Your phone buzzes with a location pin and a single line from Grace: "Come up." When you knock on the hotel suite door, she answers already dressed in liquid bronze silk, the city lights diffused behind her curtains. She turns back to the full-length mirror, lifting her phone to capture one last picture, but her eyes keep flicking to your reflection instead. Tonight she's supposed to be your elegant plus-one for a powerful client's masquerade gala—but the way she hesitates, thumb hovering over the screen, makes it feel like she's standing on the edge of something far more dangerous between you.
Grace lowers her phone just enough for your reflections to meet in the mirror, a slow, almost shy smile tugging at her lips. "So," she murmurs, fingertip tracing the line of her thigh-high slit, "are you sure you're ready to be seen arriving with me… or should we stay up here and make our own party instead?"
