Deborah's smile was dry as she silently surveyed the scene in front of her. It was nothing she hadn't seen before, just the usual boring board meeting with all its stuffed shirts and stuffy people, but she still studied everyone and everything like her life depended on it. Perhaps, in a way, it did. After all, this meeting was about her next modeling job, and potentially a future album and subsequent concerts. But the real struggle wasn't talking about the workload, it was trying to get these… lovely people of Vine and Vinyl Recording Studios to accept her ideas.

She wasn't against taking their suggestions, but, for example, it was tedious to be told that she should use her raw, youthful sex appeal more often, only to then be shot down as a slut the moment she tried. Why couldn't she just do what she wanted to? She was the famous singer after all, not them. It wasn't any of them who wrote all the award-winning, chart-topping songs! And yet still, she had to answer to them, just because they owned the studio where she worked, even though it was she who had to put in all the difficult hours.

Deborah's elbows rested on the table and her chin rested on her interlocked fingers. She said nothing but took in everything. They'd call her calculating for that, manipulative, but she'd be seen as naive and stupid if she didn't overanalyze and plan. Damned if she did, and if she didn't.

I never trust a narcissist, but they love me, so I'll play 'em like a violin and I'll make it look oh-so easy, cause for every lie I tell them, they tell me three. This is how the world works, but now all they'll think about is me.

Her dry smile got just a little bit wider as the idle chatter around the table got just a little bit quieter. It was almost showtime!

Suddenly, Deborah was surrounded by press and paparazzi. She was standing on a red carpet outside a golden hotel. Cameras, mics, and phones were shoved at her from every angle, silver and white lights blinding her at random intervals. Everyone struggled to get just an inch closer to the famed, fabled Dangerous Debutante. Surrounded on all sides, she had only herself to rely on to keep her head above the water.

Today was no different. Maybe there were no cameras or reporters haggling for a story, but there were critical eyes and wealthy hands haggling for a deal. Whether she was staring down a microphone or a table full of sharp suits and sharp tongues, the hustle was the same.

I can feel the flames on my skin.

Every day was like a battle to build and maintain her powerful reputation.

Crimson-red paint on my lips.

But that was the thing about Deborah, she loved a good brawl, lived for the thrill of the kill, sinking her teeth in until she drew blood.

If a man talks shit, then I owe him nothing.

That was all she knew how to do: defend herself and fight back. But in her line of work, such killer instincts were invaluable.

I don't regret it one bit cause he had it coming…

Because no matter how the game ended, there was only one way to play: as hard as she could.

She spent over an hour arguing her case with all the constituents in the room, trying to get them to understand how nonsensical they were being. They kept criticizing every idea she put forth, but their own ideas weren't much better.

"We just want you to lean into the blonde-haired and blue-eyed thing a bit more because that's really popular right now," said one of the men.

"Last time I did that, you said I looked like an unprofessional, airheaded bimbo!" Deborah shot back angrily.

"That's because you were flaunting yourself too much, you have to be modest and pure when you're playing with blonde and blue."

"But I'm always blonde and blue, and you were the one who told me I needed to show more skin in the first place!"

"Well, you weren't supposed to do it like that!"

Deborah wanted to scream.

They say I did something bad? Then why'd it feel so good?

All she knew was that despite their complaints, she'd had fun at her last show, and she'd do it over and over and over again if she could, her way.

ooo

But after long enough, the meeting ended, not because Deborah's day was over, but because it was only just beginning. Now she had a photoshoot. She was ushered into another building full of handsome men and gorgeous women. One of the men, her modeling partner for the day, made a beeline for her and happily placed himself on her arm.

I never trust a playboy, but they love me.

A while later, he was also in her car.

So I drive 'em all around the world and I let them think they'll save me.

"Ms. Lavish, you look absolutely ravishing tonight," he said, and Deborah had to force a laugh at his unoriginal, unfunny joke.

They never see it coming, what I do next…

Playboys like these were all the same. They tried so hard to appear naturally suave and charming, but if one had to try that hard, it wasn't natural. If anything, the harder they tried, the more obvious it was that they were fake. Furthermore, because they had to spend so much time trying to be charming, they didn't actually pay attention to the women they were trying to charm! Seemed counterintuitive.

Deborah had no interest in people like that, people who were clearly only interested in her for superficial or selfish reasons. She could see where this was going to go. He'd be self-congratulatory as he continued to "woo" her, anticipating the moment when she'd finally throw herself into his big, strong arms and swoon. But he wouldn't even last a week with a girl like her! He wished he could keep up with the Dangerous Debutante!

But he couldn't. They all thought they could, but Deborah had yet to meet anyone who was actually capable of rising to the challenge. More often than not, she'd say yes, things would go well for a few weeks or months, then it would go down in flames and she'd have to clean up her reputation again. Nobody stayed around for long. Not in this industry. But that was just how the world worked, you had to leave before you got left. That was by far the most important lesson of the industry, and of Deborah's life as a whole.

He said, "Don't throw away a good thing!" confident that they would make a perfect pair. Deborah fought hard not to roll her eyes. He knew nothing! He just wanted to brag that he had the Dangerous Debutante on his arm, but if he dropped her name, then as far as she was concerned, she owed him nothing. If he tried to piggyback off her success without doing any of his own work, then he had it coming.

"This is a competitive field, is it not?" Deborah's tone and posture were relaxed, but there was something dangerous in her eyes.

"But surely, we aren't enemies?" It was a question, but his tone was so cocky that it sounded more like an assertion of fact.

"But are we even allies? We are certainly not friends," Deborah quirked an eyebrow, the danger in her eyes entering her smile.

