Villain Ch 1642. Too Mainstream
The dressing trailer was cool, quiet, and smelled faintly of eucalyptus, hair product, and expensive leather. Allen sat in the chair, one leg crossed over the other, posture relaxed but unmistakably sharp—like he was conserving energy, not resting.
A stylist moved carefully around him, adjusting strands of his hair with a comb that never quite touched his scalp. Another dabbed something near his cheekbone with a sponge, muttering about light balance and camera shine. His reflection in the vanity mirror was already flawless, but they moved like priests before a sacred altar.
Allen didn't mind. Not really.
But his gaze flicked toward the slitted trailer blinds, where just beyond, he could see flashes of the set—the curved fake ruins and that godsdamn fountain that looked like it belonged in a budget fantasy MMO ad, not a CEO branding campaign.
He finally broke the silence.
