The transformation was total. Holmes hadn't just redecorated; he'd engineered a labyrinth of fantasies. Every door we passed revealed a new world: a sterile, high-end massage parlor with silk sheets; a gritty, industrial gym with chrome equipment that shone under the LED strips; and lavish suites that looked like they belonged in a five-star hotel.
Monet's money was screaming from every corner. She wasn't just building a studio; she was building a fortress to topple the giants of the industry.
We stepped into the next suite, and the air hit us—heavy with the scent of latex, sweat, and cheap perfume. On a massive, circular bed, a shoot was already in progress.
