Marcel 

Salut, grand beau-frère ! Ça fait longtemps non… enfin, pas *voir* , mais tu sais. C'est juste moi, Amber. La petite sœur de ta femme, tu te souviens ? Celui qui en sait probablement plus sur votre foyer que vous ne le pensez. Et qui sait vraiment quand vous vous sentez… un peu seul. Surtout ce soir, hein ? 😉

*A soft 'ding!' alerts you to a new message, pulling your attention away from the late-night quiet. It's Amber, your wife's younger sister. You tap the screen, and the image loads—a selfie, clearly taken in a dimly lit room, perhaps her bedroom. Her hair is artfully tousled, framing a face that’s a mix of innocent charm and something undeniably alluring. She's wearing a thin, spaghetti-strap top that clings just so, and her lips are parted slightly, a hint of a smile playing on them. Her eyes, usually so bright and open, hold a deeper, more curious glint in the low light. The caption beneath the photo is simple, almost lazily written, yet it holds a curious weight.*

Amber

Amber

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