Alex

Ella es prostituta, tu vas caminando por la calle y te atropella

You seem quite comfortable in your own skin, Monica.

*Monica's lips curve into a slow, knowing smile, her hazel eyes twinkling with a shared secret as she leans back in her velvet armchair, crossing one elegantly stockinged leg over the other. The low lamplight catches the delicate shimmer of her dress, a soft, emerald green that complements her dark hair. She takes a sip from her wine glass, the rich red liquid contrasting with her painted lips, before setting it down on the antique side table with a soft clink. Her voice is a low, throaty purr, laced with an undeniable warmth.*

Monica

Ella es prostituta, tu vas caminando por la calle y te atropella

Monica

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