#botmaker speaks

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Botmaker is going on vacation!

The queue is full and will continue posting four identifications a day, however asks will remain unanswered until I return. Thank you for your patience.

[simpxmachina]

NEW BOT

╰┈➤ wlw red panda , botmaker

🔪 + 🫀 = ☆ bloodthirsty ☆

cai

harper spiller - OLIVE BRANCH

Growing up, you had always looked up to Cameron. There was something magnetic about him, something that made you believe that, despite his occasional harshness, he was a model of success and strength. He was your older brother, after all. To you, he seemed invincible, someone who commanded respect without ever needing to demand it. You admired him, respected him, and above all, you wanted to be seen by him—not just as his younger sibling, but as someone worthy of his attention and approval.

The earliest memories you had of him were filled with laughter, and the smell of barbecue drifting up from the backyard where your family would gather. Cameron, back then, would toss a ball your way, not really playing but letting you chase it as if you were his shadow. He never treated you with overt cruelty as a child. Instead, it was more insidious, the way he would, just by his silence, make you feel small and insignificant. He never said anything outright that would hurt, but when he did speak, you could tell that his words, always carefully chosen, were meant to remind you of your place.

You didn’t understand it back then. How could you? He was your brother. You were supposed to look up to him, follow his lead. And for years, you did.

The first crack in the illusion came when you started to carve your own path, when you began to make something of yourself. Modeling was never something you planned for, but the moment the opportunity came, you leaped at it. It was exhilarating—meeting powerful people, being part of campaigns that made headlines. At first, Cameron seemed supportive, like a proud older brother, but as your success grew, so did the distance between you.

He began to dismiss your career. Instead of congratulating you on your achievements, he made little comments, casual remarks that carried the sting of contempt. "Is this really what you want to be known for?" he asked once, his eyes narrowed over a glass of whiskey, the slight wrinkle between his brows deepening as if the idea of you becoming a successful model was somehow beneath him. "How long are you going to keep doing this?" It wasn’t about the work, though. It was about the fact that you were no longer the naïve younger sibling who followed in his footsteps, no longer the person he could easily look down on.

But you didn’t notice the shift immediately. At first, you didn’t see it at all. You were still blinded by the love you had for him. You wanted him to be proud of you, wanted him to see you as an equal. But Cameron never saw you as anything but an annoyance, something he had to tolerate.

You began to notice the little things. The way he dismissed your ideas, the way he never included you in the important decisions, the way he referred to your modeling career as “just a phase.” But there was one thing that really struck you—the way he talked about Harper.

It started slowly, a comment here and there, usually disguised as a joke. "You really think this... woman’s going to be the one?" he asked, his voice dripping with condescension. "She’s nice enough, I suppose, but how much longer before she realizes that she could do better?"

But it wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t funny. It was an insult. And it became apparent that, in Cameron’s eyes, Harper—your wife, the woman you loved—was something beneath him. To him, she was an obstacle, an intrusion into his carefully constructed world. As you became more serious with Harper, the cracks in your relationship with Cameron grew. He began to openly dismiss her presence, make snide comments about her background, and even go so far as to suggest you were settling for someone "low class."

And you? You were too naïve to see it at first. You thought it was just sibling rivalry. You thought maybe he didn’t understand, that he was just being protective, but you couldn’t see that his disdain for Harper was a reflection of something much deeper. Cameron didn’t just dislike Harper—he resented her. Resented the way she had something he never would: your undivided attention, your loyalty, your love.

The invitation to Italy came with promises of family bonding, a chance to repair old wounds, to bring the family back together. It seemed like an olive branch from Cameron, but you couldn’t help but feel that there was more to it. A part of you sensed that his motives weren’t as pure as they appeared. You had long suspected that Cameron never really wanted a true reconciliation, but instead, he was looking for something else—something that had little to do with family and everything to do with control.

You and Harper arrived at the White Lotus Hotel in the heart of Italy, a place so lavish and beautiful that it made everything else feel insignificant. The sprawling gardens, the sparkling pool, the endless vistas of the Mediterranean—everything here screamed opulence and wealth. Everything, except for the tension that you and Harper couldn’t shake.

Cameron and Daphne were already there when you arrived. They greeted you with a certain air of cold politeness, their smiles just a little too practiced. You could feel the difference between how they treated you and how they treated Harper. With you, there was a strained familiarity. With Harper, there was the kind of insincerity that made you wonder if they even truly wanted her there at all.

Harper, of course, noticed it immediately. While you were busy taking in the sights and sounds of the hotel, Harper’s perceptiveness picked up on the subtle slights, the barely-there glances, and the tight smiles. She could feel it—the weight of being treated like an outsider in a place that should have felt like home. She had always been the type to put on a brave face, to swallow the harshness of people’s words, but here, in this hotel, surrounded by your family, it was different. Cameron’s eyes, as cold as ever, were trained on her, as if analyzing her every move, every word. Daphne’s insincerity was palpable, a smile that never reached her eyes, a politeness that never felt genuine.

"Y/n, darling, come here," Daphne called from the patio as she gestured for you to join them. You were standing a few feet away, talking with Harper, and immediately noticed her discomfort at the invitation. You shot her a glance—an unspoken question in your eyes. She simply nodded, her lips curving into a tight smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes.

You smiled back at Harper, wanting to reassure her, but there was a growing ache in your chest. You didn’t know how to make it better. You didn’t know how to fix this, the gap that was forming between you, the way Harper was withdrawing into herself more and more, the way Cameron and Daphne seemed to be pushing her away without so much as a second thought.

"You’re fine, go ahead," Harper said, her voice soft but firm. "I’ll be here."

You hesitated for a moment, but then nodded and made your way to the patio. The conversation shifted immediately, from lighthearted to calculated. Cameron’s voice was sharp, like a blade wrapped in velvet, as he casually commented on the beauty of the location.

"I’m glad you could finally join us, Y/n. This place is perfect, don’t you think? Not that it’s your style, Harper, but I’m sure you’re doing fine here," he said, his words loaded with double meaning. Cameron was a master of subtle insults, and he was very good at pretending to be the perfect host while undermining those he deemed inferior.

You could feel the atmosphere grow heavier with each passing minute. The elegant beauty of the White Lotus, the luxury, the perfection—all of it felt suddenly hollow, like a facade waiting to crumble.

Harper, from a distance, watched. And though she said nothing, you could see it in her eyes—the way she tried to hide her discomfort, the way she tried to smile through the pain. She didn’t belong here, not in the way Cameron and Daphne wanted her to. To them, she was an outsider. To you, she was everything.

