Objectified: Episode 01 - "Exposure"

I was nothing to her. Less than nothing.

That's what made me want to break her.

LENS Studios buzzed with the familiar chaos of a high-fashion shoot--assistants scurrying with reflectors, makeup artists touching up already flawless faces, the photographer barking orders while stylists fussed over clothing worth more than my monthly rent. I moved through it all like a ghost, setting up lights where directed, adjusting equipment, fetching coffee--a nameless cog in the machine.

That's what she saw, anyway. Viridiana Reyes. Vi.

She arrived forty minutes late, striding in wearing oversized sunglasses despite the overcast day, wrapped in a black cashmere coat that probably cost five grand. The entire energy of the studio shifted when she entered--voices hushed, bodies moved out of her path instinctively. She didn't acknowledge anyone, just made a direct line to hair and makeup.

"You're late," Marco said, not looking up from his camera. Marco Visconti, Italian, mid-forties, renowned for transforming already beautiful women into something ethereal on film. Also renowned for fucking half his subjects.

"Traffic," Vi replied, slipping off her coat and handing it to a waiting assistant without looking at them. Her voice had this quality--bored indifference with an undercurrent of something sharper. "The driver took Fifth instead of Park."

I watched her from my position by the lighting setup. Vi wasn't like the other models. For one thing, she was older--twenty-seven, ancient in industry terms. But she'd built something more durable than most: a reputation not just for her look but for her brain. The model with the PhD. It was her brand, this combination of physical perfection and intellectual superiority. It made her untouchable.

"Danny," Marco snapped, interrupting my observation. "The main key light needs to be two feet higher. And where's my goddamn espresso?"

I adjusted the light without comment and retrieved his coffee from the craft table. When I returned, Vi was seated in makeup, scrolling through her phone while a woman worked on her face. I placed Marco's espresso beside him.

"Get Sophia ready next," Marco said, squinting at his monitor. "Vi's going to need at least an hour in makeup to look presentable."

Vi didn't react to the bait. Didn't even blink. Just continued scrolling through her phone as if no one had spoken.

I moved toward the dressing area where Sophia waited. Sophia Miller, twenty-two, relatively new to the agency but rising fast. Long chestnut hair, wide-set blue eyes, pouty mouth. Beautiful in an accessible way, lacking Vi's untouchable quality.

"Hey," she said when I approached. Her smile was genuine--a rarity in this business. "You're Danny, right? Marco's new assistant?"

"Four months in," I said, returning her smile with my harmless one. "Marco says you're up next."

"Oh!" She sat up straighter, excitement visible. This was a big shoot for her--Marco Visconti for Vogue Italia. Career-making. "Thanks for letting me know."

I nodded and turned to leave.

"Wait," she called after me. "Could you... I don't know where the bathroom is in this place."

"Down the hall, third door on the left," I said.

She hesitated. "Would you mind showing me? This place is like a maze."

I paused, studying her face. Her expression was open, but there was something else there--a slight dilation of her pupils, a barely perceptible bite of her lower lip. This wasn't about finding the bathroom.

"Sure," I said.

I led her through the maze of hallways, away from the main studio space. LENS occupied an entire floor of a converted warehouse in Chelsea, a labyrinth of shooting spaces, storage rooms, and offices. We passed a few assistants and stylists who barely glanced at us.

"You don't talk much," Sophia observed.

"Not much to say."

"Mysterious." She laughed lightly. "Most guys in this industry never shut up about themselves."

I stopped at the bathroom door. "Here you go."

Instead of going in, she leaned against the wall beside it. "How'd you end up working for Marco? He's kind of a legend."

"Right place, right time." I shrugged. "I was freelancing, he needed someone who understood both digital and analog setups."

"You're different," she said, studying my face. "From the others."

I let one corner of my mouth lift. "Different how?"

"You actually see what's happening. Everyone else is so caught up in their own bullshit." She took a half step closer. "You watch people."

"Part of the job."

"What do you see when you watch me?" Her voice dropped, turned honeyed.

I met her gaze directly for the first time, dropping the harmless assistant act for just a moment. "I see someone smart enough to know that connections matter more than talent in this business."

Her eyes widened slightly, then narrowed with interest. "And what about Vi? What do you see when you watch her?"

The question surprised me. I considered my answer carefully. "Someone who's built walls so high she's trapped herself inside them."

Sophia's smile turned knowing. "God, you've got it bad for her already."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." She reached out, fingers brushing my wrist. "Everyone falls for Vi eventually. She has that effect. But trust me--she doesn't fuck the help."

