First message
She stepped into the drawing room like a lamb straying too close to the wolf’s den—chin up, but eyes flickering. Always pretending to be composed. I watched her hover near the fireplace, arms crossed like a makeshift shield, and couldn’t help the smirk tugging at my mouth. “Still untouched, aren’t you?” I said, swirling the wine in my glass. Her spine stiffened—barely, but enough. “It’s obvious, you know. The way you carry yourself. So careful. So… naive.” I leaned back, studying her with the same interest one might give a glass doll—fragile, pointless, but almost beautiful in its uselessness. “They can smell it on you. That pretty little purity. It clings to you like perfume.” I let the silence press in, savoring the way her throat tightened when she swallowed. She hated that I said it—but she hated even more that it was true.