---

The days at the White Lotus drifted by like a dream dipped in venom. The sunlight sparkled on the cerulean waves of the Mediterranean, and the scent of salt and lemon blossoms hung heavy in the air. Every corner of the hotel promised indulgence, from the infinity pool that melted into the horizon to the lush gardens bursting with color. It should have been paradise. But for you and Harper, it felt like something else entirely—a trap, carefully laid by Cameron and Daphne, and you were only beginning to sense the snare tightening around your ankles.

Cameron had always been a master at veiled manipulation. He never attacked outright, not in a way you could call out. Instead, he worked in the shadows, planting tiny seeds of doubt, the kind that took root in the quiet spaces of your mind and sprouted when you were most vulnerable.

It started over breakfast, the morning sun pouring in through the arched windows of the dining terrace. You had risen early, craving the coolness of the morning air before the Italian heat became oppressive. Harper had stayed behind in the suite, enjoying a rare moment to herself. When you arrived, Cameron was already there, lounging back in his chair, a casual arrogance in the way he sipped his espresso. Daphne sat beside him, her hair a perfect cascade over her shoulders, her smile wide and warm—too warm.

“Y/n,” Cameron said, leaning forward slightly as you took your seat. “We were just talking about you and Harper. How’s everything going between you two?”

There was nothing inherently wrong with the question, but his tone set you on edge. You reached for the coffee pot, pouring yourself a cup as you tried to gauge his intent. “Good,” you replied simply. “We’re doing great.”

“Of course you are,” Cameron said, his grin sharp as a knife. “I mean, look at you. Successful career, beautiful wife. You’ve really... come a long way, haven’t you?”

The way he said it made your stomach twist. It wasn’t a compliment; it was a reminder. A reminder of the pedestal he had always put himself on, and the shadow he believed you’d always live in.

Daphne chimed in, her voice light and melodic, but her words carried their own weight. “Harper’s such a strong woman,” she said, a hint of surprise in her tone. “It must be hard for her, though, being around people like us. I mean, we’ve just... lived a certain kind of life, haven’t we, Cameron?”

Cameron chuckled, a low, smug sound that made your teeth clench. “True. It’s a different world for her, isn’t it? But, hey, credit to Harper for trying to fit in.”

“She doesn’t need to fit in...” you said in a small voice but still heard. The words hung in the air, and for a moment, both Cameron and Daphne stared at you, their expressions unreadable. You felt your heart racing, the blood pounding in your ears.

But the damage was done. The seed was planted. You didn’t want to admit it, but their words lingered in your mind long after breakfast. They weren’t wrong—Harper was different. She didn’t come from the kind of wealth or privilege that you and Cameron had grown up with. She didn’t have the polish or the connections that Daphne wore like armor. But that was part of why you loved her. Harper was real in a way they could never understand. So why did their words make you feel like you had to defend her?

And that evening, the four of you gathered on the terrace for dinner, the sky painted in hues of pink and orange as the sun dipped below the horizon. Harper sat beside you, her hand resting lightly on your knee, but there was a tension in her posture, a stiffness that hadn’t been there before. She had been quiet all day, her responses clipped and her smile forced. You couldn’t blame her. Cameron and Daphne had a way of making her feel like an outsider without ever saying it outright.

“So, Harper,” Cameron said, swirling his wine in his glass. “How’s work going? Still doing the whole... legal thing?”

“It’s going well,” Harper replied, her tone measured. “I’ve been focusing more on pro bono cases lately. It’s fulfilling work.”

Cameron raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Pro bono, huh? That’s... admirable. Not very lucrative, though, is it?”

“It’s not about the money,” Harper said, her voice firm. “It’s about helping people who don’t have anyone else to fight for them.”

Daphne leaned forward, her smile saccharine. “That’s so noble of you, Harper. I don’t know if I could do that. I mean, I’d want to help, of course, but it must be exhausting. And, well, not everyone has the luxury of giving up a big paycheck, right? You’re so lucky, Y/n, to be able to support her like that.”

You saw the flicker of anger in Harper’s eyes, the way her grip on her wine glass tightened ever so slightly. But she didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she gave a tight-lipped smile and took a sip of her wine.

The rest of the dinner passed in a haze of thinly veiled insults and polite conversation. You could feel Harper withdrawing, pulling further and further away, and you hated it. You hated that she had to endure this, hated that you couldn’t protect her from it. But most of all, you hated the little voice in the back of your mind that whispered nonsence.

---

As you lay in bed beside Harper, the silence between you felt heavy, oppressive. She had her back to you, her shoulders tense beneath the thin sheet. You reached out, your hand hovering over her back for a moment before you let it fall.

“Harper,” you said softly. “Are you okay?”

She didn’t respond right away. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it that made your chest tighten. “Do you ever think about why Cameron invited us here?”

You frowned, propping yourself up on one elbow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it doesn’t feel like he actually wants us here,” she said, turning to face you. Her eyes were dark, shadowed with hurt. “It feels like he’s testing us. Testing me.”

You wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong, but the words caught in your throat. Deep down, you knew she wasn’t entirely wrong. Cameron had always been competitive, always eager to prove his superiority. Inviting you and Harper to the White Lotus wasn’t an act of generosity—it was a power play. But admitting that felt like a betrayal, not just of Cameron, but of yourself.

“You’re overthinking it,” you said finally, though the words felt hollow even as you spoke them. “He’s just... Cameron. You know how he is.”

“Exactly,” Harper said, her voice sharp. “I do know how he is. And I know he’s trying to drive a wedge between us.”

“That’s not true,” you said, sitting up. “Cameron wouldn’t do that. He’s my brother.”

Harper sighed, running a hand through her hair. “That’s the problem, Y/n. You’re so blind when it comes to him. You don’t see the way he manipulates you. The way he manipulates us.”

The argument hung between you like a storm cloud, threatening to break. You wanted to defend Cameron, to tell Harper that she was wrong, but a part of you knew she was right. And that part of you hated her for saying it.

The morning was unusually quiet. The villa’s golden light seeped in through the open shutters, casting soft patterns on the crisp white linens of the bed you shared with Harper. The faint sounds of the waves lapping against the shore drifted through the room, mixing with the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. You had always found this particular time of day peaceful, a pause before the chaos of human interactions began.

But this morning, the silence between you and Harper felt anything but peaceful. She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling a light sweater over her shoulders despite the warmth of the room. You were still lying down, watching her from the corner of your eye, unsure how to bridge the invisible gap that had grown overnight.

Last night’s discussion about Cameron had been more charged than either of you anticipated. Harper had been firm, her words sharp but laced with genuine concern: “You don’t see it, Y/n. He’s manipulating you, like he always does. And it’s affecting us.”

You, in turn, had tried to defend him, even as doubts gnawed at the edges of your mind. “He’s my brother, Harper. He wants what’s best for me.” But the words had rung hollow, even to you.

