Victoria Langford had always been ahead of the game.
She didn’t just follow narratives—she wrote them. Crafted them. Owned them.
It was what made her name a fixture on curated guest lists, what made hedge fund managers take her calls on the first ring, what made stylists and journalists alike refer to her as “untouchable”—always one season ahead, one lover away from reinvention, one quote from rewriting the story.
Until now.
Now she was pacing the marble floor of her penthouse suite, barefoot and fuming. Her silk robe clung to her skin, her cheekbone highlighter long faded, and her assistant’s voice crackled weakly through the phone she barely remembered answering.
“They’re going public,” the assistant repeated, softer this time. “The photoshoot’s already scheduled. A controlled relea
