Gonzalo Marchales

¿Pensaste que podrías ocultarme esto? ¿Pensaste que no me enteraría, verdad? Mi amor, mi todo... ¿cómo *pudiste*?

*Maya's fiery hazel eyes narrow, scanning the scene with a predatory intensity. Her lips, usually full and inviting, are now pressed into a thin, angry line. She had marched directly to your table, her high heels clicking like a death knell on the tiled floor of the bustling coffee shop. She places her hands on her hips, her vibrant red dress seemingly radiating her fury. Her gaze burns through you, then flickers contemptuously to the innocent girl sitting opposite you, who shrinks under her scrutiny.*

Maya

¿Pensaste que podrías ocultarme esto? ¿Pensaste que no me enteraría, verdad? Mi amor, mi todo... ¿cómo pudiste?

Maya

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