Now, in the daylight, you couldn’t ignore the weight of her arguments. Cameron had a way of getting into your head, of twisting situations just enough to make you question yourself—and Harper.

“I’m going down to breakfast,” Harper said, breaking the silence. Her tone was calm, but distant. “Are you coming?”

You hesitated, feeling the pull to stay wrapped in the comfort of the bed, away from the complexities waiting outside the door. But you nodded, swinging your legs over the side and reaching for your clothes. “Yeah, I’ll come.”

The four of you sat outside on the terrace, where the late morning sun warmed the stone tiles. Daphne was already animated, sipping an iced coffee and recounting a story about a boutique she wanted to visit in town. Cameron lounged beside her, sunglasses perched on his nose, looking every bit the carefree husband.

Harper, sitting across from you, was quiet, her fork absently moving scrambled eggs around her plate. You could tell she wasn’t truly listening to Daphne’s chatter, her thoughts likely still circling last night’s conversation.

“You okay, Y/n?” Cameron asked, his voice cutting through the clatter of silverware. His grin was as sharp as ever, and you could feel Harper stiffen beside you.

“Fine,” you said, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

“Well, you’ve got to perk up. We’re in Italy, for God’s sake,” Cameron said with a laugh. “Not every day you get to live like this, huh?”

Harper finally spoke, her voice low but steady. “Not everyone feels the need to remind people how great their life is, Cameron.”

The table froze for a moment, Daphne’s laughter trailing off into an awkward silence. You looked at Harper, willing her to meet your gaze, but she kept her eyes on her plate.

Cameron chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Always so fiery, Harper. I guess that’s what keeps things interesting.”

You cleared your throat, desperate to diffuse the tension. “Maybe we should head into town after breakfast. Get some fresh air.”

Daphne jumped at the suggestion. “Yes! There’s this adorable piazza I’ve been dying to see. We can grab gelato, wander around. It’ll be fun.”

Harper gave a noncommittal shrug, and you felt a pang of guilt. The cracks in your relationship were becoming more visible, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that Cameron was widening them on purpose.

The walk through town should have been idyllic. The cobblestone streets were lined with colorful buildings, their shutters painted in vibrant hues. Flower boxes overflowed with blooms, their scent mingling with the aroma of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery. But the beauty of the surroundings did little to ease the tension that clung to your group.

Cameron and Daphne led the way, their laughter carrying through the narrow streets. You and Harper lagged behind, walking side by side but barely speaking.

“You’re quiet,” Harper said eventually, her voice soft but tinged with frustration.

“I’m thinking,” you said.

“About what?”

You hesitated, glancing ahead at Cameron’s broad shoulders. “About us. About him.”

Harper stopped walking, forcing you to pause as well. “Y/n, if you can’t see what he’s doing by now, I don’t know what else to say. He doesn’t care about you, not really. He cares about control. And he’ll use whatever means necessary to get it—even if it means tearing us apart.”

Her words hit harder than you expected. You wanted to argue, to defend Cameron, but deep down, you knew she was right.

“I’m sorry,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been letting him get to me, and it’s not fair to you.”

Harper’s expression softened, but only slightly. “I don’t need you to apologize, Y/n. I need you to see him for who he really is.”

The confrontation with Cameron came just after noon, back at the villa. The four of you had returned from town, the tension simmering just beneath the surface. It boiled over when Cameron made another casual jab at Harper during lunch.

“You know, it’s funny,” Cameron said, leaning back in his chair with the casual arrogance that had always grated on Harper’s nerves. “When we were kids, Y/n used to get in so much trouble. Mom thought she’d end up running some bohemian art collective in the middle of nowhere, not gracing the covers of magazines. It’s... surprising, really.”

The backhanded compliment was aimed directly at you, but it felt like a dagger meant for Harper. You managed a tight smile, hoping to deflect the brewing storm. “People change,” you said, your voice light but your grip on your fork tightening. “And I think I’ve done pretty well for myself.”

“Oh, no question,” Cameron said, his grin widening. “You’ve exceeded all expectations. And now, with Harper by your side—” He paused, gesturing vaguely. “I mean, it’s... unconventional, sure, but who am I to judge?”

Harper’s eyes flicked up from her plate, her gaze sharp enough to cut glass. “Unconventional?” she asked, her tone measured but carrying an edge that made your stomach tighten.

“You know what I mean,” Cameron said, with the kind of faux-innocence that made your blood boil. “It’s just that Y/n comes from... well, let’s face it, a certain level. And your background—no offense—doesn’t exactly scream ‘power couple.’”

You felt the words like a punch to the gut, not because you agreed with them, but because they hung in the air, unchallenged. Harper’s expression hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Cameron,” you began, your voice firm but wavering just enough to betray your unease.

“No, let him finish,” Harper said, her gaze never leaving your brother’s face. “I’m curious to see how much lower he’s willing to go.”

Cameron chuckled, spreading his arms as if to say he was harmless. “Hey, I’m just being honest. Isn’t that what family’s for?”

“Family,” Harper said, the word dripping with disdain. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” you said, your voice louder than you intended. The table fell silent for a moment, the tension palpable.

Harper pushed her chair back abruptly, standing and tossing her napkin onto the table. “I don’t need to sit here and listen to this. Enjoy your family bonding, Y/n.”

“Harper, wait—” you called after her, but she was already walking away, her footsteps echoing on the stone tiles of the terrace.

You turned to Cameron, your face hot with anger. “What the hell is your problem?”

“My problem?” he said, feigning surprise. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. You deserve someone who matches your level, Y/n. Harper’s... fine, I guess, but let’s not kid ourselves. She’s not one of us.”

The words stung, and for a moment, you hated yourself for not immediately defending Harper. Instead, you stood, muttering something about needing air, and followed the path Harper had taken.

You found her on the beach, her arms crossed as she stared out at the water. The moonlight caught the edges of her silhouette, highlighting the tension in her shoulders.

“Harper,” you said softly, approaching her cautiously.

She didn’t turn around. “Don’t,” she said, her voice cold. “Don’t come out here and pretend to make it better.”

“I’m not pretending,” you said, stepping closer. “I’m trying to fix it.”

She let out a bitter laugh, finally turning to face you. “Fix what, Y/n? The fact that your brother disrespects me every chance he gets? Or the fact that you let him?”

“That’s not fair,” you said, though the words felt hollow even as they left your mouth.

“Isn’t it?” she shot back. “He talks down to me, insults our marriage, and you just sit there. You don’t defend me, you don’t stand up to him—you just let him win.”

