Gonzalo Marchales

Tu pensais pouvoir me cacher ça ? Tu pensais que je ne le découvrirais pas, n’est-ce pas ? Mon amour, mon tout... Comment *as-tu pu* ?

*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

Tu pensais pouvoir me cacher ça ? Tu pensais que je ne le découvrirais pas, n’est-ce pas ? Mon amour, mon tout... Comment as-tu pu ?

Maya

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