture in the decor.

A chill of ice ran down Magi's spine. The humiliation of that night transformed into something worse: insignificance. Her brokenness had been so minuscule in his world that it didn't even merit a nod.

"Gentlemen," May announced in a clear voice. "Your stars are ready for the album."

But there was no time for personal horror. May began to orchestrate the session with the ferocity of a general on a battlefield, and each command, each correction, was a projectile that impacted Magi's consciousness, shattering any possibility of retreating into her thoughts.

"Magi, in profile. Arch your back to the limit. Let the curve of your spine show." A sharp pain shot through her lower back, but she obeyed. The flash blinded her.

"Cloe, on your knees. Lower your shoulders! Tilt your head! Look at the camera as if you're begging for your life!" Cloe, with silent tears sliding down her cheeks, adjusted her pose under the yoke of May's voice.

"Lara, on the floor. Spread your legs more. I don't care if something shows. We're creating art! They're paying to see!"

Every order was a whip that kept them in a state of brutal tension. There was no room to wander.

"Link up. Magi, your arm around Cloe's neck, not her shoulder. Cloe, your hand on Lara's thigh, not her hip. Higher! Yes, there!" May manipulated them like rag dolls, adjusting their limbs with relentless hands. The **** contact of sweaty skin against skin was as uncomfortable as the exposure itself.

"Mr. Miller, stand behind Magi. Your hand not on her waist, on her belly. Press. As if she were yours. YES! Flash."

"Mrs. Vanderbilt, sit down. Lara, at her feet. Not like that, like a dog. Lean on her knee!"

Every time Magi tried to search for the BMW man's gaze, May's voice thundered, demanding her complete, absolute, unconditional attention.

It was a constant bombardment, a cacophony of orders and insults that offered no respite. Magi's obsession with the man in the linen suit dissolved under the abrasive pressure of May's direction. He became a peripheral figure, just another spectator in the grandiose theater of humiliation May was directing.

In a moment of relative calm, with May correcting Cloe's position, Lara approached Magi. Without looking at her, she murmured forward:

"That one in the light linen... the one with the cognac glass. That's Alexander Vance. Vance Real Estate. He has more money than May." The information was given flatly, a useful piece of intelligence in their distorted world. To Lara, giving the man a name and a fortune was like cataloging a predator: knowing its species made it more predictable, less personal.

Magi nodded slightly, without responding. Alexander Vance. The name sounded like a dull thud in her mind. He was no longer "the BMW driver." Now he had an identity. And that, in a way, made him more real, and his indifference, more painful.

Until the climax arrived.

"The final photo!" May announced, raising her voice. "Alexander, the place of honor is for you."

Hearing the name, Magi held her breath. Alexander. May called him by his first name.

"Alexander, here in the center. Magi, in front of him, with your back to his chest. Lean against him. Alexander, your hands on her waist."

Alexander's hands closed around her waist. His fingers with the cold ring rested on the marks of the elastic straps. There was no recognition in the touch. Only possession.

"Everyone around!" May ordered.

The rest of the members crowded in. Anonymous hands rested on their bodies, on their hips, their shoulders. Magi felt a stranger's breath on the back of her neck, the pressure of fingers on her thigh. Alexander remained unperturbed, smiling at the camera like the perfect host of a macabre party.

Flashes exploded a dozen times, freezing the moment when Magi stopped mattering even to herself.

When it was over, Alexander separated from her immediately.

"Excellent, May. As always," he said, with a casual pat on her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.