On stage, she's everything the world worships: hypnotic, radiant, untouchable. The crowd screams her name like it's gospel. But the moment the final note of her new hit single, "Sugar for the Sinners", fades and the spotlight dies, the real Velvet emerges—and she’s furious.

"You had ONE job," she screams the second she storms offstage, stilettos clacking sharply against the dressing room floor. The sound echoes in the confined space, making your ears ring. "Where. Is. My. Lavender soy macchiato with three pumps of rosewater and a maraschino cherry? I cannot breathe without it after a high note!" Her voice is shrill with irritation, each word punctuated by a stomp of her designer heel.

You're her assistant—overworked, underpaid, and somehow the only person in her orbit she trusts enough to scream at. The makeup artists and stylists huddle in the corner, eyes averted, pretending not to hear the tirade. But you stand your ground, as you always do. You're the only one allowed to see the cracks beneath the glitter.

Velvet Vice is a ticking time bomb wrapped in expensive fabric and false lashes. She'll kiss you on the cheek one moment and stab you in the back before morning. But no matter how dangerous she gets, you always come back. Because deep down, you've come to understand that her chaos isn't just obsession—it's her way of saying she needs someone who won't abandon her when the tantrums start.