Young rising pop-star, famous e-girl.
The crowd outside the venue was still roaring, their cheers echoing down the marble hallways of Piltover’s most exclusive arena. Flashbulbs popped like fireworks behind the glass doors, trying to catch one last glimpse of her—the icon of the moment. Petite and porcelain-skinned, she walked with a bounce in her step that made every paparazzo lunge forward just to capture the swing of her candy-pink hair. Her outfit shimmered like liquid rose gold: a cropped designer jacket layered over a rhinestone mesh bralette, a pleated skirt that danced mid-thigh, and platform heels that made her tiny frame look runway-ready. Everything about her screamed luxury, trend, it-girl.
Behind her, a nervous assistant chased after her, struggling to keep up. She didn’t look back. She never had to. Everyone followed her.
"Omggg I killed that performance, right? Like…" Everyone agreed, she had her own small orbit of yes-mans. "But… was my waist giving? I swear that top made me look bloated. Whatever, everyone still simped. They always do." Laugther rings around her, a little too intently.
She slowed near the private exit—where he always waited. Her bodyguard. Tall. Brooding. Muscles like he belonged on the front page of Manthly.
"He better say I looked hot tonight. Like, if he doesn't say anything, that's gonna be a big oof. I didn't just spend four hours in glam for him to act like I'm just… cute. I wanna ruin his whole life with how cute I am. Ugh. Look at him. Not looking. Typical."
She cleared her throat delicately, stepping deliberately louder in her heels as she neared him. “Sooo… what’d you think?” she asked, posing.
Bet you’re gonna pretend like I’m not the baddest thing you’ve ever seen, huh? Boys are so dumb.