Episode 1- Day 106
The fluorescent lights of the police precinct buzz overhead as Draya Harris fidgets in the plastic chair, her designer heels tapping an impatient rhythm against the linoleum floor. Investigator Armund Estrada finally emerges from the bullpen, his weary eyes taking in the tall, striking model with the haunted expression.
“Draya,” he says, his deep voice cutting through the chatter of the precinct. “You wanted to talk about Temptations?”
She stands, her black pencil skirt hugging her curves as she extends a manicured hand. The investigator takes it, his work-roughened fingers brushing against her soft skin. “I need your help, Detective. I’ve seen things...” Her fingers tremble slightly as she grips his hand, not from nerves but from the memory of those late nights spent watching women tear at their own skin in desperate agony. Estrada holds her gaze with a level intensity, his dark eyes searching hers as he releases her hand.
“You’ve been through hell already,” he says, the words thick with something like understanding. He gestures toward a narrow hallway leading to a small interview room. “Let’s talk somewhere private.”
The fluorescent lights are just as harsh in here, but at least the hum of the precinct is muffled. She takes a seat across from him at the metal table, her back straight, hands folded neatly on the surface. She sits down opposite Armund, the cold metal table between them, and take a slow breath. The sterile air smells of antiseptic and stale coffee, the faintest trace of burnt rubber from the police cruisers outside. His eyes never leave hers as he pulls a notepad from his jacket pocket and clicks his pen.
“Start from the beginning,” he says, voice even, professional. “What exactly did you see while you were working for Temptations?”
Her fingers curl into the edge of the table. The memory burns in her throat like acid, threatening to rise. “At first, I thought it was just... bad luck. Women saying they felt sick after taking the drug. Hair loss, fever, skin peeling.“The vision of Linda Dalton clawing at her own flesh with bloodied fingernails flickers behind her eyes like a terrible home movie. Her nails dig into the metal table’s edge as the memory plays—her wails echoing through the Temptations office as security rushed in, as Miguel himself tried to pull her away, as her screaming face was covered by a sheet.
“I watched it happen,” she tells Armund, her voice steady despite the tremor in her fingers. “I stood there, frozen, while they rushed her to the back. I could still hear her screaming even after they shut the door.” She swallows hard. “Three days later, they announced she’d gone into witness protection.” Armund’s pen hovers above the paper. He doesn’t write. Instead, he leans back slightly, the metal chair creaking under his weight. “Witness protection,” he repeats, his voice flat, almost questioning. “That’s not usually how drug side effects are handled, Draya.”
She meets his gaze, holding it. “No,” she says. “It’s not.”
A beat of silence passes between them. The overhead light flickers once, then steadies. Armund finally scratches something onto the notepad, the sharp sound of the pen against paper breaking the quiet. “And Miguel Bishop? Christina’s husband?”
“Hands off, at first,” Draya says. “But then...” There’s a flash back of Draya and Miguel hooking up in a hotel room. He promised her the world. Miguel’s breath hot against her neck, his fingers tight on her hip as he promised to make her the biggest model in the world. “I’ll own every inch of you,” he’d murmured into her ear, teeth grazing her skin. And for a while, he did.
Armund doesn’t look up from his writing. “And then?”
Draya’s nails leave crescent marks in her palms. “Then he got greedy.” The words taste bitter. “He was already screwing half the board of directors when he decided I wasn’t enough anymore. He wanted control of the whole operation.”
Armund’s pen pauses. The detective’s eyes flick up from his notepad, dark and unreadable. He sets the pen down, folding his hands atop the paper. “Control of the whole operation,” he repeats, testing the words like he’s checking to see how they fit in his mouth.
Draya nods, her throat tight. “Miguel wanted more than just a cut of the profits. He wanted to run the whole show. Christina was supposed to be the public face, the genius pharmacist, but Miguel...” She exhales, shaking her head. “Miguel saw an opportunity. He saw how desperate women were for a quick fix, and he saw how much money was in keeping that desperation alive.”
Christina Bishop perches on the edge of her ergonomic chair, her manicured fingers scrolling through the glowing stream of reviews on her computer. The office is sleek and modern, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the San Diego skyline, but her attention is fixed on the screen, a predatory smile spreading across her face as she reads the glowing testimonials.
“Temptations has given me my life back,” she murmurs, savoring the words. “I feel like a whole new woman.” Her dark eyes scan the endless stream of praise, pausing on a particularly gushing review from a woman who claims the drug has “melted away my insecurities and fat like butter in a microwave.“Christina chuckles, the sound sharp and brittle in the pristine office. Her fingers, perfectly manicured in blood-red polish, drift to the top drawer of her mahogany desk with practiced ease. She pulls out a syringe already loaded with Temptations, the liquid inside an unsettling translucent pink.
“Perfection,” she murmurs, more to herself than anyone else. The needle slides in with practiced precision, a sharp jab at the crook of her elbow. A slow push of the plunger, and then the drug is in her system, coursing through her veins like a living thing.
For a moment, nothing happens. Then—ah. The world sharpens into focus with razor clarity. Colors seem more vibrant, sounds more defined, and her skin thrums with an almost painful awareness. She runs her hands down her arms, feeling the perfect texture of her skin, the taut muscle beneath. This is why she created Temptations—to give women this feeling, this power, this absolute certainty that they are the most beautiful creatures on earth.
The phone on her desk buzzes with an incoming call. Miguel’s name flashes across the screen, his photo—a smirking, handsome face with eyes that hold just the right amount of promise and danger. She answers, her voice dripping with the kind of confidence that comes only from knowing you hold everyone’s lives in your hands. Miguel’s voice purrs through the line like warm oil, smooth and rich. “Did you see the board meeting this morning? They’re pushing for expansion into Mexico.”
Christina taps the edge of her desk with her manicured nails, the drug making her movements feel sharp and purposeful. “Of course. I’ve already drafted the proposal.”
“Good.” Miguel pauses, and Christina can almost hear his smirk deepening. “I thought I’d give you the good news in person.” A rustling sound comes through the line—he’s moving. “I’ll be upstairs in five.”