A day later, headlines were screaming scandal. Deborah had left her man standing crestfallen on a landing. The reason they'd been in the car at all was because they were attending a fancy function together, and there would be another photoshoot halfway in. As soon as it was over, though, Deborah slipped out. By the time the final dance began, she was nowhere to be found.

Now, everything was going down in flames… again. But because this was far from the first time, Deborah was all too used to it. She knew how to fan the flames as easily as she knew her own name. Sure, her reputation was ruined (and so was her ex-modeling partner's), but ruined reputations were all in a day's work for her. She'd get it back somehow, she always did. She got out of trouble as often and easily as she got into it.

The only tedious part was in knowing that all the blame and fingers would be pointed at her. She was the one who wouldn't accept that nice man's generous offer. She was the one who hurt his feelings and made everything awkward. She was the ungrateful wench who broke a poor boy's heart when all he wanted was a pretty girlfriend. Why couldn't she just make it easy on all of them and say yes to him? Such a travesty!

"You say I did something bad?" Deborah scoffed into the first microphone that was almost smashed into her nose because of how hard the reporter was shoving it at her. "Then why's it feel so good?!"

"Good?" the reporter seemed horrified and disgusted. Did she take pleasure in tormenting men? Evil!

"I had no interest in him, why should I feel obligated to be with him?" she asked coldly. "Ditching him was the most fun I've ever had, and I'd do it over and over again if I could." In fact, I already have, with my long list of ex-lovers.

That was the Dangerous Debutante in a nutshell. For better or worse, she was no docile, pretty little doll. She was something much more, well, dangerous. She wasn't tamed and she never claimed to be. It was the world's fault for assuming otherwise, especially since she called herself the Dangerous One, so it wasn't like they didn't know.

But that was another lesson the Dangerous One had learned over the past few years. They didn't actually want dangerous, they wanted aesthetic. The moment Deborah actually became dangerous, they would recoil in horror and fear, saying she'd done so many bad things.

I wonder if they know that continually calling me bad will not, in any way, help me become a good person. What are they trying to achieve?

ooo

Was it any wonder why Deborah, herself, was such a fierce, fearsome person? When she lived in a fierce, fearsome world and built her life around creating and maintain a fierce, fearsome reputation, there wasn't much room for anything other than danger and bad deeds. Her world could be extremely cutthroat, sometimes literally, if someone was pushed far enough. And even worse, there was no such thing as innocent. Everyone got dragged into the drama one way or another.

They're burning all the witches, even if you aren't one. They got their pitchforks and proof, their receipts and reasons…

She'd seen herself come under fire even when she wasn't to blame or wasn't involved. She'd seen herself come under fire even when the issue in question wasn't all that bad. And she'd seen Ambrose come under fire just because he was her manager/agent. Deborah hated that most of all. It was cowardly and dishonorable of people to blame her bad deeds on him instead of confronting her. Not only did it throw him under the bus, but it implied he was her caretaker, as if she couldn't make her own decisions. She could, even if they weren't good.

"If everything I do is bad to you, why try to be good?" she once asked a particularly nosy reporter. He'd asked why she was so whiny and dramatic. Why couldn't she just settle down and play nice? Well, she'd tried that before and gotten taken advantage of. That wasn't fun. But when she tried to retaliate, she was accused of being bad. Damned if she did and if she didn't.

Kindness is a luxury my world cannot afford me. Nor can I "settle down" when I always have so much work to do! And it is due in no small part thanks to worthless reporters like YOU! You do nothing but create sensationalist scandals, you don't actually report on anything!

Mean Deborah, Mad Deborah, Bad Deborah, Dangerous Deborah. Was it any surprise these were her main facets? If she tried to play nice, she was called fake. If she tried to settle down, she was accused of losing her edge. Granted, being mean won her no favors either, but at least it meant she wouldn't be a doormat. At least it meant she'd get to call a few shots and have some fun before her reputation caught up with her.

"So light me up! Go ahead and light me up!" she finally snapped as the cameras continued to flash and the reporters continued to shout. "Let the world watch me burn, but just know that you'll burn with me! I'll show you dangerous, and what happens when you play with fire! My reputation will instill fear into any who would dare try to cross me."

That was why she'd taken such an intense disliking to Angela Jekyll. Deborah was past the point of caring by the time they met. She still had love for Ambrose, but not much else. Fed up with reputations, receipts, and reasons, she decided to do whatever she wanted, all else be damned.

They say I did something bad, but why's it feel so good? Most fun I ever had, and I'd do it over and over and over again if I could!

"I'm done being and playing nice," she growled to Ambrose. No other celebrity is as frequently accused of bitchiness as I am, but I am far from the only mean one in the industry. "I know Angela is an old… friend of yours, but I would prefer that when we're together, you give your full and undivided attention to me. Then, whenever you're off with her, that's when you can devote all your focus to her."

If Deborah had her way, Angela would never be around Ambrose, ever again, but she knew Ambrose would be fast to catch on if anything too serious happened to Angela. But that was ok, maybe Deborah didn't need to take any drastic actions to still make Angela's life miserable. Maybe the smaller attacks would suffice, little things that would slowly erode her psyche until she finally snapped and left.

It was evil of Deborah to scheme in such a selfish manner, but she didn't care. All that mattered was protecting what belonged to her, at any cost. Besides, she'd acquired a taste for blood over the past few years. Messing with Angela sounded like mighty good fun.

They say I did something bad, but why's it feel so good? Most fun I ever had, and I'd do it over and over and over again if I could!

It just felt so… good, GOOD!

Oh yes, the Dangerous Debutante was bad to the bone, and she loved it!