A Talented Makeup Artist Smashed a Tube of Red Lipstick Across a Supermodel's Face Just Before a Deadly Neurotoxin Was Revealed
The dressing room instantly descended into absolute, stunned silence. The photographers stopped flashing their cameras. The stylists dropped their brushes.
Serena shoved Noah backward with explosive force, stumbling away from the vanity mirror and staring at her smeared reflection in horror. Her chest heaved with pure, unadulterated rage. She raised her hand and delivered a vicious, ringing slap across Noah's cheek that echoed off the concrete walls.
'You ruined my makeup! You're fired!' Serena shrieked, tears of fury spilling over her mascara. She turned to James, who was wiping the makeup remover from his eyes, groaning in pain. 'James, get security! Have this lunatic dragged out of the building right now!'
James blinked rapidly, his eyes red and watering, glaring daggers at the young makeup artist. 'You're dead, kid,' James hissed, stepping forward with his fists clenched. 'You'll never work in this industry again.'
Noah didn't flinch from the slap, nor did he cower from the threat of the angry billionaire. His face remained chillingly expressionless. He didn't drop his gaze to the floor. Instead, Noah slowly raised the coarse microfiber towel he had just used to wipe Serena’s lips, holding it up directly toward the blinding glare of the vanity ring lights so the entire room could see.
All eyes shifted to the white cloth. Where the bright red lipstick had smeared into the fabric, a horrifying chemical reaction was visibly taking place. The red pigment began to rapidly fizz and bubble, turning a sickly, toxic shade of pitch black as it ate through the fibers of the towel in a matter of seconds.
Serena’s angry screams died instantly in her throat. She stepped back, staring at the blackened cloth in sheer, paralyzed confusion.
'What... what is that?' she whispered, the anger completely vanishing, replaced by a cold, creeping dread.
Noah dropped the ruined towel onto the vanity table. His eyes shifted from Serena to the coughing, uncomfortable billionaire standing beside her.
'It's a synthetic neurotoxin harvested from deep-sea cone snails,' Noah stated, his voice ringing with a cold, terrifying authority. He pointed a finger directly at James's chest. 'If he had kissed you just then, the microscopic residue on his lips would have absorbed through your skin. Your heart would have completely stopped beating in exactly five seconds.'
The color completely drained from James's face. He stopped wiping his eyes. He froze, his body going rigid as every person in the room slowly backed away from him.
'Check his pockets,' Noah commanded quietly.
Two burly security guards didn't wait for confirmation. They lunged at James, pinning him against the clothing racks. They thrust their hands into the deep pockets of his expensive velvet suit jacket and pulled out a small, heavy glass dropper bottle filled with a clear, threatening liquid.
The fashion show's grand finale was instantly forgotten. The supermodel stared at the man she was supposed to marry, realizing she had been nothing more than a disposable pawn in a cold-blooded murder plot. As James was dragged out of the backstage in heavy zip-ties, Noah calmly picked up his makeup brush, leaving the billionaire elite to reckon with the abyss they had invited into their world.
The backstage area of the Paris Haute Couture fashion week was an intoxicating, chaotic storm of high-end glamour, blinding LED ring lights, and frantic designers shouting instructions. Dozens of world-class supermodels rushed back and forth between racks of priceless, avant-garde gowns while hair stylists and makeup artists worked with manic intensity. In the center of this opulent whirlwind sat Serena, a breathtaking, world-famous supermodel and billionaire heir whose face adorned every major billboard across the globe. She was currently staring into a massive, multi-bulb lighted vanity mirror, applying a final, heavy coat of vibrant, blood-red lipstick to her lips. Standing directly behind her, massaging her shoulders with practiced, seductive ease, was her fiancé, James—a devastatingly handsome playboy billionaire known for his charm, his deep pockets, and his ruthlessly cold heart. James leaned down, whispering sweet, romantic nonsense into Serena's ear as he prepared to send her out onto the runway for the finale walk.
As the stage manager shouted that the show was starting in thirty seconds, James cupped Serena's face in his hands, pulling her into a deep, passionate, highly publicized kiss right in front of the surrounding paparazzi lenses. But before their lips could fully lock, a streak of motion flashed across the dressing room. Noah, a brilliant, eccentric junior makeup artist who had been quietly organizing foundation palettes nearby, lunged forward with terrifying speed. Noah whipped out a heavy, industrial bottle of oil-based makeup remover, aggressively spraying a thick stream directly into James’s face. The playboy billionaire shrieked in sudden, burning agony, stumbling backward and clutching his stinging eyes. At the exact same second, before Serena could even process the violent interruption, Noah grabbed a rough, coarse microfiber towel and began violently, mercilessly scrubbing it back and forth across Serena’s mouth, smearing the vibrant red lipstick into a chaotic, bloody mess across her face.
The dressing room instantly descended into absolute, stunned silence. The photographers stopped flashing their cameras. The stylists dropped their brushes.
Serena shoved Noah backward with explosive force, stumbling away from the vanity mirror and staring at her smeared reflection in horror. Her chest heaved with pure, unadulterated rage. She raised her hand and delivered a vicious, ringing slap across Noah's cheek that echoed off the concrete walls.