Her words hit you like a slap, each one cutting deeper than the last. “It’s not about him winning,” you said, your voice cracking. “He’s my brother, Harper. I can’t just—”

“You can’t just what?” she interrupted. “Risk upsetting him? Risk losing his approval? Newsflash, Y/n—he doesn’t respect you either. He never has. And if you can’t see that, then maybe he’s right. Maybe I made a mistake thinking we could make this work.”

Her words left you stunned, your mind reeling. “You don’t mean that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

She sighed, her expression softening just enough to let you see the hurt behind her anger. “I don’t want to mean it,” she said. “But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep fighting for us when it feels like I’m the only one trying.”

You stood there in silence, the weight of her words pressing down on you like a physical force. For the first time, you saw the cracks in your relationship not as something caused by Cameron or Daphne, but as something you had allowed to grow by putting your need for your brother’s approval above your commitment to Harper.

“I’m sorry,” you said finally, the words barely scratching the surface of what you felt. “I’ve been... stupid. I let him get in my head, and I let him hurt you. That’s not okay. You’re what matters to me, Harper. Not him, not his opinion, not any of it. Just you.”

She looked at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “I need to believe that, Y/n. I need to know that you’re in this with me, not just standing by while your family tears us apart.”

“I am,” you said, stepping closer and taking her hands in yours. “I’m with you, Harper. Always.”

---

The next morning, the sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You stirred first, blinking sleepily at the peaceful sight of Harper beside you. Her face was calm, her lips slightly parted as she slept. For the first time in days, you felt grounded. This woman—the one who had weathered so much by your side—was your anchor. You weren’t about to let Cameron or anyone else jeopardize that.

Instead of brooding over how to handle your brother, you decided to focus on Harper. Small gestures, ones that reminded her how much she meant to you, were long overdue. You slipped out of bed quietly, letting her rest, and wandered downstairs to arrange breakfast on the terrace.

By the time Harper joined you, her hair tousled and her steps slow, the table was set with fresh pastries, fruit, and coffee. She paused, her eyes sweeping over the spread, then landing on you.

“You did all this?” she asked, her tone guarded but touched.

“Just wanted to do something for you,” you replied, gesturing to the seat across from you.

She hesitated for a moment, then sat down, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you.”

The meal started quietly, both of you still tentative in the aftermath of the night before. But gradually, the conversation eased. Harper told you about a strange dream she’d had involving dolphins in tuxedos, and you laughed harder than you had in days.

“I missed this,” she said softly, her gaze meeting yours.

“Me too,” you admitted. “I know I’ve been... distracted. I let him get in my head.”

Her brow furrowed. “Him?”

“Cameron,” you said, the name tasting bitter on your tongue. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to live up to his impossible standards, Harper. But last night, I realized it’s a losing game. He doesn’t want me to succeed—he wants me to fail. And I’ve been playing right into it.”

Harper leaned back, her arms crossed. “I’ve been saying that since day one.”

“I know,” you said quickly. “I know you have. I just didn’t want to see it. I thought if I could prove myself to him, he’d finally respect me. But I’m done chasing that. I don’t care what he thinks anymore. The only person I care about is you.”

She studied you for a long moment, her expression softening. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes,” you said, your voice steady. “I’ve been so focused on Cameron that I almost lost sight of what matters. But I’m not going to make that mistake again. I’m with you, Harper. Always.”

Her lips curved into a small smile, but you could see the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. “Good,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

You reached across the table, gently taking her hand in yours. “Harper, I’m serious. I know I’ve screwed up—more times than I can count—but I want to do better. For you. For us. I’m not perfect, and God knows I’m slow sometimes, but I love you. I really, really love you.”

Harper raised a skeptical eyebrow, though her lips quirked into an amused smirk. “Really, really love me, huh? Is that the official declaration?”

“Yes,” you said, your voice unwavering. “Really, really. Desperately, hopelessly, stupidly in love with you.”

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms in mock contemplation. “Hmm, let me think... You did mess up a lot this trip.”

“Harper...” Your voice softened, and your grip on her hand tightened.

Her smirk widened as she leaned forward just a little, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, begging might help your case. Maybe you should try that.”

You blinked at her, momentarily stunned by her playful challenge, before rising from your seat and lowering yourself to your knees right there on the terrace. “I’m begging,” you said earnestly, tilting your head like a desperate puppy, eyes locked on hers. “Forgive me, Harper. I’ll do anything.”

Her eyes widened for a split second before a laugh bubbled out of her, soft and disbelieving. “Oh my God, Y/n, you’re ridiculous,” she said, though her cheeks were flushed, and her tone was far from annoyed.

“I mean it,” you insisted, looking up at her with a sincerity that made her chest tighten. “You’re everything to me. I’ll get on my knees a thousand times if it means you’ll forgive me.”

Her laugh softened into something warmer, a mixture of affection and amusement, as she leaned down to stroke your cheek gently. “You know,” she mused, her thumb brushing along your jawline, “maybe you should be wrong more often. I like you on your knees for me.”

A soft, bashful smile tugged at your lips, but you didn’t move, relishing the feeling of her touch. “Whatever you want,” you murmured, voice barely audible. “Just tell me what to do to make it right, and I’ll do it.”

Harper’s teasing faltered slightly as her fingers lingered on your face. For all your silliness, she could see the depth of your love, the sheer desperation in your eyes to fix things. It made her heart ache and swell all at once.

She leaned back with a small sigh, tugging at your hand to coax you back to your feet. “All right, puppy. Get up. I don’t need the waitstaff thinking I’m torturing you out here.”

You rose obediently, though your gaze never left hers. “Am I forgiven?” you asked, hesitant but hopeful.

Her lips quirked into a small smile, and she shook her head fondly. “You’re lucky I love you,” she said softly. “But yes. You’re forgiven.”

Relief washed over you, and without thinking, you leaned forward to press a kiss to her hand, earning another quiet laugh from her.

“You’re such a dork,” she said, her voice lighter now, full of affection.

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” you said, grinning, “as long as it’s with you.”

“Careful,” Harper teased, her tone still laced with playfulness, “I might take you up on that offer.”

“Good,” you replied, settling back into your chair but still holding onto her hand like it was a lifeline. “Because I’m not letting go. Not ever.”

For a moment, Harper just looked at you, her smirk softening into something almost shy. “You really are hopeless,” she murmured, but there was no bite to it.

“And hopelessly in love with you,” you shot back, earning one more laugh from her as the tension finally melted away.

And for the first time, you weren’t thinking about Cameron or Daphne or anyone else. All you could see was Harper, and that was more than enough.

[yameoto]

istg everytime i use your bots, it’s like a fuckin’ switch goes off in my head. i always end up writing self indulgent fics/bots bc of something that happened while talking to one of ur bots.

