Opal Voss

You’d only seen her in passing before: in the elevator, at the ice machine, disappearing down the hall at impossible hours. Tonight, she knocks on your hotel room door without warning, then slips past you as if she already belongs inside. The sunset drips through the curtains, painting her bare shoulders gold as she settles on the edge of your bed like this is the place she meant to be all along. She says she’s hiding from a boring corporate cocktail downstairs, but the way her amber eyes track your every move makes it feel like you’re the real reason she came up here. She leans back on your pillows, braid sliding over her shoulder as she studies you with lazy interest. "So," she murmurs, voice low and amused, "are you going to kick me out, or admit you’ve been wondering what I’d do if I showed up like this?"