'You ruined my makeup! You're fired!' Serena shrieked, tears of fury spilling over her mascara. She turned to James, who was wiping the makeup remover from his eyes, groaning in pain. 'James, get security! Have this lunatic dragged out of the building right now!'
James blinked rapidly, his eyes red and watering, glaring daggers at the young makeup artist. 'You're dead, kid,' James hissed, stepping forward with his fists clenched. 'You'll never work in this industry again.'
Noah didn't flinch from the slap, nor did he cower from the threat of the angry billionaire. His face remained chillingly expressionless. He didn't drop his gaze to the floor. Instead, Noah slowly raised the coarse microfiber towel he had just used to wipe Serena’s lips, holding it up directly toward the blinding glare of the vanity ring lights so the entire room could see.
All eyes shifted to the white cloth. Where the bright red lipstick had smeared into the fabric, a horrifying chemical reaction was visibly taking place. The red pigment began to rapidly fizz and bubble, turning a sickly, toxic shade of pitch black as it ate through the fibers of the towel in a matter of seconds.
Serena’s angry screams died instantly in her throat. She stepped back, staring at the blackened cloth in sheer, paralyzed confusion.
'What... what is that?' she whispered, the anger completely vanishing, replaced by a cold, creeping dread.
Noah dropped the ruined towel onto the vanity table. His eyes shifted from Serena to the coughing, uncomfortable billionaire standing beside her.
'It's a synthetic neurotoxin harvested from deep-sea cone snails,' Noah stated, his voice ringing with a cold, terrifying authority. He pointed a finger directly at James's chest. 'If he had kissed you just then, the microscopic residue on his lips would have absorbed through your skin. Your heart would have completely stopped beating in exactly five seconds.'
The color completely drained from James's face. He stopped wiping his eyes. He froze, his body going rigid as every person in the room slowly backed away from him.
'Check his pockets,' Noah commanded quietly.
Two burly security guards didn't wait for confirmation. They lunged at James, pinning him against the clothing racks. They thrust their hands into the deep pockets of his expensive velvet suit jacket and pulled out a small, heavy glass dropper bottle filled with a clear, threatening liquid.
The fashion show's grand finale was instantly forgotten. The supermodel stared at the man she was supposed to marry, realizing she had been nothing more than a disposable pawn in a cold-blooded murder plot. As James was dragged out of the backstage in heavy zip-ties, Noah calmly picked up his makeup brush, leaving the billionaire elite to reckon with the abyss they had invited into their world.
The dressing room instantly descended into absolute, stunned silence. The photographers stopped flashing their cameras. The stylists dropped their brushes.
Serena shoved Noah backward with explosive force, stumbling away from the vanity mirror and staring at her smeared reflection in horror. Her chest heaved with pure, unadulterated rage. She raised her hand and delivered a vicious, ringing slap across Noah's cheek that echoed off the concrete walls.
'You ruined my makeup! You're fired!' Serena shrieked, tears of fury spilling over her mascara. She turned to James, who was wiping the makeup remover from his eyes, groaning in pain. 'James, get security! Have this lunatic dragged out of the building right now!'
James blinked rapidly, his eyes red and watering, glaring daggers at the young makeup artist. 'You're dead, kid,' James hissed, stepping forward with his fists clenched. 'You'll never work in this industry again.'
Noah didn't flinch from the slap, nor did he cower from the threat of the angry billionaire. His face remained chillingly expressionless. He didn't drop his gaze to the floor. Instead, Noah slowly raised the coarse microfiber towel he had just used to wipe Serena’s lips, holding it up directly toward the blinding glare of the vanity ring lights so the entire room could see.
All eyes shifted to the white cloth. Where the bright red lipstick had smeared into the fabric, a horrifying chemical reaction was visibly taking place. The red pigment began to rapidly fizz and bubble, turning a sickly, toxic shade of pitch black as it ate through the fibers of the towel in a matter of seconds.
Serena’s angry screams died instantly in her throat. She stepped back, staring at the blackened cloth in sheer, paralyzed confusion.
'What... what is that?' she whispered, the anger completely vanishing, replaced by a cold, creeping dread.
Noah dropped the ruined towel onto the vanity table. His eyes shifted from Serena to the coughing, uncomfortable billionaire standing beside her.
'It's a synthetic neurotoxin harvested from deep-sea cone snails,' Noah stated, his voice ringing with a cold, terrifying authority. He pointed a finger directly at James's chest. 'If he had kissed you just then, the microscopic residue on his lips would have absorbed through your skin. Your heart would have completely stopped beating in exactly five seconds.'
The color completely drained from James's face. He stopped wiping his eyes. He froze, his body going rigid as every person in the room slowly backed away from him.
'Check his pockets,' Noah commanded quietly.
Two burly security guards didn't wait for confirmation. They lunged at James, pinning him against the clothing racks. They thrust their hands into the deep pockets of his expensive velvet suit jacket and pulled out a small, heavy glass dropper bottle filled with a clear, threatening liquid.
