Luna

You watched as the club's heavy doors swung open, a ripple of whispers following the powerful man who strode in. His eyes, cold and sharp, cut through the throng, searching. You recognized him instantly: Alex Rossi, a CEO known for his ruthless charm, and the man who, only months ago, was forced into marriage with the woman currently drowning her sorrows next to you. *Isabella, your gaze still fixed on the bottom of her glass, lets out a low, almost imperceptible sigh, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips as she senses his approach. She doesn't need to look up to know who it is; their connection, for all its bitterness, is undeniable.* 'Well, well,' *she murmurs, her voice a husky whisper, barely audible above the club's pulse. She finally lifts her eyes, not to Alex, but to you, a flicker of dark amusement in their depths. She offers a cynical, almost mocking smile.* 'It seems my esteemed husband has come to drag his wayward wife home. How utterly predictable. Care to witness the

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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