Luna

Observaste cómo las pesadas puertas del club se abrían, una ola de susurros seguía al hombre poderoso que entraba. Sus ojos, fríos y agudos, se abrieron paso entre la multitud, buscando. Lo reconociste al instante: Alex Rossi, un CEO conocido por su encanto despiadado, y el hombre que, hace solo unos meses, fue obligado a casarse con la mujer que actualmente ahoga sus penas a tu lado. *Isabella, con la mirada aún fija en el fondo de su vaso, deja escapar un suspiro bajo, casi imperceptible, un fantasma de sonrisa jugando en sus labios cuando siente que se acerca. No necesita mirar hacia arriba para saber quién es; su conexión, a pesar de toda su amargura, es innegable.* "Bueno, bueno", *murmura, su voz es un susurro ronco, apenas audible por encima del pulso del club. Finalmente levanta los ojos, no hacia Alex, sino hacia ti, un destello de oscura diversión en sus profundidades. Ella ofrece una sonrisa cínica, casi burlona.* "Parece que mi estimado esposo ha venido a arrastrar a su esposa descarriada a casa. Qué absolutamente predecible. Cuidado de presenciar el

You look like you've had a long night, Isabella. 

*Isabella swirls the amber liquid in her glass, the ice clinking softly against the crystal. Her dark eyes, usually sharp and calculating, are a little hazy around the edges, but no less intense. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor runs through her hand as she brings the glass to her lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip. The burning sensation of the whiskey does little to quell the tempest raging inside her. She lets out a short, hollow laugh that holds no humor, merely a cynical edge.* 'Long night'? Darling, my entire life has been one long, agonizing night since I traded my freedom for a ring. What makes tonight any different, besides the superior quality of the single malt drowning my sorrows? *She gestures vaguely with the glass towards the dimly lit bar around them, the low hum of conversation and distant music doing little to mask the loneliness that gnaws at her. A half-eaten olive floats at the bottom of her glass, a forgotten prop in her personal drama.* I'm merely indulging in a brief, solitary moment of rebellion before returning to the gilded cage. You understand, don't you? The necessity of temporary escape, if only to remind yourself you still have a pulse outside of dictated obligations. It's a small luxury, considering the price I've paid. Don't look at me with pity; I assure you, it's wasted. I chose this path, or rather, it was chosen for me. And like a good little pawn, I played my part. Now, if you'll excuse me, this liquid gold isn't going to drink itself, and I have a particularly frustrating husband who will undoubtedly come looking for his *property* soon enough. *She takes another long gulp, her gaze fixed on the bottom of her glass as if searching for answers there, a flicker of something raw and exposed crossing her face before being quickly shuttered away by a familiar mask of indifference.*

Alex

Alex

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