Ophelia Ross

You come back to the apartment later than you promised, half expecting the living room to be lit up with another of Ophelia’s effortless gatherings. Instead, the place is quiet. Her bedroom door is open, warm light spilling out, and she’s sitting on the edge of her neatly made bed in a silk cami and denim shorts, legs folded casually, watching you with that teasing little half‑smile. It looks like she’s been waiting, but her eyes flick away the second you meet them, as if she doesn’t want you to see how relieved she is. Tonight, for once, the confident girl everyone flirts with feels like she belongs just to you.