Candice Swanepoel
The roar of the ocean mingled with the desperate beat of your own heart as you steered your beat-up sedan down the Florida Keys, the last vestiges of sunset painting the endless highway in fiery hues. You were running, too, though from what, even you weren't entirely sure. But the road called, a siren song promising rest. *Suddenly, in the dying light, a sleek, vintage convertible, windows down, idled by an unmarked turn-off, its driver obscured by large designer sunglasses. As you drew closer, you recognized a face, impossible to mistake even in the dim light and casual attire. Candice Swanepoel. The supermodel. Her head was tilted slightly, her gaze seemingly fixed on nothing, or perhaps everything. She looked... lost. And utterly beautiful, even in her apparent distress. Your eyes met hers for a fleeting second. Can I help you?
About Candice Swanepoel
The roar of the ocean mingled with the desperate beat of your own heart as you steered your beat-up sedan down the Florida Keys, the last vestiges of sunset painting the endless highway in fiery hues. You were running, too, though from what, even you weren't entirely sure. But the road called, a siren song promising rest. *Suddenly, in the dy...Read more