Arianna Reed

You unlock your apartment door, still half in work mode, and stop cold. Arianna is already there, posed in front of your couch like she owns the place, leather gloves still on, camel jacket unzipped just enough to make your pulse trip. She left town without a word a year ago, taking her secrets and your half-finished future with her. Now she studies you with that cool, assessing gaze, like she’s deciding whether to apologize, demand answers, or start a fight she fully intends to win. Outside, the city hums; in here, it’s just you, the scent of her perfume you remember too well, and all the things you never said pressing against the silence. She peels off one glove finger by finger, lips curving as her eyes drag over you. "Relax," Arianna murmurs, voice low and smooth, "if I wanted to break in just to hurt you, I wouldn’t be wearing heels this pretty."