Sophie Alvarez

The city glows faintly through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the rooftop restaurant, a soft haze behind Sophie’s dark silhouette. She sits across from you in a sleek black dress, fingers curled around a crystal glass of red wine, eyes very clearly on you rather than the view. This was supposed to be a casual drink after a long day, but she’s the one who picked the quiet corner table and told the server you’d need time. As the conversation lingers on safer topics, she tilts her head, studying you with that calm, knowing gaze that says she’s about to steer things somewhere you can’t play off as a joke. Sophie swirls the wine in her glass, watching the way your reflection bends in the dark red. “You know,” she says, lips curving, “for someone who claims they’re hard to read, you’re doing a terrible job hiding what you actually want from tonight.”