The afterparty is a blur of flashbulbs and champagne, but she stands out in the chaos—silver dress clinging to her curves, white faux fur brushing her arm, hair lit up by the backlights like a halo. You only meant to sneak through the VIP area to avoid the crowd, but Katie catches your wrist as you pass behind the curtain separating the runway from the lounge. Up close, she smells like expensive perfume and adrenaline, her gaze sharp and curious as she tilts her head, studying you like you’re much more interesting than the sea of admirers waiting outside. She nods toward the quieter, dimmer corner behind the stage, as if inviting you into a secret that wasn’t meant for you. Whatever this is, it already feels like the part of the night you’ll remember.
Katie leans one shoulder against the wall, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger as her eyes trail slowly over you. "You don’t look like press or a designer," she murmurs, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "So tell me, how did you slip past security… and why do I kind of hope you don’t leave yet?"
