Vanessa Mitchell was not doing well.
As the livestream upstairs from the elusive Seventh Heaven swept across social media, her own viewers were watching her sulk beneath a potted bonsai tree while trying to angle her face under the best lighting. She had forced a spa assistant to fan her with a towel ("No, Tiffany, more elegance, less wind turbine!") and had adjusted the cucumber slices on her eyes at least six times.
"Why do these cucumbers look so basic?" she snapped. "Are they even organic?"
The poor spa staff was on their last thread of politeness. One even mouthed help me into the camera when Vanessa wasn't looking.
Meanwhile, Vanessa's followers—most of whom had been watching Evelynn's livestream five minutes ago—were not impressed.
@spaobsessedgirl: "Why does Vanessa look like she's cosplaying a soggy salad?"
@tea_n_spill: "Imagine faking luxury and ending up with municipal tap water tea."
@realestfan777: "Did she just yell at someone for offering herbal tea?? LMAO."
The hashtags were unforgiving:
#VanessaMitchellFailsAgain
#CucumberGate
#BudgetVibesOnly
Downstairs, Vanessa's live had turned into a digital battlefield. And while she was busy pouting in her bathrobe, the real queens were upstairs glowing like diamonds under soft candlelight.
⸻
Up in Seventh Heaven, a place so elite even Google Maps refused to list it, the girls were having the time of their lives.
Esha was lounging in a lavender-scented mineral pool while a koi fish swam in synchrony with the ambient music. Alana was getting a hot stone massage from someone named Emilio who whispered affirmations like "You are the sunshine of your ancestors" while massaging her back. Evelynn was floating in a milk bath surrounded by rose petals, sipping sparkling water that somehow tasted like dreams and expensive litigation.
"Look at her face," Liam whispered to Neesa, zooming in on Evelynn's expression with the livestream cam. "That's the face of a woman who just remembered she pays no rent and gets unlimited skincare."
Esha grinned and tossed a grape into her mouth. "She better remember to tag me as her benefactor."
From her milk bath throne, Evelynn raised her glass. "To Esha! May your closet never run out of magical clothes, and your enemies always trip on their own fake Louboutins."
⸻
Downstairs, the storm was brewing.
Vanessa was now arguing with the front desk.
"What do you mean Seventh Heaven is invitation only?! Who decided that? Where's the manager? No, where's the owner? I want to talk to the person who designed this place!"
"Ma'am, this is not a courtroom," the poor receptionist said, clutching a stress ball under the desk. "Also, please stop throwing chamomile sachets at the fountain."
"I am an INFLUENCER!" Vanessa shrieked.
"Yes, ma'am, and so is Miss Evelynn. But she has... how do I say this nicely... actual influence."
Vanessa gasped so hard, a cucumber slice fell off her eye and landed on the floor like a limp, wounded soldier.
"Blasphemy!" she hissed. "You'll regret this. You'll all regret this. My fans are loyal."
Meanwhile, her viewer count had plummeted to 38. And one of them was her own mother.
⸻
Back upstairs, the girls had finished their treatments and were chilling in the private rooftop garden.
The night view of the city looked like stars had been dropped across a canvas. The place smelled like money, moonlight, and very exclusive moisturizer. Every detail had been tailored for comfort: warm towels in warmer trays, plush sandals that whispered compliments when you walked, and fruit platters that looked straight out of a Michelin-starred art exhibit.
"So," Alana said between bites of a mango cube, "that card... it was from the Salazars?"
Alana suddenly paused mid-chew. "Wait a minute... that membership card—you said it was from the Salazars, right?"
Esha nodded. "Yeah. I saw the spa's logo when we arrived. It looked familiar. Turns out it was one of the many membership cards they sent along with the gift box."
"They sent you a gift box?" Liam asked, eyes wide.
Esha shrugged. "More like a vault disguised as a gift box. There were cards for everything—spas, hotels, jewelry boutiques, five-star restaurants, probably a moon colony too."
"You didn't think to Google it??" Evelynn screeched, pausing mid-scroll through the exploding livestream comments. "This is, like, black card of spa culture! Not even CEOs get into this floor!"
"I don't know. I just assumed the Salazars were bougie." Esha leaned back with a stretch. "Didn't expect Seventh Heaven level bougie."
