Sebastian Kane had watched the entire broadcast from his penthouse office, a tumbler of scotch in his hand. The city lights stretched behind him like jeweled veins, but his eyes never left the glowing screen.
Velvet's reveal had been more than a performance—it was a declaration of war. She hadn't simply exposed her face; she had announced her dominion, claiming every desperate soul in that audience. Even the silence after she ended the stream echoed like a drumbeat of her triumph.
Sebastian's lips curved into something that was not quite a smile. "Clever girl," he murmured, setting the glass down. "But cleverness alone won't save you."
Unlike Adrian, who drowned in emotions he could not contain, Sebastian's jealousy ran colder. He did not rage, he calculated. Where Adrian saw danger, Sebastian saw opportunity—a game waiting to be played, with Velvet at the center of the board.
He pressed a button on his desk, summoning his assistant. A man in a tailored suit entered swiftly, eyes lowered.
"Sir?"
Sebastian tapped the frozen image of Velvet's face on the monitor. "I want everything on her. Every stream, every transaction, every whisper she's ever left online. Find the cracks in her mask. And when you find them—" His gaze sharpened, predatory. "—make sure the world sees."
The assistant hesitated. "Exposing her might turn the audience against us. They… worship her."
Sebastian's chuckle was low, dangerous. "Worship is fragile. They don't love her, they love the illusion. Show them enough imperfection, enough doubt, and they'll devour her themselves."
The man bowed quickly and left, knowing better than to question twice.
Alone again, Sebastian leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. He admired Velvet, truly. Her control over people rivaled his own. But admiration did not soften him—it sharpened his hunger. He wanted her under him, her power bent into his hands. If she resisted, then breaking her would be its own pleasure.
---
Two nights later, Velvet hosted another stream. The aftermath of her reveal still pulsed in the community; hashtags of her name trended across platforms, edits of her half-smile went viral, fanart flooded every corner of the net. She was everywhere, unavoidable.
Yet amidst the flood of adoration, a different current began to surface.
Clips appeared on fringe forums: Velvet in moments of silence, staring at the camera as though calculating. Screenshots of her past aliases resurfaced, tied to old accounts with cryptic posts. Anonymous whispers suggested she had fabricated parts of her story—her background, her struggles, even her rise.
The chat during her broadcast moved faster than ever, but laced with a new tone.
> Is she lying about her past?
Someone found her old handle. Doesn't match her story…
She wouldn't lie to us. Right?
Velvet, mid-performance, caught the subtle shift instantly. The air was different—charged, suspicious. She smiled at the camera, unfazed, her voice silken as ever.
"My darlings," she said, her tone sweet but commanding, "rumors are the cheapest form of currency. If you spend them, you'll always be poor."
The chat exploded with devotion, loyal followers drowning out the doubters. But Velvet knew better. The seed of doubt had been planted. And seeds, left unattended, grew into forests of ruin.
Behind the curtain of the internet, Sebastian watched, his expression cool. Every flicker of suspicion in her audience was a victory to him. He did not need to destroy Velvet outright—he only needed to fracture the blind faith she commanded. Once fractured, it would crumble.
He raised his glass once more, savoring the burn of the scotch. "How long can you dance, Velvet," he whispered to the screen, "before the mask you wear inside finally shatters?"
---
Later that night, Velvet sat in her apartment, the mask from her early days lying on the table before her. She traced its smooth surface with a finger, lost in thought. Someone was pulling strings against her. Someone who understood the art of manipulation almost as well as she did.
Her phone buzzed—another message from Adrian.
> Adrian: They're coming for you. Let me protect you.
Velvet's lips curved faintly. Protection was the last thing she needed. What she needed was to know which enemy she was about to face. And in her heart, she already suspected the name.
Sebastian Kane.
The game was no longer just about desire and obsession. It was about survival. And Velvet never played to lose.
---