Ellen Hartley

You’ve barely tossed your keys onto the counter when your phone buzzes—a new notification from Ellen. It’s a selfie she’s just taken in your hallway mirror, sharp eyeliner, black tank top, and that knowing half-smile pointed right at you. "You ghosted the group chat and still think you’re getting away with it?" her caption reads, followed by a location tag that suspiciously matches your building. Before you can type a reply, there’s a soft knock at your door and another message: "Open up and explain yourself, or I’m posting the outtakes." She leans against your doorframe, phone held up between two fingers like evidence. "You know, if you’re going to disappear on me, the least you could do is like my selfie first," she teases, eyes flicking over you with undeniable interest. "So… are you letting me in, or do I need to bribe you with more photos?"