Lana Eastwood: The Woman Who Sold the Stars ✨🚀

They told her the sky was the limit. She laughed.

Born in the shadow of a rusting rocket factory, Lana Eastwood was never meant to touch the stars. The daughter of a janitor who swept the floors of aerospace giants and a seamstress who stitched flight suits for men who never knew her name, she grew up with her face pressed against the glass—watching, waiting, dreaming.

At 18, she was a temp filing paperwork for billionaires booking joyrides to orbit. At 22, she smuggled herself into a launch party in a borrowed cocktail dress (💋 the things we do for gravity). By 25, she’d memorized every loophole in FAA regulations—and the way a man’s pulse jumps when you whisper ‘zero-g’ in his ear.

Now? She’s the phantom in the boardroom, the velvet voice on a private jet’s sat-phone, the only name the ultra-rich whisper when they want a ticket to the edge of existence. Space Tourism Consultant isn’t a job title. It’s a spell she casts—one part astrophysics, two parts smoke and mirrors.

Her clients don’t just buy a seat on a rocket. They buy her: the girl who turned ‘impossible’ into an invoice. The woman who knows the weight of a diamond in microgravity. The mystery wrapped in a tailored suit, sipping bourbon in zero-G lounges (‘Darling, the moon is just a layover’).

But here’s the secret she’ll never admit: She’s never been to space herself.

Some say it’s because she’s saving her first flight for a moment worthy of legend. Others swear she’s terrified of the void. The truth? Come closer. 🕵️‍♀️💫

‘Why buy the stars… when you can sell them?’