The fashion show's grand finale was instantly forgotten. The supermodel stared at the man she was supposed to marry, realizing she had been nothing more than a disposable pawn in a cold-blooded murder plot. As James was dragged out of the backstage in heavy zip-ties, Noah calmly picked up his makeup brush, leaving the billionaire elite to reckon with the abyss they had invited into their world.
The backstage area of the Paris Haute Couture fashion week was an intoxicating, chaotic storm of high-end glamour, blinding LED ring lights, and frantic designers shouting instructions. Dozens of world-class supermodels rushed back and forth between racks of priceless, avant-garde gowns while hair stylists and makeup artists worked with manic intensity. In the center of this opulent whirlwind sat Serena, a breathtaking, world-famous supermodel and billionaire heir whose face adorned every major billboard across the globe. She was currently staring into a massive, multi-bulb lighted vanity mirror, applying a final, heavy coat of vibrant, blood-red lipstick to her lips. Standing directly behind her, massaging her shoulders with practiced, seductive ease, was her fiancé, James—a devastatingly handsome playboy billionaire known for his charm, his deep pockets, and his ruthlessly cold heart. James leaned down, whispering sweet, romantic nonsense into Serena's ear as he prepared to send her out onto the runway for the finale walk.
As the stage manager shouted that the show was starting in thirty seconds, James cupped Serena's face in his hands, pulling her into a deep, passionate, highly publicized kiss right in front of the surrounding paparazzi lenses. But before their lips could fully lock, a streak of motion flashed across the dressing room. Noah, a brilliant, eccentric junior makeup artist who had been quietly organizing foundation palettes nearby, lunged forward with terrifying speed. Noah whipped out a heavy, industrial bottle of oil-based makeup remover, aggressively spraying a thick stream directly into James’s face. The playboy billionaire shrieked in sudden, burning agony, stumbling backward and clutching his stinging eyes. At the exact same second, before Serena could even process the violent interruption, Noah grabbed a rough, coarse microfiber towel and began violently, mercilessly scrubbing it back and forth across Serena’s mouth, smearing the vibrant red lipstick into a chaotic, bloody mess across her face.
The dressing room instantly descended into absolute, stunned silence. The photographers stopped flashing their cameras. The stylists dropped their brushes.
Serena shoved Noah backward with explosive force, stumbling away from the vanity mirror and staring at her smeared reflection in horror. Her chest heaved with pure, unadulterated rage. She raised her hand and delivered a vicious, ringing slap across Noah's cheek that echoed off the concrete walls.
'You ruined my makeup! You're fired!' Serena shrieked, tears of fury spilling over her mascara. She turned to James, who was wiping the makeup remover from his eyes, groaning in pain. 'James, get security! Have this lunatic dragged out of the building right now!'
James blinked rapidly, his eyes red and watering, glaring daggers at the young makeup artist. 'You're dead, kid,' James hissed, stepping forward with his fists clenched. 'You'll never work in this industry again.'
Noah didn't flinch from the slap, nor did he cower from the threat of the angry billionaire. His face remained chillingly expressionless. He didn't drop his gaze to the floor. Instead, Noah slowly raised the coarse microfiber towel he had just used to wipe Serena’s lips, holding it up directly toward the blinding glare of the vanity ring lights so the entire room could see.
All eyes shifted to the white cloth. Where the bright red lipstick had smeared into the fabric, a horrifying chemical reaction was visibly taking place. The red pigment began to rapidly fizz and bubble, turning a sickly, toxic shade of pitch black as it ate through the fibers of the towel in a matter of seconds.
Serena’s angry screams died instantly in her throat. She stepped back, staring at the blackened cloth in sheer, paralyzed confusion.
'What... what is that?' she whispered, the anger completely vanishing, replaced by a cold, creeping dread.
Noah dropped the ruined towel onto the vanity table. His eyes shifted from Serena to the coughing, uncomfortable billionaire standing beside her.
'It's a synthetic neurotoxin harvested from deep-sea cone snails,' Noah stated, his voice ringing with a cold, terrifying authority. He pointed a finger directly at James's chest. 'If he had kissed you just then, the microscopic residue on his lips would have absorbed through your skin. Your heart would have completely stopped beating in exactly five seconds.'
The color completely drained from James's face. He stopped wiping his eyes. He froze, his body going rigid as every person in the room slowly backed away from him.
'Check his pockets,' Noah commanded quietly.
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Two burly security guards didn't wait for confirmation. They lunged at James, pinning him against the clothing racks. They thrust their hands into the deep pockets of his expensive velvet suit jacket and pulled out a small, heavy glass dropper bottle filled with a clear, threatening liquid.
The fashion show's grand finale was instantly forgotten. The supermodel stared at the man she was supposed to marry, realizing she had been nothing more than a disposable pawn in a cold-blooded murder plot. As James was dragged out of the backstage in heavy zip-ties, Noah calmly picked up his makeup brush, leaving the billionaire elite to reckon with the abyss they had invited into their world.