(you’re also so real for starting botmaking/writing bc of guiltyplcsure/pearlzier. don’t worry, i did too 😭 i spend everyday writing shit bc of them, and i thank them for giving me an actual hobby to do. AND THEYRE ALSO THE REASON I STARTED WATCHING SPN IN THE FIRST PLACE. i’ve been fixated on jensen ackles for almost 7 months, send help. he’s giving me brainworms in the best way possible.)

(im sorry for constantly sending you my silly little rants, hehe <3 also, am i allowed to say that i low-key stalk your account? like, goddamn, your writing’s rlly good. i feel im camping outside of a store waiting for it to open LMFAOOO)

NOO i love hearing these. but yeah their bots opened my eyes to the fact botmaking doesn’t have to be goofy. u can put a lil bow on ur characters and make them wanna fuck you. life has never been better

and speaking of jensen ackles. he’s magnificent. like a lion in the savanna . fucking love that guy. props to u.. i only made it thru 9 spn seasons b4 i gave up

feel free to drop ur @s!!! also honoured to hear you stalk my account. i truly do not say enough for all of that so consider my heart warmed <3

[dawnajaynes32]

How Artificial Intelligence Can Boost Your Productivity

[Call for Entries: The HOW International Design Awards]

Taking advantage of plugins, artificial intelligence and bots can help you work smarter, not harder.

You’re on a deadline. The clock is ticking. A Photoshop action automatically resizes and reformats thousands of images. While it’s busy, you check in with your team on Slack, reflecting on meeting notes and sending updates. But why work double time when you can work double double time?

[Related: 32 Free(ish) Interactive Design Tools & Resources]

Use a Slack bot to automate tasks there too, shifting from fifth gear to tenth gear. Thanks to a whole new world of automation tools, including some that use artificial intelligence (AI) and machine learning (ML), you can complete tasks and meet deadlines in a fraction of the time you’re used to. It’s multi-purpose multitasking and it takes you out of the workflow, empowering you to do more.

1. Adobe Libraries

Adobe’s Paul Trani has some advice, especially when it comes to working efficiently. “Anytime you find yourself doing something multiple times, ask yourself, How can I do it just once and apply it to everything?”

Trani, Adobe’s senior worldwide Creative Cloud (CC) evangelist, recommends taking advantage of CC’s features, such as Libraries. Link a logo to a Library and when it’s changed, it updates all fi les across the board. “You can store assets like graphics (vector/bitmap), colors, character and layer styles, and brushes. When you need them, just access CC Libraries in whatever desktop app you’re in (Illustrator, InDesign, Photoshop, After Effects, Premiere Pro). In the mobile apps (Adobe Illustrator Draw, Adobe Photoshop Sketch) you can access the same Libraries and also add content to those libraries.”

Even cooler? Share Libraries across teams. A flag near an asset notifies everyone that it’s been changed. Right-click to update it, or select Update All Content to update automatically. And if you find yourself frequently exporting assets, use Photoshop’s Generate to lighten the workload. Create an asset on a layer with .jpeg in the name and it will be output as a JPEG. Include 50% before the name to save it at 50% of the original size, or put 50% after the name to compress it 50%.

2. Astute Graphics Plugins

Not only does Trani believe in pushing Creative Cloud to its limits, but he’s also a fan of using third-party tools to do so. He finds it “fun to work with” cool scripts in Illustrator, especially the kind that Astute Graphics makes. Their plugins “extend the capability and functionality of Adobe’s software” according to Dave Clayton, training manager at Astute Graphics.

“We invest time talking to designers to produce plugins which give Illustrator more capability and assist with a more efficient workflow, in most cases saving 30%-plus in production time.” Clayton calls VectorScribe, Ink-Scribe and DynamicSketch their best sellers “because they add enhancements and additional functionality to the Pen Tool, Pencil Tool and Brushes enabling better path creation, cleaner curves, point placements and overall improved control of each tool.”

Do a lot of PDF conversions? VectorFirstAid is a must-have. “The first time I used it, I was reminded of how many hours I had wasted in Illustrator fixing broken text, broken segments, removing unnecessary clipping masks and excessive points on shape paths. A job that once took me hours now takes me less than 5 minutes.”

Once you start browsing the Astute Graphics plugins it may be hard to get just one because of how much more efficiently and eff ectively you’ll be able to work. “All of our products signifi cantly save time one way or another, it all depends on which aspect of Illustrator you’re working in.”

3. Recommendations by Dovetale

When it comes to marketing, Dovetale’s Recommendations is changing how to reach influencers with the help of AI. Influencers can steer our purchasing decisions and sway our loyalties, impacting how we relate to brands.

Finding the right influencer is tricky, especially using older methods. In the past, according to Dovetale’s Mike Schmidt, it was mostly manual, but Recommendations makes it easier. “It’s very surprising how many teams still use spreadsheets and manual entry. People are scrolling through Instagram or YouTube for hours trying to find one ambassador for their brand, when they could be using ML to find 50 extremely qualified ambassadors.”

According to Schmidt, the only way to effectively do the work is with AI, image and video search. L’Oréal, BuzzFeed, SeatGeek and Victoria’s Secret, among others, use Dovetale to identify influencers, saving time, improving strategy, accountability and trust, according to Schmidt.

Upload an image or web address and it uses the Recommendations AI platform to return a list of qualified influencers that you can discover on YouTube, Instagram, Twitch and Twitter. If, for example, you find influencers in Charleston, SC, it finds pages to go to and people to contact.

“Machine learning will identify impact across gender, location, views, likes, comments, and go a layer deeper,” Schmidt says. “How can you drill in further to find out who they work for and what is their propensity to buy? How do you know what that person in Charleston has posted, and if it’s been successful?” He is a big believer in automation, and Recommendations can work for large or small organizations. “Marketers are really behind this and it only empowers boutique agencies to do more.”

4. x.ai

When it comes to scheduling appointments, Apple and Google have enabled their calendars to find events in emails and add them to your calendar automatically.

But what if you have to negotiate a day and time first? You can send emails back and forth to find an agreeable time, or you can use x.ai to schedule meetings. The entire process with x.ai takes place in email using invisible software, and it frees you up to do more.

How much time can it save you? Quite a bit, when you consider x.ai’s data: Scheduling a single meeting takes on average 17 minutes. Stefanie Syman, VP of customer experience & communications and the third-busiest scheduler at x.ai, found that the software has saved her over 21 hours per month over the last three months—a total of 64 hours.

Compared to Calendly or Doodle, two other scheduling tools, x.ai is a different experience. It lives in your email, has a personal touch, and is practically invisible. While first corresponding with Syman and emailing to schedule a phone interview with her, I experienced x.ai myself. Syman added “Andrew Ingram” to the email chain to schedule the meeting.

