This choice: Her assistant in her dressing room • Go Back...Chapter #7Chloe's Helpless Helper by: Unknown https://ibb.co/8708QQd
You run through your checklist one last time, making sure everything in Chloe Bennet’s private backstage room is perfect. The makeshift compartment, hastily built earlier in the day, somehow feels luxurious despite its temporary nature. A big red couch sits in the back, regal against the walls, while a wide antique vanity table with a mirror framed by glowing bulbs takes pride of place on the side. The wooden floors have been covered with a lush red carpet that muffles sound and adds a sense of comfort.
It’s cliché, sure, but it’s charming, and you can’t help but smile as you adjust the appetizers and drinks on the table. Chloe Bennet—half-Chinese, half-American actress, and your idol—is set to use this room soon. You’ve been a fan for years, certain she’s one of the most underrated talents in the industry. This job, small as it may be, feels like a dream come true.
You run through your practiced lines for when you meet her. Should you mention how much you admire her work in Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.? Maybe compliment her sense of humor? Before you can decide, a sudden shift in gravity sends you sprawling backward. You barely register the sensation before darkness swallows you.
THOOM!
The world shakes like an earthquake, and you jolt awake. A deafening boom echoes through the air, vibrating through the floor and into your chest. Groggy and disoriented, you push yourself upright—only to freeze in terror.
A massive white shoe looms before you, clean and pristine, save for its black sole. Its towering size defies logic, stretching above you like a building. Worse still, it’s attached to an enormous foot. The shoe’s backless design leaves a tanned heel exposed, the curve of it smooth and imposing. The sight sends chills down your spine, and your breath catches as you recognize the shoe’s design: mules. Not just any mules—her mules.
Your gaze rises, traveling past the massive shoe and up impossibly long legs. There, standing like a goddess, is Chloe Bennet herself. Her dark hair, streaked with blonde highlights, frames her face perfectly as she sighs, seemingly oblivious to your existence.
“I still get nervous at panels like these,” she mutters to herself. “I hope it didn’t show.”
Her voice is loud, filling the room like thunder, but it has a melodic quality that briefly distracts you from the life-or-death reality of your situation.
Chloe moves before you can process what’s happening. Her foot lifts off the ground, and the sheer force of her movement sends shockwaves rippling through the floor. BOOM! The sound is like a bomb detonating next to you, shaking you to your core.
Panic floods your senses. Her shoe crashes down, mere inches from where you had been lying unconscious moments ago. The impact makes the ground tremble violently, leaving you sprawled on your hands and knees. You scramble upright and start running, your voice hoarse as you scream her name.
“Chloe! Down here! Please, help me!”
She doesn’t notice you. Instead, she strolls toward the snack table, her steps precise yet casual. Each one lands with devastating force, her shoe hitting the carpet with a dull, earth-shaking thud. The exposed heel of her foot hovers momentarily before descending, its motion hypnotic and terrifying.
You dodge and weave, narrowly avoiding her deadly strides. Her shoe’s sole is so large that it covers entire patches of carpet with each step, and the air pressure alone is enough to unsteady you.
When she finally settles onto the red couch, the vibrations cease. The titanic actress pulls out her phone, scrolling through Twitter with a faint smile. You take a moment to catch your breath, then start toward her again.
It takes you several minutes to reach her, a journey that required her mere steps. Her white mule looms before you like a monolith, and you crane your neck to take in the sight. The shoe’s leather is smooth and spotless, and the black sole still bears faint patterns from the carpet’s texture. Above it, Chloe’s bare heel rests, raised slightly. Her skin is flawless, with a faint sheen of sweat catching the light.
Desperation fuels your next move. You jump and grab onto the back edge of her mule, pulling yourself up with a grunt. The moment you land on the sole, a wave of heat and a sharp, acrid scent assaults your senses. The smell of Chloe’s foot is overwhelming—rich with sweat and the earthy aroma of skin trapped in a shoe. It’s a stark reminder that she’s human, despite her towering, godlike appearance.
You hesitate, staring up at her heel. It’s mesmerizing in its detail, the folds and creases of her sole visible from this close. The skin under her arch is lighter, almost pale, while her heel has a sun-kissed tan. Tiny beads of sweat glisten along the curve, adding to the oppressive humidity.
Suddenly, her heel moves.
“Wait! No!” you scream, your voice swallowed by her sheer size.
Her heel lowers without mercy, pressing you into the sole of her shoe. The soft skin smothers you completely, the heat and moisture unbearable. Your face is mashed against her heel, the salty tang of sweat coating your tongue as you struggle to breathe. Her weight presses down harder, flattening you against the leather sole like an insect.
You pound weakly against her heel, your fists thudding against the warm, damp skin. It’s no use—she doesn’t feel a thing. The pressure is unrelenting, and the stench of her foot fills your nose, forcing tears from your eyes.
You thought meeting Chloe Bennet would be the greatest day of your life. Now, trapped beneath her sweaty heel, you’re nothing more than a speck, forgotten and insignificant.
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