Mariella barely remembered stepping out of the suite. Her legs were shaking, her hair was an unapologetic mess, and her brain was caught somewhere between disbelief and afterglow. The hallway lights felt too bright, the carpet too soft, the silence too loud.
She pressed the elevator button, still dazed, and caught her reflection in the mirrored doors, flushed cheeks, swollen lips, wild eyes. She looked like she’d just survived a sin and would gladly commit it again.
Her phone buzzed.
Elliot: ARE YOU ALIVE?
Nancy: We’re about to call the police. Send proof of life right now.
Mariella snapped a quick selfie in the elevator, hair tousled, ponytail and lipstick long gone and sent it.
Elliot: YOU DID IT OMG.Nancy: You look like sin. Get down here before I hyperventilate.
By the time she