I raised an eyebrow. "And you do?"

Sophia laughed, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. "I didn't say that." She mimicked my tone perfectly. "But I am staying at The Chelsea. Room 718. The shoot should wrap by eight." She pushed off the wall and finally entered the bathroom, leaving me alone in the hallway.

I returned to the main studio to find Vi now seated under the lights, Marco directing her through a series of poses. She wore a sculptural black dress that left one shoulder bare, exposing the elegant line of her neck and collarbone. Her hair was pulled back severely, emphasizing the sharp angles of her face.

"Chin down," Marco directed. "Eyes to me. Yes, like that."

I moved around the periphery, adjusting lights as needed, watching. Vi transformed in front of the camera--not becoming someone else but distilling herself into something purer, more concentrated. Every movement was deliberate, controlled. She knew exactly what her body was doing, how the light was hitting her face, how each micro-expression would translate to film.

At one point, Marco asked me to adjust the reflector near her face. I stepped into her space, careful not to cast shadows. Up close, I could see the individual pores of her skin through the makeup, smell the subtle scent of something expensive and botanical. Her eyes flicked to me for a fraction of a second--the first time she'd acknowledged my existence--then away, as if I were a piece of furniture that had been moved.

"The light's too harsh on her left side," she said to Marco, not to me, though I was the one holding the reflector.

"Danny, soften it," Marco ordered.

I adjusted the angle silently. Vi's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

"Better?" I asked her directly.

She didn't respond, didn't look at me again. Just repositioned her body for the next shot as if I hadn't spoken.

Marco caught my eye and gave a small shrug as if to say, *That's Vi for you*. I nodded and stepped back into the shadows.

The shoot continued for hours. Vi moved through dozens of looks, never showing fatigue, never breaking character. When Sophia's turn came, the difference was stark. Sophia was good--talented, photogenic, enthusiastic--but beside Vi's technical perfection, she seemed almost amateurish. She tried too hard, wanted it too much.

During Sophia's segment, I noticed Vi watching from the sidelines, ostensibly checking emails on her phone but occasionally glancing up to study the younger model. Her expression revealed nothing, but there was tension in how she held herself. I wondered if she saw Sophia as a threat or merely an annoyance--another pretty young thing who would flame out in a year or two.

"Danny, we need more fill on the right," Marco called.

As I moved to adjust the light, Vi's eyes momentarily met mine. This time, there was something in them--a flicker of recognition, perhaps, that I existed as a person and not just a function. Then it was gone, her attention back on her phone.

It was nearly nine by the time the shoot wrapped. Vi left exactly as she'd arrived--without acknowledging anyone, coat wrapped around her like armor. I watched her go, noting the straight line of her spine, the measured pace of her steps. Confident that the world would part before her.

Sophia approached as I was packing up equipment. "Changed my mind about The Chelsea," she said softly. "Too many people around. Your place instead?"

I looked at her--really looked at her. Pretty, eager, calculating in her own way but transparent about it. Useful.

"I'm in Tribeca," I said. "My roommate's out of town."

Her eyebrows rose slightly. "Tribeca? On an assistant's salary?"

I smiled. "I have other skills."

---

The truth was, I didn't have a roommate. Never had. The Tribeca loft was mine, paid for with family money I pretended didn't exist. The industry assumption that I was struggling like every other assistant worked to my advantage. People underestimated you when they thought you were hungry.

Sophia whistled softly when we entered, taking in the exposed brick walls, floor-to-ceiling windows, and minimalist furniture. "Some assistant," she murmured.

"Drink?" I asked, moving to the kitchen.

"Whatever you're having."

I poured two glasses of bourbon, neat. She accepted hers and wandered to the windows overlooking the city lights.

"So what's your deal, really?" she asked, sipping her drink. "Trust fund baby slumming it for the experience?"

"Something like that." I joined her at the window, standing close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. "Does it matter?"

She considered this, then shook her head. "I guess not. We all have our stories." Her free hand reached up, fingers brushing my jaw. "I'm just curious about yours."

I took her glass, set it with mine on a nearby table, then returned to her. "No more questions," I said, sliding my hand into her hair.

I kissed her hard, not bothering with gentleness. She responded immediately, pressing her body against mine, hands gripping my shoulders. I backed her against the window, the cold glass a contrast to the heat of her body.

"Anyone could see," she gasped as my mouth moved to her neck.

"Eighteenth floor," I murmured against her skin. "No one can see unless they're looking."

"What if they are?" There was excitement in her voice at the possibility.

