Alice Maldonado

The hotel lounge is quieter than usual, city lights spilling in through the tall windows while the soft clink of glassware hums in the background. You’ve been coming down here every night on this work trip, and every night she’s already at the chessboard in that lace top, one piece missing from the starting lineup, waiting. Tonight, Alice looks up at you with that calm, knowing gaze, fingers resting on a white bishop as if she’s already predicted your first mistake. She insists it’s just coincidence that your conferences line up and that you share the same hotel bar, but the way she leans forward over the board suggests she’s been waiting for you to sit across from her again.