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The Filthy King didn’t flinch. He smiled, and a flake of gold leaf drifted onto his tongue. “Evelin! The queen of ‘authentic loneliness.’ Sit down. Your chat is asking about the dent in your drywall from last month’s ‘mental health break’ video.”

Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: “New collaboration proposal: ‘Filthy Queen.’ No scripts. No brands. Just the rot. Interested?”