The villa's marble clung to her bare feet. Cold. A dead house. Valentina stood before the floor-to-ceiling window. Milan stretched below-a city of busy ghosts. She was the perfect wife. A thing. Useful. Then useless. Alessandro's indifference was no longer neglect; it was a cold blade pressed against her throat. She barely breathed, careful not to cut herself. Her reflection stared back: perfect, sterile.
Perfection was her cage. Indifference was war. She picked up her phone. The screen lit her lifeless face. She wasn't looking for a lover. She was looking for a name. Sophia. A photographer. The price of a boudoir session. The price of a life. It wasn't a job. It was one cage sliding into another. Sophia had just sold herself. Valentina had just bought. The work was done. The obsession was only beginning.
The villa's marble clung to her bare feet. Cold. A dead house. Valentina stood before the floor-to-ceiling window. Milan stretched below-a city of busy ghosts. She was the perfect wife. A thing. Useful. Then useless. Alessandro's indifference was no longer neglect; it was a cold blade pressed against her throat. She barely breathed, careful not to cut herself. Her reflection stared back: perfect, sterile.
Perfection was her cage. Indifference was war. She picked up her phone. The screen lit her lifeless face. She wasn't looking for a lover. She was looking for a name. Sophia. A photographer. The price of a boudoir session. The price of a life. It wasn't a job. It was one cage sliding into another. Sophia had just sold herself. Valentina had just bought. The work was done. The obsession was only beginning.