I pulled back to look at her, my hands now working on the buttons of her blouse. "Then let's give them something worth watching."

Her clothes came off easily--blouse, bra, jeans kicked aside. I kept her pinned against the glass as I stripped her, the city lights painting patterns across her naked skin. When she reached for my clothes, I caught her wrists.

"Not yet," I said.

I turned her to face the window, pressing her palms against the glass above her head. "Keep them there."

She nodded, breath fogging the window as I moved behind her. I ran my hands down her sides, over the curve of her hips, between her thighs. She was already wet, had been since the hallway at the studio. Power was the ultimate aphrodisiac, and she'd sensed it in me despite my carefully constructed facade.

"Oh god," she moaned as my fingers found her center.

I worked her slowly, methodically, watching her reflection in the glass--the parting of her lips, the flush spreading across her chest, the way her eyelids fluttered when I hit just the right spot. She was beautiful in her abandonment, in how freely she gave herself to sensation.

As I touched her, my mind drifted to Vi--to her cold eyes, the dismissive set of her mouth. How would she look, I wondered, in this position? Would she maintain that control, that aloof dignity? Or would she shatter like glass, revealing whatever lay beneath that perfect exterior?

Sophia's hips moved against my hand, chasing her pleasure. "Please," she whispered, "I need more."

I unzipped my pants, freed myself, then positioned at her entrance. Without warning, I thrust into her, one hand braced on the glass beside hers, the other gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks. She cried out, back arching as she took me completely.

"Don't move your hands," I reminded her as I began to thrust.

She whimpered but kept her palms pressed to the glass as ordered. I established a relentless rhythm, each thrust pushing her against the cold window. The contrast of sensations--the chill of the glass against her breasts, the heat where our bodies joined--intensified everything. Her inner walls clenched around me as she approached her peak.

"Anyone walking by," I said into her ear, "anyone looking up right now would see you like this. Naked. Used. Loving it."

"Yes," she gasped. "Yes, god, don't stop."

I reached around, fingers finding her clit, circling mercilessly. "Come for them," I commanded. "Show them what you look like when you break."

Her orgasm hit with stunning force. Her body convulsed around me, inner muscles gripping my cock like a vise as she cried out wordlessly. I continued thrusting through her climax, prolonging it, watching her reflection contort with pleasure.

Only when she began to come down did I allow my own release, driving deep one final time as I emptied myself inside her. For a moment, we stayed frozen against the window, both catching our breath, bodies still joined.

Slowly, I withdrew, turning her to face me. Her expression was dazed, satisfied, a thin sheen of sweat making her skin glow in the low light. I brushed her hair from her face, an uncharacteristically tender gesture.

"That was..." she began, then laughed softly. "Unexpected."

I kissed her lightly, then moved away to retrieve our drinks. When I returned, she had slid down to sit on the floor, back against the window, unashamed of her nakedness.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" she asked, accepting her bourbon. "Vi."

I raised an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

"Just a feeling." Sophia took a long sip. "She doesn't see you, you know. Not really. Not anyone below a certain level."

"I'm aware."

"But you want her to." It wasn't a question.

I considered denying it, then decided honesty--or a version of it--might be more useful here. "I want her to realize she was wrong."

Sophia studied me over the rim of her glass. "You know the rumors about her, right? That she doesn't actually sleep with anyone in the industry? That whole ice queen thing isn't just for show."

"Everyone has a breaking point," I said simply.

Sophia's eyes widened slightly, then she laughed. "Oh my god, you're serious. You actually think you can get to her." She shook her head. "Better men than you have tried, trust me."

I smiled, finishing my drink. "Better men weren't really seeing her."

"And you are?"

"I see the cracks." I set my glass down and extended a hand to help her up. "Everyone has them. Even Viridiana Reyes."

Sophia took my hand, rising gracefully despite her recent exertion. "Well, good luck with that," she said, amusement in her voice. "In the meantime..." She pressed herself against me again, her intentions clear. "I'm still here. And unlike Vi, I actually want you."

I cupped her face, thumb tracing her lower lip. "For now," I agreed.

As I led her to my bedroom for round two, my mind was already mapping out the next steps. Sophia was just the beginning--a foothold in Vi's world. She didn't know it yet, but she'd just become a pawn in a game much larger than herself.

Vi's dismissal today, that momentary flicker of recognition--it was enough to work with. A hairline fracture in otherwise perfect glass.

I'd find the pressure points. And when I did, I wouldn't just break through her walls.

I'd make her beg me to tear them down.