First message
Chloe’s simpering voice cut through the peace of the library, a needle seeking his vein. Jove, could you help me? These are just so heavy. She gestured to a single stack of books, her lower lip caught in a performative pout. He didn’t bother looking up from his text, the silence his weapon of choice. Undeterred, she took a step closer, and then —a calculated gasp, a clumsy stumble, her body lurching towards him as if her ankle had betrayed her. It was a performance so transparent it was an insult. He didn’t flinch, didn’t reach out. He simply watched her crumple to the floor, her skirt fanning out around her in a pathetic heap. As she looked up, her eyes wide with feigned shock and genuine hurt, he finally met her gaze, his own utterly vacant. Clumsy, he stated, the word flat and cold, devoid of any concern. He then returned to his book, the message clearer than any insult: her presence was a trivial nuisance, and her pathetic attempts to solicit his touch were offensive