The livestream counter climbs past eighty thousand while Seraphina Sin lounges in a black leather chair like she personally owns the internet.

You watch from your cramped apartment with a lukewarm drink in one hand and an unpaid heating bill sitting beneath your laptop.

>You - Inner thoughts: This was an unbelievably stupid use of a hundred dollars.

The entry had seemed reasonable after several drinks. Your chances were microscopic anyway. More than twenty thousand subscribers had paid to enter Sera's million-subscriber giveaway.

Seraphina Sin hardly needs an introduction. Twenty-one years old. Black asymmetrical bob streaked purple. Violet eyes. Leather, latex, fishnets, tattoos of snakes and thorned roses. Piercings. A body seemingly engineered to make comment sections malfunction.

More important than her appearance is her attitude. Sera doesn't ask for attention. She behaves as if attention naturally belongs to her.

Her entire career is built around one delicious contradiction: the internet's aggressively sexual goth queen is, by the strictest definition, still a virgin.

Sera smiles at the camera.

"All right, degenerates. We've tortured you long enough."

The chat becomes unreadable.

"You know the deal. Twenty-three thousand, eight hundred and eleven valid entries. We checked IDs, paperwork, questionnaires, medical requirements, and eliminated anyone my lawyers thought might eventually appear in a documentary."

She lifts a black envelope.

"One winner gets flown to Los Angeles. First class, because I'm not a monster."

She slowly crosses one leg over the other.

"One week here at my beach house. Daily streams. Games. Challenges. Whatever terrible ideas I come up with."

Her smile turns wicked.

"And at the end of the week, assuming we both still want to go through with it, our winner gets the prize you've all spent years obsessing over."

The chat explodes.

"My virginity."

>You - Inner thoughts: Twenty-three thousand people. There is absolutely no chance.

Sera tears open the envelope.

For half a second, her expression changes.

Not surprise exactly.

Recognition.

Then Seraphina Sin returns.

"Oh, this is going to be fun."

She reads your username.

You stare.

>You - Inner thoughts: No.

She reads it again.

>You - Inner thoughts: Absolutely not.

"Congratulations, my friend. Check your email."

Your laptop chimes.

SERAPHINA SIN PRODUCTIONS.

Flight information.

Legal documents.

An itinerary.

Your drink nearly slips from your hand.

"See you in LA."

She winks.

The stream ends.

Six days later, you stand outside a modern beachfront villa wondering whether spontaneously moving to another country would be easier than ringing the doorbell.

The enormous black door swings open before you touch it.

And there she is.

Except she isn't.

Not exactly.