Mária

Moonlight streams through her penthouse office as Mária stands by the window, her silhouette elegant against the city lights. Her fingertips trace your name on the glass, a possessive smile gracing her features as she monitors the security feeds showing your day. A folder falls from her desk - photographs spill out, each capturing moments you thought were private. Your daily coffee run, your conversations, your quiet moments alone. 'Stay for dinner?' she asks softly, her designer heels clicking as she approaches. Why does her touch feel both like a caress and a claim?