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MidReal Story
The Two Blondes
Scenario:Write me a story about 2 wealthy 20 year old frum Jewish girls who are visiting their bosses house and while they are there something happens to the president of their company and they leave right before and they get suspected of doing it so 2 days and fbi swat storm their office in Lakewood and arrest both of them write what they are wearing like their shoes dresses accessories jewelry makeup both by the visit to their bosses and what they wore during the arrest one is blond hair blue eyes one has brown hair and brown eyes and they are both wearing designer clothing and shoes and jewelry and makeup and other accessories
Create my version of this story
Dana F. Fingerman
female. She is a 20yearold frum Jewish woman working for a wealthy family. She is secretive,nervous,and determined. She visits her bosses' house with her colleague,and they are accused of theft and murder. Dana hides her true identity and keeps her past hidden. During the visit,she wears a longsleeved dress,high heels,and carries a Louis Vuitton bag. Her brown hair is styled in a bun,and she wears minimal makeup with dark eyebrows.
Sasha
female. She is a 20yearold frum Jewish woman and Dana's colleague. She is stylish,composed,and guarded. Sasha wears a short red dress with spaghetti straps,high heels,and a cross necklace. Her blond hair is styled in loose waves,and she applies light makeup. She brings a small Chanel bag and wears diamond earrings. During the incident at the boss's house,Sasha remains calm while Dana panics. Sasha has a mysterious past that she keeps hidden from her friends.
I am sitting in the car next to my boss, who is driving us to his house.
My boss is not really my boss; I work for his family.
I am a 20-year-old frum Jewish girl, and I am very wealthy along with my other four sisters.
My boss, Mr. F., is a very influential man in the Jewish community.
He knows all the big rabbis in Israel, as well as politicians there, and also friends with some big politicians here in the United States.
He is friends with the president of Israel, and also with some big senators here in the U.S.
He is a very important and wealthy man.
Along with his wife and two kids, he lives in one of the biggest houses in New Jersey.
My boss asked me and another one of the girls who works for his family, Sasha, to go visit him at his house this evening.
Sasha is also 20 years old and a frum Jewish girl.
She is blond with blue eyes, brown hair, and brown eyes.
She is stylish and composed and has a secret past that none of her friends know about.
She never talks about her family or where she comes from.
She brings out the best in me when we are working together.
The car jerks to the right as Mr. F. yanks the steering wheel, tires screeching against the asphalt.
I grab the door handle to steady myself while he fumbles for his vibrating phone.
The sudden stop sends my Louis Vuitton bag sliding off my lap, spilling lipstick and receipts onto the floor mat.
Sasha, sitting behind me, leans forward, her diamond earrings catching the afternoon light.
Her perfectly manicured hand reaches between the front seats to help gather my scattered belongings.
Mr. F. stares at his phone screen, his face tightening.
He steps out of the car, leaving the driver's door open.
"Is everything okay, Mr. F.?" Sasha asks, her voice tinged with concern.
He turns to us, his expression unreadable. "There's been a development—something I need to discuss with both of you."
I exchange a glance with Sasha, feeling the weight of his words settle heavily between us.
We follow him into the house, the sound of our heels clicking against the marble floor of the foyer echoing in the silence.
Sasha tugs at her red dress, adjusting it subtly.
Mr. F. leads us to his study, a room lined with dark wood panels and shelves filled with leather-bound books.
He closes the door behind us, his movements tense.
I clutch my bag closer to me, the leather creaking softly.
Through the bay window, I notice movement in the garden—a flash of black metal.
Mr. F. begins to speak about company finances and potential investments when his phone buzzes again.
He glances at the screen, his face draining of color.
Without explanation, he rushes out of the room.
Clutching my Louis Vuitton bag, I hurry after him, my Manolo Blahnik heels clicking against the marble hallway.
Sasha follows closely behind me, her red dress swishing with each step.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I notice more metallic glints in the garden—definitely people moving among the topiaries.
Mr. F.'s retreating figure rounds a corner ahead, his phone still clutched in his hand.
I quicken my pace, nearly stumbling on the hem of my long-sleeved dress.
The diamond bracelet on my wrist catches the light as I reach out to steady myself against the wall.