“Do you remember when pulling up to this building was exciting?” Mirage asked Vice and Victor as the limousine slowed to a stop out front of the gleaming tower of glass with its neon highlights of color drawing the eye into the glossy foyer. A bored security guard watched the red carpet out front through the glass doors, to see what celebrity had gotten the photographers that lingered by standing invitation to capture the comings and goings, and she could see Aaron, in a blue suit, near the reception desk. “Now every time I come here; I feel like I am arming up for a battle.” “I know the feeling,” Victor agreed as they waited for the chauffeur to make his way to the door. “It is just further motivation to start our own label.” “Well, into the fray,” Vice smoothed the lapel of his jacket as the driver opened the door, standing back crisply. Vice stepped out, raising his hand, and beaming at the photographers, before reaching back into the limo to hand Mirage out. “Watch your skirt,”

“Are you ready?” Vice asked her, his voice low. “If you feel tired…” Mirage could hear the music pouring out of the venue in the occasional breaks in the roar from the crowds gathered around the red carpet as the limousine driver opened the door. The crowd pressed against the barricades trying to see who was in the car. “I am fine,” she assured him. “Fit as a fiddle.” Both he and Victor would happily have kept her home and in bed forever more, she thought, amused. Vice lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles before releasing her. She watched him slide elegantly out of the car, something only he could do, she was certain. The man simply oozed elegance in every movement, like a sleekly coated panther. She heard the crowds scream his name, excitement rising the pitch, and the flash as cameras went into a frenzy, and his laughter, enjoying their admiration. Vain boy, Natalia called him fondly. As usually, Victor’s mother was entirely correct. But Mirage loved the vain boy