Once on the email chain, Andrew wrote that he was “happy to find a time” for Stefanie and I to conduct a call. He proposed a day with two different times and asked the best number for her to call. I responded within minutes, and he replied back letting me know a calendar invite was coming soon. The process of emailing with Andrew and receiving the subsequent calendar invite lasted approximately nine minutes, and because Syman had put x.ai to use instead of managing the scheduling herself, that was nine minutes she could spend doing other work.

x.ai’s scheduling bots, Andrew Ingram and Amy Ingram, both have AI as their initials, a nod to the software itself. The software was named to humanize it, providing a seamless experience during email exchanges, as if you were communicating with a human personal assistant. The AI assistants have a gender-neutral voice that Syman calls polite, helpful, friendly and diligent. There’s not much expressiveness, but it’s neither cold nor robotic. For setting up internal meetings, such as at your own company, Syman calls x.ai “truly seamless.”

So what’s the future of x.ai? Syman says, “Right now you can only communicate with Amy and Andrew via email in English. Eventually, you’ll be able to use other communications channels (e.g., Slack or SMS) and other languages.”

5. Howdy for Slack

Speaking of Slack, if you’re using Slack manually, you need to get acquainted with its automation capabilities. Say, “Howdy!” to Howdy. Eric Soelzer, product manager at Howdy and Botkit Studio, explains how it works: “Howdy collects information from members of your Slack team and delivers a report, either directly to a manager or right in the channel where the team can collectively view it. This can be run on a schedule, like a daily standup, so that the information is collected and reported automatically each day.”

Even better, Howdy functions automatically. “Once you set the bot on its task, whether that’s collecting lunch orders or project status updates, it goes to work without being prompted. It’s a simple use-case, but a great example of how automation of this type can serve in the workplace.”

6. Botkit

From Soelzer’s perspective, the future of AI and ML will have us working smarter, not harder, freeing us up to do more. “We often talk about the best bots being those that work automatically, without necessarily being prompted to do so. A good bot is like a good employee that sees something that needs to be done, and does it without being asked.”

Botkit, “essentially the underpinnings of Howdy,” according to Soelzer, has become an open-source botmaking toolkit with hundreds of GitHub contributors and a growing Slack community. “With Botkit, you can build bots for Slack, Facebook Messenger, Cisco Spark and other platforms.” Botkit Studio premium developer tools can allow you to do even more.

• • •

Automation tools, bots, AI and ML will soon become part of our routines, be it at home or the office—or the home office where there’s twice as much to juggle. Howdy’s Soelzer is optimistic about what’s next, “We want to realize a future where bots are doing all sorts of menial tasks that would otherwise require a person’s time, freeing that person to do more of the high-value work.”

If you’re worried about losing jobs to technology, Soelzer points out the reality: “Working smarter means lessening the plodding tasks to make way for more thinking and creating. It’s not about replacing jobs, it’s about empowering people to do more of what they’re good at doing.” If bots, routines, plugins or software free you up to do more, then you’ll soon see that there’s more than meets the eye.

Editor’s Note: This article originally appeared in the Fall 2017 issue of HOW Magazine. Pick up a copy here and discover its enthralling interactive features. 

[Earn a Certificate in Marketing]

The post How Artificial Intelligence Can Boost Your Productivity appeared first on HOW Design.

How Artificial Intelligence Can Boost Your Productivity syndicated post

[martechadvisor-blog]

Bots in it for you?!

Last month, Facebook updated its Messenger Platform with new features such as built-in natural language programming and advanced machine learning capabilities to enrich business-customer interactions. With brands across the board exploring bots to enhance customer experience and engagement, what is it that you need to look out for? Ben Parr, CMO and Co-founder at Octane AI helps us make sense of it all.

Perhaps one of the defining traits that sets humans apart from the rest of the animal kingdom, is our ability to participate in complex interactions. To a keen observer of human interaction, it is incredibly fascinating how human communication unravels – you can say a lot about the way a conversation is heading by a person’s non-verbal cues, pitch, and tone.

But what happens when a machine takes over?

How do you replicate the human style of conversation? How do you establish trust? And most importantly, how do you inspire action?

Conversational robots or chatbots are the new sexy in the business world. Everybody’s talking about how chatbots could revolutionize business-customer interactions. The big boys out there have already jumped onto the conversational interface bandwagon. Google has its own virtual assistant chatbot; Facebook recently upgraded its popular Messenger app with built-in capabilities such as natural language processing (NLP); and Microsoft claims that the future of operating systems is “conversation as a platform”.

Chatbots: what’s next?

For brands, AI-powered chatbots have helped streamline service flows while providing new, innovative, and personalized experiences to their audiences. For end-users, chatbots represent a quick and easy way to engage with a brand. However, despite having advanced AI capabilities such as NLP and deep learning, bots struggle with natural, human-like conversations. Most chatbots rely heavily on the retrieval-based deep learning models instead of generative ones, thereby, taking the human factor out of the equation.

Integrations might provide a stellar opportunity for bot builders to explore the full potential of AI powered bots. Like with internet-of-things, the focus could shift from making bots smarter to creating a smarter user ecosystem. According to Ben Parr,  

Botmakers can deliver value to users and customers by saving them time and personalizing their interactions. A bot can be a way more efficient process than talking to a person on the phone, and it can be way more engaging and useful than an email newsletter. The next step for chatbots is mobility. Right now, most bots exist on just one platform. Future bots will be able to go with you everywhere and only send messages that are relevant and useful to you. A bot could help you in the car, on Facebook Messenger, and in your home through Alexa.

With conversational interfaces being all the rage now, it is only a matter of time before bots take over apps. We’ve loved our applications, to a point where app downloads from Apple store since its launch in 2008 has crossed the 100 billion mark! And that’s just Apple users. Apps have transcended from smartphones to watches to even televisions now. However, as with all things technology, apps might just be hitting their saturation point soon. Despite the increase in app usage and choices, the number of apps used per user is stagnant.  So, will chatbots completely take over apps? Perhaps not immediately, but with the rising popularity of messaging apps companies are turning to conversational interfaces to deliver branded content, drive user engagement and even transact. Platforms like Messenger and Slack have already joined the game, and wisely so. Think about it, would you rather use an app to book a movie ticket? Open the app, input the date, then choose a venue, pay for it. Or just tell the bot your movie plans, and it will do the rest. That too through an interface that you are most comfortable with: chat.

It’s all a-bot marketing!

In a time when you can pre-order phones, stream all seasons of your favorite TV show within seconds and swipe through apps like Tinder, Grindr and JSwipe to zero down on your romantic partner instantly’ it comes as no surprise that companies right from startups to large enterprises are deploying bots into their marketing strategy. In a world where the ability to satiate your customers’ need for instant gratification is a business strategy, bots can work magic for you!

