Page 28 of Rhythm and Rapture

It's strange being here in person. All my Hidden Chemist content has been filmed at home, carefully scheduled around Kael's bedtime, with equipment I could quickly hide if he woke up. No professional lighting rigs, no makeup team, just me in my bedroom with a ring light and a prayer that he'd sleep through the night.

Being here—having an actual prep room, professional support, the luxury of not checking the baby monitor every five minutes—feels surreal. No rushing to pack away equipment before the school run. No muffling sounds because there's a five-year-old sleeping down the hall. Just... space to transform without the constant weight of my other responsibilities.

Nova pops her head in. "Your boys just cleared security. They're about ten minutes out."

My boys. The casual ownership in her words makes my stomach flip.

"Thanks," I manage.

"Sabina?" She steps fully into the room, studying me with those sharp eyes. "You good? Because in all the time you've been creating content here, I've never seen you nervous."

"This is different," I admit.

"Because it's real?"

I nod, not trusting my voice.

"Good," she says simply. "The best content comes from real connection. Just remember—you have full creative control. Chad's just there to capture whatever magic you create."

She leaves me with that thought, and I start laying out my outfit with the precision of someone preparing for surgery. I have minutes to transform from Sabina into The Hidden Chemist. To put on my armor before facing them in person.

And that's exactly what my outfit is. What it always is. Armor. A way to create separation between who I am on camera and who I am outside of it.

The Hidden Chemist wears masks and heels and lab coats with confidence. Sabina wears clearance jeans and worries about grocery money. Sabina is a student. A mother. A woman who calculates the cost of everything. The Hidden Chemist is someone who can afford to take risks.

The white lab coat hangs perfectly pressed on its hanger. The fishnet stockings and garters are arranged on the vanity like delicate scientific instruments. And there, in their tissue paper, are the red stilettos I ordered specifically for today—five-inch heels covered in small black spikes that catch the light like tiny obsidian stars.

But it's the mask that makes my hands shake slightly as I lift it from its protective case.

Red. I've never worn red before. My signature white with gold embellishments has been my brand for months, with occasional black and silver for darker content. But red? Red is bold. Red is dangerous. Red says this matters in a way that white never could.

A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. "Hair and makeup!" calls a cheerful voice.

Two women enter with professional kits and friendly smiles. Maya, the makeup artist, has rainbow hair and steady hands that immediately put me at ease. Jin, the hairstylist, carries an arsenal of tools that could rival a scientist's laboratory.

"So we're thinking glamorous but edgy for today?" Maya asks, already studying my bone structure. "Something that complements the red theme without overpowering the mask?"

I nod, settling into the makeup chair. For the next hour, I let them work their magic. Maya contours my face with the precision of an artist, creating shadows and highlights that willphotograph beautifully. She keeps my eye makeup subtle—the mask will be the star—but makes my lips bold and glossy in a deep red that matches the mask perfectly.

Jin works on my hair simultaneously, using hot tools to create long, loose waves that will cascade down my back. She adds subtle texture and shine, making sure every strand will move perfectly for the cameras.

"The red is going to look incredible with your skin tone," Maya murmurs, applying the final touches. "And that mask? Pure art."

My phone buzzes. Roman: We're here. Nova's getting us settled. No rush.

They're here. In the building. Just down the hall.

Maya must notice my sudden tension because she pauses with her brush. "You good?"

"Yeah," I breathe. "Just... they're here."

"First time meeting collaborators in person?" Jin asks knowingly.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

"The anticipation is always the worst part," Maya says, returning to my makeup. "Once you're actually in the room together, instinct takes over. Trust me."

There's a brief knock on the door and Jin shouts for them to come in, expecting Monty and Chad to ask about timing, except it opens to reveal neither. Instead, Roman, Ash and Felix step inside.

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