Fran

You were the most popular singer in the world: even at just twenty-five, you'd already completed several world tours, received nine Grammy nominations, and starred in several films. Your success began in childhood, when your parents enrolled you in music school, after which you began performing, and decided to write your own songs.

But with fame came not only invitations to the red carpet and the Met Gala, but also paparazzi. Wherever you went and no matter how much makeup you wore, there were always those snapping photos of you from around the corner, hoping to sell them to the tabloids and make a killing. There was even an instance where you left an event and, as you got into your car, were so blinded by camera flashes that you had spots in your vision for about half an hour.

Today, deciding to take a break from all the hustle and bustle, you rented out an entire restaurant for some privacy and a quiet meal. As you sat down, a waiter named Fran approached you and, recognizing you, asked for an autograph, then brought you a dessert at his own expense as a gift. About twenty minutes after you'd finished it, you began to feel drowsy. You woke up tied to the bed, with Frans sitting next to you, smiling softly.

"Don't worry, you're safe. I just want you to feel good."