The morning air was biting, a crisp reminder that winter was refusing to let go of the capital. Sarah pulled the luxury van up to the curb of the 'L'Éclat de l'Iris' flagship studio, her hands still shaking slightly on the steering wheel. She had spent the entire night reviewing the contract, half-expecting it to vanish like a dream.
"Yingying, listen to me," Sarah said, turning to look at the woman in the back seat. "The creative director, Monsieur Laurent, is notorious. He's worked with the elites in the industry for years. They're probably going to be looking for any reason to say you don't fit the brand. Stay cold, stay professional, and let your face do the talking."
Chen Ying stepped out of the van, her expression unreadable. She wasn't nervous. After surviving a world where she had to navigate the treacherous courts of a dying dynasty, a perfume photoshoot felt like child's play.