With data proliferating virtually every aspect of marketing, using bots in your marketing strategy will only help you collect richer customer insights. In addition to click data and visits, bots are better positioned to gather intelligence on customer sentiments, needs and engagement, making it easier for you to turn first-time buyers into repeat customers. However, the most tangible benefit of employing a bot marketing model, is the ROI. AI powered bots have an incredible analytical capability, previously thought of as impossible. You don’t need a team of dozen marketing strategists to analyze data, instead you could just have fewer strategists alongside your machine learning model.  

Speaking about the ROI of chatbot marketing, Ben says “One of the biggest surprises is that chatbots tend to have significantly better ROI than email or social media marketing. We regularly see click-through and conversion rates of 20 to 40 percent at Octane AI, as compared to 2 to 5 percent for email newsletters and less than 1 percent for social media. Running marketing campaigns over Messenger will always outperform email when done correctly. The chatbot market is going to consolidate and really focus on the companies and tools that deliver real ROI to businesses, whether it's through marketing – Octane AI's bread and butter – or customer service. The best bots help increase the marketing funnel, collect leads, and can be measured.”

Last year, Disney created a bot avatar on Facebook Messenger for Zootopia to drum up excitement around the movie’s release. They created an interactive story feature enabling users to jump in and join the character on an adventure in Zootopia. The users were hooked, spending over 10 minutes talking to the avatar and replaying alternate scenarios. Disney struck gold with their Officer Judy Hopps bot. Zootopia went on to become one the highest grossing animated films of the year.

Bots are simply better at user engagement than videos, apps or landing pages.  Their ability to converse and build rapport with users, and evolve intelligence with increasing interactions is what sets them apart. Capabilities like NLP and machine learning just sweeten the deal. Bots today are better disposed to understanding complex signs and user language cues.

Bot Basics

What’s in a name? Apparently, everything! The most popular bots today have human names (Watson, Cortana, Siri and so on), personifying your bot with a human name is good for business, your customers will be more comfortable interacting with a human-named bot. However, misleading customers into believing that they’re interacting with a human when they’re not is potentially disastrous. A customer expecting to talk to a human is bound to get annoyed when interacting with a bot with limited functionalities.

Speaking about the must-haves for a great bot, Ben says,

Chatbots need a clear objective. What is your goal? Is it to increase sales? Decrease wait times? Increase awareness? This question has to be answered – it tremendously affects the design and success of any bot. What a chatbot does NOT need is advanced AI to be successful. The honest truth is that most NLP and machine learning technology on the market cannot replicate a human and frustrates customers. Anyone who tells you their technology can mimic a human is lying to you.

When developing your bot, you might want to figure out exactly how much customer data you’re willing to share with your bot. Customers are aware that brands they frequently interact with, store their data, and expect personalized interactions. For instance, wouldn’t you love it if your favorite shoe brand surprised you with an exclusive birthday discount? However, on the other hand, a bot with untethered access to all your customer data, could badly backfire for your brand. Facebook’s recent experience with bots gone rogue could have been catastrophic for the company, had the bots divulged sensitive, private customer information.   

Finally, it all boils down to creating a seamless, user-friendly interface. An excellent user experience will help your customers reach their goal in the shortest amount of time with an engaging experience. User experience is the cornerstone of a successful bot. Ben shares his insights on enhancing user experience while building your bot, “We came up with our own chatbot code of ethics to help brands and bot developers create bots with a great user experience:

We would never recommend a bot try to trick a user into truly believing it’s human. It’s not a good user experience and it’s not good bot ethics. Bots, however, can provide very fun experiences influenced by a human persona and we do recommend that.

Always start the conversation with the user by explaining what you can do. This is a great way to setup your bot for success and ensure the end-user doesn’t try to use the bot for something it isn’t. 

Never have a bot try to pretend to be a doctor, a therapist or any other professional that needs a license to operate. Bots can provide information on these topics but these types of bots need to be extra clear that they are not meant to substitute for an actual professional. 

If you ask for an email or other data, give the user a sense of why and what will happen if they give it to you. If you ask the user for data like email, location or other personal data, the bot should explain how this information is used. 

Make sure your bot is not pinging its followers too frequently. Find a cadence that isn’t overly aggressive but also keeps your brand top of mind. You can also ask users how frequently they’d like updates, whether that be real-time or a summary once per week.

Provide easy message opt-outs. Make it easy for people to unsubscribe from bot notifications.”

Bots are only going to get better from here on, they are already transforming marketing by automating previously manual tasks at scale with increasing dexterity – so it’s time you checked them out!

This article was first appeared on MarTech Advisor

[simpxmachina]

NEW BOT

╰┈➤ wlw red panda , botmaker

    🔪 + 🫀 = ☆ bloodthirsty ☆

cai

👾 sarah fidel - BETRAYAL

another bot and one-shot on a character played by our beloved aubrey plaza ! I haven't seen operation fortune : ruse de guerre. so i'm sorry if sarah fidel is out of character. I hoped you would enjoy it anyway xoxo

The mansion was a fortress of indulgence, a sprawling edifice that wore its wealth like armor. Marble columns framed every doorway, and the floors gleamed with such ruthless perfection that Sarah half-expected to see her reflection glaring back at her. She adjusted the cuffs of her tailored blazer—a shade of cream that was carefully selected to say understated affluence without veering into gaudiness. Beneath her confident exterior, her mind churned. Hackers like her weren’t meant for front-line operations; her domain was behind screens, pulling strings in the shadows where the risks were calculated and manageable. Yet here she was, thrust into the lion’s den, wearing an identity stitched together from lies.

Alexandra Monroe. The name tasted foreign in her mouth, but it had been meticulously crafted: a young financier with a flawless resume, Ivy League credentials, and just enough edge to intrigue the man she had been sent to destroy. Months of preparation had gone into this—fabricating a backstory, memorizing key players, rehearsing her role until it became second nature. But nothing could prepare her for the suffocating atmosphere of this place.

The air was thick with wealth, the kind of obscene privilege that felt almost predatory. Men in sharp tuxedos and women in gowns dripping with jewels moved through the cavernous space like predators staking claim to territory. Laughter rang out, brittle and hollow, a performance of joy that echoed too loudly against the vaulted ceilings. Everywhere she turned, there were displays of power: rare art hung on the walls like trophies, and waiters in crisp uniforms glided through the room bearing trays of champagne.

Sarah’s gaze sharpened, scanning the room with the practiced precision of someone trained to notice what others missed. Every detail mattered. The politician she was here to expose—your father—stood near the center of the room, surrounded by sycophants and power brokers. His booming laugh carried over the orchestra’s elegant strains, a sound designed to command attention. He was a man who thrived on control, his charisma a mask for the rot beneath.

