One of the contestants challenged her. "Then eat. Let's see."

  The other girls all watched, waiting for Hazel to try and eat with etiquette. But Hazel struggled, her fork and knife clattering against her plate.

  One of the contestants laughed. "You said you can eat like Meesha, but you can't even hold your fork correctly."

  Another added, "I can see the problem here. Hazel's just jealous of Meesha because she's perfect."

  "Yes, and I'm sure she'll definitely win the pageant," someone said.

  Hazel's face flushed with anger, and she clenched her fist. "Shut up!"

  Meesha intervened, trying to calm the situation. "No, no one's perfect. Let's not argue and continue our dinner peacefully. We should maintain a peaceful coexistence with each other."

  Hazel sneered at Meesha, who was trying to play peacemaker. But Meesha just smiled, her eyes sparkling with kindness.

  As the dinner progressed, the contestants engaged in lively discussions, sharing their thoughts and experiences. Meesha was actively participating, her confidence and charisma shining through and her voice clear and melodious.

  Meanwhile, at the far end corner of the room, the crew manager stood, his eyes fixed intently on Meesha. He couldn't help but notice the way she leaned forward, her back bare and exposed. Her short hair didn't cover her skin, only a small soft sash falling across her back.

  His gaze lingered on the smooth expanse. He pictured himself tracing the curve of her spine with his fingers, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his touch. His mind wandered to the thought of holding her close, feeling her body pressed against his.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The crew manager's eyes roamed over her body, taking in the sight of her bare arms and shoulders. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, with a subtle sheen that hinted at her excellent health. He gazed at her legs, slim and long, visible beneath the short skirt. When Meesha crossed her legs, her skirt rode up, revealing a tantalizing view of her thighs. The crew manager's eyes widened, his breathing slowing as he took in the sight.

  His imagination ran wild with thoughts of intimate moments, stolen glances, and forbidden touches. He felt a surge of desire, his heart racing with anticipation.

  Suddenly, he felt something on his face. He touched his chin, realizing with a start that he was drooling. Mortified, he quickly cleaned his face, hoping no one had noticed. He glanced around the room, but everyone seemed oblivious to his momentary lapse.

  He turned to his men, his voice low and urgent. "As soon as the dinner ends, get me that girl."

  His men nodded, their faces expressionless. The crew manager's eyes returned to Meesha, his gaze burning with intensity.

  After the dinner, Meesha stood up, her chair scraping against the floor. She smiled, feeling confident and poised, as she made her way to the waiting reporters. They bombarded her with questions, their cameras flashing as they snapped photos. Meesha answered their questions graciously, her voice clear and melodious.

  Finally, the interviews came to an end, and Meesha made her way out of the dinner room. She stepped into the long, deserted hallway, her heels echoing off the walls. The silence was almost palpable, and the loneliness of the hallway was a stark contrast to the bustling dinner room she had just left.

  But Meesha didn't feel any chills or sense of unease. She simply kept walking, her eyes fixed on her phone.

  Unbeknownst to Meesha, the crew manager and his men had arrived, far behind her in the hallway. The crew manager signalled to his men, his eyes gleaming with a sinister intent. "Go and grab her before she turns the corner," he whispered urgently.

  But before they could take a step forward, a group of people emerged from the shadows, their faces hidden behind masks. They wielded large planks, which they brought down on the heads of the crew manager and his men. The planks broke apart on impact, and the men crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

  Meesha, oblivious to the drama unfolding behind her, turned the corner, her footsteps echoing off the walls. She stopped suddenly, her head cocked to one side, as she heard the faint sound of crashing wood and muffled groans.

  She frowned, wondering what the noise was, and walked back to investigate. But when she arrived at the spot where the crew manager and his men had been attacked, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. There was no sign of struggle, no hint of what had happened.

  Meesha shrugged, her brow furrowed in confusion. She just turned and continued walking.

  ******

  The crew manager's eyes slowly opened, his head throbbing with pain. He struggled to sit up, but a strong hand grasped his collar, pulling him to his feet. He stumbled forward, his vision blurry, until he was dragged in front of a man sitting in a chair.

  The crew manager's eyes widened as he took in the man's appearance. He was handsome, yet radiated an aura of intense menace. His long black coat seemed to swallow the light around him, making his presence even more imposing. His dark hair fell in tumbles around his head, accentuating his breathtaking features. His eyes seemed to hold a thousand midnights, dark and mysterious and endlessly deep.

  The crew manager felt a chill run down his spine as he met the man's gaze. There was something unnerving about his eyes, something that made the crew manager's blood run cold.