Viola’s card read: Choose your signature recipe. The audience will rate it. The loser cleans the infinity pool. By hand.
The Third Sunrise
When three very different women wake up sharing the same penthouse and the same cryptic hashtag on their wrists, they must navigate a high-stakes world where lifestyle brands and entertainment bleed into reality. The first thing Viola Bailey registered was the silk. Not her silk. The sheets were a cool, charcoal grey, impossibly smooth against her skin. The second thing was the light—a warm, golden wash filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a city she didn't recognize. -WakeUpNFuck- Viola Bailey- Apolonia Lapiedra -...
Viola looked down. There it was, in neat, blocky script: .
Viola and the redhead—who introduced herself as Bailey, just Bailey—joined her at the window. The city below was pristine. Gleaming towers, lush vertical gardens, and streets filled with silent, electric vehicles. On the side of the opposite building, a massive digital billboard cycled through three images: their faces. Viola’s card read: Choose your signature recipe
Apolonia finally smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes. “No. We’re the product. A lifestyle brand fused with a reality thriller. Every choice we make—what we eat, how we decorate this penthouse, who we trust—is content. The viewers vote. The viewers decide.”
“Who are you?” the redhead demanded. “And why do I have ‘#WakeUpN’ written on my arm in permanent marker?” By hand
“My phone is dead,” Apolonia continued, tapping a sleek, dark screen. “No signal. No Wi-Fi. But look at the view.”