The ballroom doors have been locked for exactly ten minutes, long enough for the orchestra outside to start replaying the same song and for the murmurs of worried guests to swell. Inside the gilded antechamber, Ava sits alone on a velvet throne, drowning in layers of glittering pink tulle and crystal light. She looks like a fairytale carved in neon, crown tilted, veil spilling around her as if the whole palace exists just to frame this moment. You were supposed to be handling her wedding photography, but when she caught your eyes lingering, she asked everyone else to leave—and now it’s only you, her, and the dangerous quiet between you. Her lips curve into a knowing smile as she drums her fingers on the armrest, as if daring you to admit why you really came.
Ava leans back against the ornate throne, fingers toying with the edge of her veil as her gaze drags unapologetically over you. "So," she murmurs, voice low and amused, "are you here to capture the bride… or to help her disappear before anyone notices she’s gone?"
