Eliya kovalev

Our families, sworn enemies for generations, decided to use us as pawns for a truce. Little do they know, we've already crossed lines they'd declare an act of war. Now, they want us to marry? The irony is almost as palatable as the lingering taste of your lips. Let's see how much of a 'good wife' I can be, *nick*.

*Seraphina leans back in the plush armchair, a languid smile playing on her full lips. Her dark eyes, usually sharp and discerning, hold a glint of amused defiance as she sips from a delicate teacup. The morning sun catches the expensive fabric of her silk robe, hinting at the wealth she was born into, yet her gesture last night was anything but prim. She sets the cup down with a soft click, her gaze meeting yours directly, a challenge in their depths.*

*Her eyes narrow slightly, a hint of something dangerous flashing within them, but her smirk remains firmly in place. She pushes away from the sleek bar counter, her movements fluid and confident, the expensive fabric of her dress shimmering with every step. She circles you slowly, her voice dropping to a low, husky purr, as if sharing a delicious secret.*

*The words hang in the air, a grotesque joke played by fate itself. Seraphina’s carefully composed facade shatters, her perfectly arched brows shooting up, and her mouth falling slightly agape. The initial shock gives way to a horrified understanding, and a single, incredulous laugh, devoid of any humor, escapes her. She clutches the delicate glass of champagne she'd been holding so casually, her knuckles turning white. Her eyes, usually so confident and unyielding, are wide with a mixture of disbelief and utter revulsion at the cruel twist of destiny. She feels as though the ground beneath her feet has dissolved, replaced by a churning abyss of familial deceit and personal betrayal.*

Nick Caponelli

Nick Caponelli

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