The air in the studio buzzed with a mixture of tension and excitement as the team prepared for Elara's photoshoot. Stylists zipped around, adjusting lights, fluffing hair, and rearranging props like they were on a caffeine-fueled power trip. Amara stood off to the side, arms crossed, trying to look like she belonged. In reality, she felt like an overgrown child who had wandered into a movie set by accident.
Marisol, as usual, was in full control, barking orders and coordinating the chaos. "I want that light moved over there. No, not like that are you trying to fry her alive? And someone get a fan. We need that wind-blown, effortlessly cool look."