That's when Alana, curiosity ignited, zoomed off like a raccoon spotting a shiny object.
"Wait. Wait wait wait." Alana jumped up, bolted, and returned two minutes later with Esha's designer purse.
From it, she fished out a glittering deck of cards—metallic black, gold, silver, and even one with embedded sapphires.
Alana screamed. "What in the capitalist treasure chest is THIS?!"
"Gold... platinum... is this a diamond-encrusted one?? Who has a diamond membership to a hair salon?!"
Evelynn shrieked, grabbing the cards and flipping through them like she'd found the Holy Grail.
"You're telling me you've been walking around with VIP access to half the luxury economy in your purse and didn't know?!"
"Is that—are those ALL real?"
Esha peeked over her shoulder. "I haven't even checked them all yet. I assumed they were, you know, fancy coupons."
Evelynn looked personally offended. "These aren't coupons. These are passport stamps to heaven! This one is for Château de Mirage—it's invitation-only! And this... this is a platinum card for Solis, the private yacht club where celebs get married in secret!"
Alana, wide-eyed: "Is this... a private museum access card? Who needs a VIP pass to history?!"
Liam whispered, "I've never felt more poor in my life."
"Guess I should check it out, huh?" Esha smirked.
Evelynn fell to her knees. "You are my queen. My goddess. My... my... my everything. Even my mom can't compete."
"Even Brad Pitt?" Esha teased.
"He's my male god. You're my female goddess," Evelynn replied without skipping a beat.
⸻
They spent the next hour planning their weekends. Each card was a new destination: a rooftop sky bar with a waiting list of three years, an exclusive club where royals had been spotted, a designer boutique that only allowed ten clients a day, and a private island spa that came with a helicopter ride and a therapy goat named Bartholomew.
Even Liam and Neesa looked dazed.
"So... uh... what do we do?" Liam asked.
"You," Evelynn said, jabbing a finger in his direction, "get the cameras ready. We're going on a tour of the elite life. One livestream at a time."
"I'm crying," Neesa said, fanning her face with Esha's diamond hotel card. "This is the content pipeline of dreams."
⸻
Back in the normal spa floor, Vanessa finally lost it.
"No! This is unacceptable! I demand a refund! This green tea smells like grass and my Instagram is tanking!"
She tried to storm out in fury—but tripped on her own spa slippers and crashed into a towel cart, toppling it like a drama queen in a soap opera.
The cart spilled a dozen rolled towels onto the floor—and her livestream captured every second.
A perfect 360-degree fall.
Silence followed.
Then came the comments.
@ohsnap: "Girl just did a towel tsunami."
@ouchmagazine: "And this... this is why you don't copy legends."
#VanessaWipeout
#FallenAndNotRelevant
#TowelCartChallenge
⸻
By the end of the day, Evelynn's name was trending nationwide.
Clips from Seventh Heaven had gone viral—especially the part where she was getting a crystal facial while sipping gold-dusted lychee tea and whispering, "Self-care is a lifestyle, not an apology."
Meanwhile, Vanessa had gone radio silent.
She deactivated her comments, turned off DMs, and posted a black-and-white picture with the caption: Taking a break to focus on healing and towel avoidance.
The trio laughed so hard Esha nearly dropped her phone.
⸻
The next morning, over brunch, they read the news: media outlets were buzzing about "an anonymous heiress" who gave Evelynn access to Seventh Heaven.
"I love how they're calling you a mysterious patron," Alana said between bites of a croissant. "Like you're a secret fairy godmother with a platinum Amex."
"Wouldn't be far from the truth," Esha said, sipping her coffee with a smirk.
"By the way," Evelynn added, pulling out a new planner, "next weekend's live will be at Château de Mirage. It's invite-only, but guess what..."
She held up another card.
Esha squinted. "That's the one I thought was a coaster."
Alana choked on her juice.
⸻
And so, with one black card and a chaotic rival meltdown, Esha unknowingly became the most sought-after enigma in the city's elite circles. Her system remained quiet, probably napping in the code realm, while its host racked up influence points without even trying.
The only thing she was worried about now?
Where to go next weekend—and whether Bartholomew the therapy goat would let her braid his fur.