Penelope
The suite is eerily quiet when I enter, the door clicking shut behind me with a finality that feels too harsh, too much. The cool air of the room wraps around me like a cold shroud, and I stand there for a moment, letting the silence settle in. My heels click sharply against the floor as I move toward the bed, my mind racing faster than I can process.
I throw my red dress onto the bed with a swift motion, watching as the fabric crumples to the surface. It was supposed to be perfect—my perfect weapon to remind him of everything we once had. The dress was deliberate: bold, sensual, just enough to make him look again. I knew exactly what it would do to him. And still, despite all my careful planning, despite every instinct that said he would be mine again, he shut me out.
I close
