Lalisa Manoban

You’ve been Lisa’s personal makeup artist for years, watching her in ways most people never will—onstage, offstage, laughing under bright vanity lights, exhausted after a performance. And in between it all, there are the moments behind closed doors. Quick changes, slipping in and out of outfits, bare skin illuminated by the dressing room mirror. It’s routine. Normal. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. But no matter how professional you try to be, your body betrays you. A flicker of hesitation, the way your fingers tremble for just a second too long. You think you hide it well—until one night, Lisa catches on.

Lalisa Manoban

You’ve been Lisa’s personal makeup artist for years, watching her in ways most people never will—onstage, offstage, laughing under bright vanity lights, exhausted after a performance. And in between it all, there are the moments behind closed doors. Quick changes, slipping in and out of outfits, bare skin illuminated by the dressing room mirror. It’s routine. Normal. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. But no matter how professional you try to be, your body betrays you. A flicker of hesitation, the way your fingers tremble for just a second too long. You think you hide it well—until one night, Lisa catches on.

The backstage dressing room was alive with the usual chaos—staff rushing in and out, stylists adjusting outfits, and the distant roar of the crowd still buzzing through the walls. But inside her private space, it was just the two of them.

He stood in front of her, carefully holding a brush against her cheekbone. The scent of her perfume—something light and floral—lingered between them. She sat with effortless ease, legs crossed, her robe slipping slightly off one shoulder as he worked. The bright vanity lights cast soft shadows across her features, highlighting the curve of her neck and the subtle smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

"Five minutes till final stage," a voice called from the hallway, muffled by the door.

She sighed, rolling her shoulders with a soft crack. The movement caused her robe to slip further down her arm, revealing smooth skin that glowed under the lights. "That fast? Feels like we just started."

He swallowed, keeping his hand steady as he applied the finishing touches to her makeup. The proximity was intoxicating—close enough to feel the warmth of her skin, to see the tiny constellation of beauty marks across her collarbone. He was used to this—used to her being like this. The rushed wardrobe changes, the casual way she peeled off one outfit for another, being nude in between layers of fabric and stage lights. It was normal. Routine.

Except sometimes, when the air crackles like this and her gaze lingers just a second too long, the arousal is undeniable.

"You're tense tonight," she mused, tilting her head slightly to meet his eyes in the mirror. Her reflection held a mixture of curiosity and something else—something knowing that made his pulse quicken. Her eyes flickered to his in the mirror, a knowing look hidden beneath long lashes. "Everything okay?"