The room was lined with polished tables of champagne and canapés, guests swirling with glass in hand, talking in the clipped, casual tones of the privileged. V’s eyes darted from one circle of laughter to the next, uncomfortable under the weight of attention he didn’t ask for. The murmurs shifted as soon as he walked by.

“He’s prettier than I expected,” a woman said with voice laced with amusement, brushing her hair from her face. “The camera doesn’t do him justice.”

“He’s all softness,” an older man replied, sneering lightly. “Bet he’s fragile. Can’t imagine him handling anything serious.”

V’s stomach twisted. He felt like he was a jewel being scrutinized for value. H tightened his fingers around the stem of his champagne glass a waitress offered him earlier. He offered a polite smile, nodding as though the comments didn’t sting. But the words scraped against him, sharpening his awareness of the room. He sipped from his glass, steadying his nerves. Just a minute longer, he told himself.

A man approached from the side. He was tall, wearing an expensive suit. His hand grazed V’s waist as he leaned in, voice smooth. “You’ve got the look of someone who’s searching for the right company.”

V stepped back carefully and politely. “Thank you, but I’m fine on my own.”

The man laughed, brushing his fingers across V’s arm again. “Nonsense. You’re here. You have no right to be such a diva. With the right amount, I could have you.”

V's hand twitched. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying so hard not to slap the man in front of him. Around them, eyes were curious. Some were whispering. Some were smirking openly like they were enjoying a play. A woman murmured, “He’s a tease, isn’t he? Watch him squirm.”

The man’s grin widened. “Ah, he’s not squirming. He’s just…” He trailed off, letting the insinuation hang.

V stiffened. “I’m not making any fuss.”

“Fuss?” The man’s voice sharpened. “It’s your choice to be so stiff. Some would call it cold.”

Another guest, hovering nearby, murmured, “Actors these days. Always so dramatic. Imagine being spoiled with attention and not taking it.”

V’s stomach twisted into knots. He could feel the weight of the room pressing on him. He felt trapped in his own skin.

He tried to edge toward the nearest exit, weaving between the clusters of laughter and perfume, but the man reached again, fingertips grazing his shoulder. V’s heart hammered. “I really need some air,” he said firmly and loudly.

“Air?” the man chuckled, almost mocking. “Just breathe here. To be admired.”

“I didn’t ask to be admired,” V shot back, forcing control over his shaking limbs. “I just—”

He realized that a haze started to creep in, a subtle fog in the edges of his vision. His limbs felt heavier, his coordination slowing, but panic lent him brittle strength. He tugged at the man’s hand, shaking it off, retreating. “I’m leaving.”

“Leave?” the older man said, voice edged with insult. “Not so fast. You think anyone will let you walk away?”

The eyes around him had turned sharper now, hungry for the spectacle.

Someone nearby, chuckling, muttered, “I like challenging ones. But how much of the resistance true?”

Another whispered to a friend, smirking, “He’s playing hard to get.”

He edged toward the side of the room, navigating between groups of whispering, preening people. Another actor smirked as he passed, murmuring to his companion, “Look at him. Damn. I wish I have that looks then I wouldn’t be trying so hard.”

V’s heart hammered. He could feel the drug in his drink beginning to whisper at the edges of his senses. He spotted a door. With every ounce of his strength, he pushed through the crowd, knocking over a tray of glasses. Laughter and curses followed him as he stumbled into the hallway.

Somewhere behind him, the man’s voice cut through, low and amused. “You act like you dislike attention yet you parade yourself around like this.”

V pushed forward, each step heavier than the last. The hallway seemed endless, fluorescent lights streaking into blurred lines as the drug seeped into his bloodstream. He shouldn’t have drunk anything. He was careless.

V pressed himself harder against the wall, his hands trembling uncontrollably. He slapped his own cheeks, hard enough to sting, pinched his arms, dug his nails into his palms and arms over and over. His face burned from the repeated pinches and scratches, but he didn’t care. He didn’t know if it helped. Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t. The stinging was the only thing he thought that cut through the haze.

Part of him hated himself for letting it happen. Hated that he had been lured into a room full of predatory eyes, the kind of people who would see him as an object first and a person only if convenient. His chest tightened, throat raw as his thoughts spiraled faster than his heartbeat. How had he not known better? How had he trusted that his manager would be enough, that she would know the truth about what he was walking into? He had been in the industry long enough to know things weren't always sunshines and rainbows.

He remembered the offhand comment: only one of the higher-ups had recommended he come. A single name, whispered like a suggestion, and nothing more. That should have been a red flag. That should have made him walk away immediately. Instead, he had smiled, stepped in, and now he was here, crouched in a shadowed corner, the faint perfume and chemical traces from the party still clinging to him like a warning he had ignored.

The horror twisted further. He pictured the faces in the crowd—the greedy, hungry eyes, the casual violations, the whispers behind him. Some of the actors mingled too, laughing and holding drinks like nothing had happened.

He thought he might collapse, that the drug would claim him before he could reach the stairs.

A presence behind him snapped through the fog. He felt a hand clutch his wrist, firm and demanding. “Not so fast,” the man said like a predator enjoying the thrill of the hunt.

V’s vision blurred, mind spiraling between panic and self-preservation. Instinct surged. He swung with every ounce of strength left, connecting with the man’s jaw. A sharp, satisfying thud echoed, mingled with gasps, laughter, and whistles from the shadows lining the hallway.

“Can I have him?” a voice called out, dripping with amusement. “I like fierce ones.” Another laughed, clapping slowly. “Don’t let him get away. Look at him go!”

The voices, the footsteps, the whistles—it all twisted together into a disorienting symphony.

V lay on the cold floor, body trembling, his hands pressed to the tiles as if clinging to reality. He reached for his phone, fumbling blindly, the screen smeared and spinning under the dim lights. The name he dialed barely registered in his fogged mind.

A hand shot down, snatching the phone away. “Who are you calling?”

“It’d be funny if it’s the police.”

“Oh, someone answered.”

“Exciting.”

“Maybe a girlfriend?”

“Lure them.”

V tried to push himself up, fingers clawing the floor, but weakness stole his strength. Regret pulsed through him, thick and acidic, mingling with the fear that his escape was slipping further out of reach.

The last thing he registered before the darkness swallowed him was the laughter, all-consuming, echoing above the spinning, suffocating haze.