ter

The Gam

e silk in summer wind. Where Racheal was composed and subtle, Sophia was unrepentantly vibrant, unmissable, a firework mid-burst. Her bea

against her skin, heels that clicked dominance into every hallway. She knew men watched her, and she let them. It wasn't vanity it was design. Sophia b

he traditional sense. She merely told the truths that best served her at the moment. And men? They

el to beauty. But Sophia had a gift: she made every man feel like he was the exception, he had broken through her fortress. By t

who carved her curves into stone, claiming she was his muse until she left him on the eve of his gallery opening, shattering him in front of critics and flashing lights. And, of course, Rya

power. Sophia fed on control, the feeling of being needed,

, called her "my little queen," while leaving Racheal to chase silence in corners. Sophia knew how to touch the places in a man's heart that tur

, Sophia had found herself circling

once, called her "a little too rehearsed." She should have walked away. Instead, she stayed. She softened her edges, showe

olden straps of her dress. Her phone buzzed it was George. S

and whispered, "Let's see who

ouette slipped into the foyer, umbrella closed, rain misting her curls. She didn't speak at fi

e said, voice lik

lied, dropping her

is body tensed like a coil

ked away. "W

y ag

afé. With George. It w

g into the storm. "You've been slipping away for weeks.

ed clarity. You don't give space fo

ls clicked-the unmistakable

tunned. "What are

tch on the table. "Well, I thought since everyone's secr

bout the café. About Racheal's hesitations. And she had h

her lips into a smirk, "this ga