August 6th, 2025
At Tokyo Dome - 6:23 PM
The echo of music and pre-show bustle vibrated through the walls of Tokyo Dome.
Inside a sleek, opulent private dressing room, assistants hurried like bees, carrying makeup kits, adjusting lights, organizing elaborate costumes, and offering bottles of mineral water.
The air smelled of expensive perfume and hair spray, the scent of anticipation before the storm of spotlight.
Foxxy, the enigmatic performer known for her piercing stage presence and silver fox mask, sat quietly as one of her assistants carefully lined her eyelids. Her demeanor, as usual, was poised and mysterious.
Beside her, Isabelle Ravenglass, radiant in a wine-red bodysuit adorned with sequins, was casually applying deep crimson lipstick with the finesse of a deadly courtesan.
Madison Hart, the statuesque brunette known as the queen of the Hollywood action, lounged on a leather chaise like an Amazonian monarch. Legs crossed, manicured nails tapping against her phone, she scrolled with a bored expression, but her presence made it impossible for anyone in the room not to glance her way - especially the men.
The door shut behind the last assistant, and the room quieted for a moment.
Isabelle turned her head slightly, still painting her lips. Her smile never wavered as she spoke, her tone casual but laced with something sharper beneath.
"Foxxy," Isabelle said softly, eyes locked on the mirror. "What's your connection to Ian Everhart?"
Foxxy's hand froze halfway through applying her lipstick. Her silver fox mask reflected faintly in the mirror. She didn't answer right away.
The silence was heavy.
She lowered her lipstick, slowly capped it, and looked at Isabelle's reflection. "I have to fix something," she murmured, rising abruptly from her seat.
She strode across the room, graceful but clearly rattled, and disappeared into the bathroom. The door shut behind her with a quiet click.
Isabelle didn't move. She just smiled.
"Interesting," she muttered to herself, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes shimmered with a strange, eerie glint, as if they belonged to someone not entirely sane.
Inside the bathroom, Foxxy braced her gloved hands on the sink, her chest rising and falling with a mix of irritation and unease.
"That fucking man again... Ruth Tachibana and now, Isabelle Ravenglass?" she hissed to herself.
She turned on the faucet, washing her hands. The silence was eerie. Then -
Creak.
The bathroom door opened behind her.
Foxxy spun around, her reflexes honed from years in both the spotlight and the shadows.
Isabelle stood in the doorway, but gone was the charismatic smile she wore for cameras. This was something else.
A crooked smile. Cold. Predatory. Psychotic.
"I asked you a question, Foxxy," she said, stepping forward. Her voice dropped several octaves. Controlled. Dangerous.
"Ian Everhart who?" Foxxy said, trying to dodge it again.
"Trust me, you don't want to play this game with me." Isabelle cooed, tilting her head with serpentine grace.
Silence again. Foxxy exhaled slowly, calculating. She couldn't dodge this any longer.
Isabelle knew something - probably fed to her by that relentless detective she paid with.
"I helped him," Foxxy finally said, her voice composed but cold. "I helped him deal with his own shitty and pitiful situation. That's all."
"Why?" Isabelle asked, stepping closer. Her eyes, a shade too wide to be normal, never left Foxxy's face.
Foxxy stared back, unblinking.
"In exchange," she said, her voice lower, quieter, "for him to leave Ruth Tachibana alone."
Isabelle stopped.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. Her smile faded.
"Who's Ruth Tachibana?"
Foxxy folded her arms and leaned against the sink, like she'd been waiting for that question.
"His ex-girlfriend."
The air grew still. The thrum of the crowd outside felt a thousand miles away now.
"And why would you want him away from her?" Isabelle asked, but her voice was different now. Not threatening, just... curious. Hollow.
Foxxy's gaze hardened. "Because...it's not your fucking business."
Isabelle blinked slowly, taking in that answer. Her mouth formed a tight line.
"Very interesting," she whispered.
"What did you say?" Foxxy asked.
"Nothing." Isabelle turned around and walked out of the bathroom, her heels echoing. Her figure disappeared behind the door, leaving Foxxy alone again.
Foxxy breathed out, her chest tight.
Back in the dressing room, Isabelle returned to her seat, her face a mask of poise once more. Madison glanced up from her phone, eyeing Isabelle for a second too long.
"You look like you just murdered someone in the bathroom," Madison said coolly.
Isabelle smiled again, all charm now. "Just stretching."
Foxxy emerged shortly after, her mask firmly in place, her composure restored - at least on the surface. She resumed her seat without a word.
The assistants returned. The show was about to begin. Lights dimmed. Excitement surged. But inside that room, tension crackled like live wire.
Foxxy applied her lipstick again, the same red she always wore.
And Isabelle? She watched her through the mirror.
Smiling.
Thinking.
Plotting.
Behind every beautiful woman in Tokyo tonight, there was a secret.
And all of them led back to Ian Everhart.