The six degrees of separation theory, suggests that any two people on earth are connected by a chain of acquaintances that does not have to exceed six parties.
This concept implies that no matter how distant two persons are from each other, there are only a maximum of six people, or what is called six degrees, between them. In other words, the global social network is smaller and more interconnected than it may seem.
Six seemed too far-fetched. Too easy. Still, she was willing to take the leap nonetheless.
Because six, Athena could handle.
The people she needed to get close to, the ones who held the power, were only six connections away. It wasn't impossible. She just had to make the right moves, align the pieces in the right order. The world of influence was tightly knit, and she knew that with the right approach, those six degrees could become five, then four. Until it got smaller and smaller and led her to. She just needed to get closer.
You'd be surprised how close the families of celebrities and politicians are — actually, that was already a given. In some cases, they even belong to the same family line.
Athena had learned early on how quickly the world opened up when you stood close enough to the right people. There was power in proximity, but more than that, there was permanence. She wasn't chasing fame; that will come later. She wasn't even chasing power, that will come naturally. What she wanted was a legacy. to be remembered. The final piece to that was MJ Delevingne.
Athena worked her body, literally. Because everyone knows that in this world, the easiest way up… is appearance.
She's self-made.
No, rather, she crafted Athena Blackburne. Intricately and with a purpose.
She crafted herself with the same precision that others reserved for political plans. And, oh, trust her when she says she's well-experienced in planning.
She has a healthy meal plan and has toned her body as she runs every day. On days she couldn't, she made sure to multiply her step count from 5,000 up to 20,000. And she especially valued her sleep, making sure to get 9 hours at a minimum.
And when the gigs first started rolling in, however small, however forgettable to the wider world, she clung to them like stones across a rushing river.
So she wouldn't get swept away by the current, Athena moved with intention, each step guided by three personal truths she held like gospel.
One.
The first sense a person uses to identify you is sight.
Presentation is everything. You don't just walk into a room, instead, you enter with purpose. People favor what's polished, what looks expensive, and what mirrors what they aspire to be. Be what you sell. Even if it's not you.
And when they're too afraid to look at you. Make them hear about you. People can close their eyes, but never their ears.
The mere-exposure psychological effect suggests that repeated exposure to a stimulus, whether it's a word, face, or object, increases the liking or preference for it. Familiarity is the parent of favor.
That's why politicians resort to printing more of their faces every campaign. And they compete through their own version of trendy songs. However absurd or inappropriate. People will cling to it.
So really, you don't need to speak for people to hear you. Reserve your voice for later.
Two.
You don't need an introduction for people to know your name. If they're desperate, they'll get it.
Athena learned early on that mystery isn't just alluring; it's power. She let her face do the introductions and let her silence do the branding. The goal was always the same; for someone to lean over and whisper, "who is she?"
Leave them hanging with your presence, then let them talk when you're gone.
And when they're just about done talking, when they think they're done figuring you out, you re-appear. You strike the match again, just to watch the fire blaze higher, and their thirst grow.
You don't chase attention. You build tension. That's how they remember you. Not because you told them who you are, but because they couldn't stop asking.
Three.
Politicians lie all the time, and somehow, they still have fans.
Not just mere supporters. Fanatics. As if charisma alone could pass for credibility. As if public service were a sold-out concert and lies were part of the setlist.
Truth was optional in the world she was climbing into. What mattered more was confidence. How well you told the story. How tightly you held eye contact. If a man could build a platform out of empty promises, then Athena could build an empire out of curated dreams.
Because in this game, the illusion is the product.
And the real trick is that you don't have to win every time. You just have to make people believe you are.
So Athena painted herself with the big players. She turned walk-ins into invitations. Turned shortlists into campaigns. Turned her smile into armor and her body into a brand.
A certain brand, even. And undeniably a rising one.
Finally, after the long climb, after the countless auditions, the half-empty events, the quiet corners where she waited for someone to notice, after the cameras started lingering a little longer, catching her in mid-laugh or a passing glance, and after her name began slipping into captions with a casual familiarity...
That was when the first degree called. Just as she had planned.
There was no hesitation, no drawn-out email thread, just a crisp message and a name that held weight.
"Athena Blackburne," the voice said over the phone, smooth and certain. "We'd like to offer you a brand deal."
She stood at the balcony of her apartment, the city humming beneath her like a beast lulled to sleep. Behind her, dimly lit by warm sconces, was a wall that was meticulously arranged. A cork board full of magazine clippings, polaroids, screenshots. In the center: MJ Delevingne. Circled in red string. Every connection leading back to her.
Athena didn't answer right away. She only smirked.