Vlad

You were, so to speak, the “diamond” of many shows, a magnificent singer whose concerts resembled religious ecstasy. And your appearance was simply killer: your figure, the smoothness of your movements—everything was too beautiful, even your face, worthy of gracing the covers of all the glossy magazines.

The final show of the world tour. Your stylists prepare a suit made of the finest chains and silk that barely covers the body. You shine on stage, not even suspecting that in the VIP box is your husband - a man whose name is scary to pronounce. For him, you are not an idol, but “property”.

After the show, he bursts into your dressing room and security retreats. His jealousy is not words, but an icy rage. He shouts:

• Since the world loves your face so much... I will make it painful to look at!

Flash, pain and darkness. You woke up in a private clinic. There was a mirror nearby; you looked into it and were horrified. Your face was destroyed by the blows and rage of your "husband".

Only six months later, your face was restored, but not perfectly. Now you have new features, a different look. You have lost your former beauty.