I'm an A-list actress. But I have the worst makeup artists in the business, my boyfriend, Dorian Cross. Every time he touches my face, he turns me into a failed Picasso painting. And the night before the Vanity Fair Oscar Party, the biggest night of my career. He pressed a serum mask loaded with chemical irritants against my skin. Until my face was so badly burned I couldn't even get foundation on. He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around my waist: "Baby, I can't figure it out. I really can't figure it out." I just sighed. Later I snapped a photo of his profile when he was working and posted it. [HELP. This man destroys my face every time.] [Ma'am you're kind of asking the impossible here] [Hold on! Do you guys not know who he is? He used to be the super model Odette Laurent's personal makeup artist. He designed the look behind her most iconic shoot.] [Girl, are you sure he's not doing it on purpose? Did you piss him off?] He literally formulated the serum the British royals use. There's no way he's accidentally burning your skin. I touched my still-raw cheek. A push notification hit my screen: [Odette Laurent makes her comeback and stuns at the Vanity Fair Oscar Party.] The party I'd just missed. Because of my face. "Dorian, have you seen Vesper's face?" Dorian's brother's voice carried through the phone as I stopped outside the door. "Honestly looks terrifying. She used to be so pretty. Now I'm having nightmares." My chest went tight. Dorian's voice cooled: "I don‘t care. She's not my girlfriend." "Oh, my bad — Odette's the real one. And honestly? If Dorian hadn't given Vesper the wrong face mask, her comeback wouldn't have hit half as hard. This whole thing was genius." I covered my mouth. His sister's voice chimed in: "He knew Vesper would steal Odette's thunder, so he made sure she couldn't show up. I'd love to see her try to walk a red carpet looking like that. Watching her suffer? Honestly, I'm living." Dorian, flat and unbothered: "It was Odette's comeback. It mattered to her." "Please — when has Odette's anything not mattered to you? Remember that tiny cable interview three years ago? You pulled three all-nighters designing her look. We genuinely thought you were going to drop dead." Tears slid down my face without a sound. Dorian let out a quiet laugh. The call ended. Through the gap in the door, I watched him scroll his phone. The internet was losing its mind over Odette's look from last night. Every beauty account was breaking it down, replicating it — posts racking up twenty thousand likes minimum. He scrolled through the #QueenIsBack tag, pausing on photo after photo of Odette. A smile crept onto his face. And in the second I saw it, I finally understood what his real smile looked like. So the one he'd been giving me all this time — that was fake. He kept scrolling. Hit pieces about me. [Vesper Sinclair skips Oscar Party — too scared to face Odette Laurent?] The top comment was a photo of Odette from last night: Honey, Vesper could never. Odette isn't just back — she's untouchable. Dorian let out a short laugh. My legs went weak. I made it back to my dressing room. Looked at myself in the mirror. Red, raw, broken skin in patches — one spot near my cheekbone had started to weep. I touched it. Like pressing a bruise, but with needles. My phone buzzed. A message from him: [How's your skin today? Any better?]
I stared at the message on my screen. Then I put the phone face-down and didn't answer. I called Nyx instead — a Gen-Z TikTok makeup artist I'd been following. Underground, no industry ties and no agenda. She showed up with a full kit. She'd barely gotten started when Dorian appeared in the doorway. "Why aren't you replying to me?" He crossed the room and gently cupped my face, tilting it toward the light. "It looks better than yesterday. I've been—" I turned my face away. His hand froze in the air. "Vesper?" "I think you should take a break from my prep for now," I said. "Nyx will handle it." "You're mad at me." He seemed to be a better actor than I was. Every time he "accidentally" ruins my makeup, he feels guilty and gets even more anxious than I do. Now he's resorting to this trick again. Acting pitiful. Even Nyx glanced up for half a second. Only I stayed cold: "Go back and practice. I don't need you here." He looked at me for a long moment. His eyes went slightly wet. He murmured something to Nyx about my skin sensitivity, then left. "Vesper, he's not that bad—" one of the assistants started. "Drop it," Nyx cut in, already uncapping a brush. "He wrecked her face. She's allowed." Nyx's team worked their magic. By the time I got home that evening, the pain was mostly gone. I unlocked the door quietly. Dorian was on the phone in the living room, back to me. "You think I went too far? Did she ever go easy on Odette?" "She's the reason Odette spiraled for three years. Three years off every major stage — she could've gone international by now. " "Vesper did that. So who's going to give Odette back those three years?" Odette Laurent? When had I ever done anything to Odette? "If Vesper hadn't pushed her into that depression — forced her out of the industry for three years — Odette would be a global name by now. " "I spent three years pulling her back from the edge. Three years before she finally had the guts to come back. Vesper took that from her. " "She only burned a face. But who compensates Odette for three years?" Tears hit without warning. I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor. Only I and a few other artists knew the truth about Odette's previous depression. Odette had gotten tangled up with a married studio executive. His wife had put out the word — Odette's career, her safety, everything was on the line. Odette was terrified. She begged everyone who knew to stay quiet. I stayed quiet for three years. Without a word. The executive's wife died of cancer six months ago. And right on schedule, Odette's "depression" made a full recovery. So this whole time, Odette had been telling Dorian that I drove her to it? I pressed both hands over my eyes. Odette had Dorian to make up for her three years. Who was going to make up for mine? This Oscar Party was supposed to be my shot at breaking internationally. Instead I didn't show. And the major jewelry partnership pulled out the same night. My stomach turned over. I made it to the bathroom just in time. Apparently, when you find out your partner has been playing you, your body just — reacts. "Vesper?" Dorian appeared in the doorway. Rushed over to rub my back, face full of concern. I pushed his hand off. "Vesper—" I wiped my mouth. Stood up straight. "You're not my makeup artist anymore."
"Vesper—" His voice cracked, just barely. I walked to the bedroom and lay down. He followed. Sat on the edge of the bed. "I promise it won't happen again. Please don't shut me out — okay?" I pulled my hand out of his and closed my eyes. "I'm tired." He went quiet. A long time passed. Then I heard him stand. Careful footsteps across the floor. He turned off the light and gently closed the door. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. Tears ran sideways into my hair. After that, I stopped letting him anywhere near my prep. Nyx's team handled everything. Dorian didn't push. He just — lingered. Hovering at the edge of makeup room I was in, watching from a distance. When I accidentally caught his eye, he'd drop his head and walk away. Without him, my skin healed fast. Visibly, almost by the day. Within a few weeks, it was down to a faint redness. Easy to cover. My doctor said I was ninety percent recovered. And on the red carpets, I started trending again. Three years ago, I'd already been pulling ahead of Odette. Three years later, my face could still hold its own against hers. I don't play the comparison game. It's not my style. But Odette and Dorian came at me first. They wanted to ruin my face and hand her the crown. Fine. The Vanity Fair after-party — Hollywood's unofficial power gathering — was in three days. I was going to remind Odette exactly why she was afraid of me three years ago.
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