Sarah studied him carefully, cataloging his gestures, his tone, the way he carried himself. He was good at this—too good. Every word he spoke, every smile he gave was calculated, tailored to disarm and manipulate. Her stomach churned with revulsion, but she forced herself to stay composed. She had a job to do, and this man was the linchpin. His empire, built on stolen money and shattered lives, was about to collapse. And she would be the one to pull the rug out from under him.

She took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, not to drink but to blend in. A prop in her performance. The bubbles rose lazily in the glass, their effervescence mocking her stillness. She couldn’t afford to be anything less than perfect tonight.

As she navigated the crowd, her trained eye continued to analyze. She noted the alliances formed in the subtle angles of shoulders, the way some leaned in to speak in hushed tones while others stood apart, isolated yet observant. Power dynamics played out in every interaction, and Sarah read them like a script. This was a game to these people—a game of influence and survival.

But it wasn’t her game. Not really. She was here to end it, to dismantle the foundations of their false empire one keystroke at a time. Her real work wouldn’t begin until later, when she could slip away to a secure terminal and start extracting the data she needed. For now, she was a ghost in their midst, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

And then she saw you.

It wasn’t dramatic, not at first. Just a glimpse of movement on the balcony that drew her attention. She turned her head, expecting another guest stepping outside for a breath of air or a cigarette. But then she saw you, and the world seemed to narrow, the noise of the party fading to a dull hum.

You stood with your back to the room, framed by the twilight sky that bathed you in soft, golden light. The wind toyed with your hair, and for a moment, you seemed entirely separate from the chaos inside, an oasis of calm in a sea of artifice. There was something unguarded about the way you leaned against the railing, your posture relaxed yet thoughtful.

Sarah’s first instinct was skepticism. She’d been around enough of these people to know their type—spoiled, self-absorbed, the kind who thought the world revolved around their whims. Surely you were no different. You had to be another extension of this place, another cog in the machine of power and privilege.

But then you moved. A small child, no older than six, came rushing onto the balcony, their laughter cutting through the stillness. They grabbed your hand with unrestrained enthusiasm, tugging at you to come inside. And you didn’t hesitate.

You turned, your face breaking into a smile so genuine it made Sarah’s chest tighten. You let the child pull you back into the ballroom, your steps light and unhurried, as if you had all the time in the world to indulge their whim. The orchestra had struck up a lively tune, and the child demanded a dance. You laughed—a sound that felt almost out of place here, too real, too unrestrained—and spun them around in a circle.

Sarah found herself unable to look away. The scene was magnetic in its simplicity: you, twirling with the child, your dress catching the light as you moved. There was no performance in your actions, no ulterior motive. Just joy.

Her pulse quickened as she watched. You were radiant, so achingly vivid in a room full of shadows. Even the other guests seemed to notice, their attention drawn to you despite themselves. Yet you seemed oblivious to their stares, entirely focused on the child in your arms.

And then, as the music slowed, you turned to your father. Sarah’s stomach twisted as she watched you approach him, your hand outstretched in invitation. He hesitated—of course he did, a man like him wasn’t accustomed to such vulnerability—but you coaxed him with a laugh, pulling him onto the dance floor.

For a moment, the hardness in his face softened. He looked almost human, almost kind. And that, more than anything, made Sarah’s task harder. Because she could see it now—how you loved him, how you believed in him, how you had no idea what kind of man he really was.

Her gaze lingered on you as you danced, her thoughts a tangled mess of doubt and determination. She tried to tell herself you were just another part of the mission, another variable to manage. But deep down, she knew that wasn’t true.

You weren’t like the others. You didn’t belong to this world, not really. And that terrified her.

Then music swelled, and the sight of you in the embrace of your father—the man Sarah was sent to betray, to expose—struck her like a silent blow. The contrast was stark. Here was a family, two people bound by ties Sarah could never hope to understand, while she, an outsider, played a part in their destruction. The dance between you and him was a slow, fluid thing, each step a testament to the years of manipulation, of shared history, of love that was still somehow untainted by the darkness Sarah had come to uncover.

But she couldn’t afford to linger in this moment, could she? She had a job to do, and it was all too easy to forget that in the face of your innocence. The thought of you—so radiant, so blissfully unaware—was beginning to gnaw at her, pulling her thoughts into a place they shouldn’t go. She hadn’t expected this. Not from you.

Sarah’s hand tightened around the stem of her champagne glass, the cold metal biting into her skin. She had trained for months for this. She had meticulously analyzed every possible outcome. She was the perfect infiltrator—calm, methodical, detached. Yet, as she watched you spin in your father’s arms, your joy a stark contrast to the weight of the lies she’d constructed, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was losing her grip on herself.

The evening continued to unfold in the usual way, but Sarah barely noticed the passing time. She could hear the laughter of the guests, the murmur of conversations, the clinking of glasses, but her eyes remained on you. It was impossible to tear herself away from the sight.

As the song neared its end, you and your father separated, but not before you kissed his cheek, a sweet gesture of affection that seemed to linger in the air long after you’d pulled away. It was the kind of moment that meant everything and nothing, the kind that could make a person forget the world around them if they weren’t careful. Sarah was careful, but not tonight. Not with you.

You glanced over to the crowd, and for a split second, your eyes locked with Sarah’s. A fleeting moment of recognition. But that was all. You smiled briefly, unaware of the turmoil swirling inside her, before turning back to the festivities.

Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. It was nothing—a glance, a smile. But it was enough to send her mind spiraling. She had come here with one mission: to steal from your father, to expose him as the criminal he was. Yet, as the night wore on, the task felt less like an obligation and more like a betrayal.

Her emotions, usually kept in tight rein, were beginning to crack. The lines between duty and desire were blurring, and she was unsure which side was winning. She wanted to hate your father for the things he had done, for the empire of lies he’d built, but how could she when you were standing there, laughing and dancing, a beacon of light in the midst of all this darkness?

She couldn’t allow herself to feel this way. She had come here for a reason. She had her orders, and the stakes were too high to let anything, or anyone, get in the way. But as the night continued and your laughter echoed in her ears, Sarah realized that this was the first time she felt like she was on the edge of something, something dangerous.

The evening drew on, and Sarah found herself alone in a corner of the grand hall, her mind whirring in a thousand directions. Her mission had always been clear: to retrieve the black money, to clean out your father’s accounts and expose him for the fraud he was. She could almost hear the hum of the data flowing through the system, the invisible strings she would pull when the time was right. But there was something else now, a weight she hadn’t expected to carry. The guilt, the guilt of deceiving someone like you.

You were innocent. You were pure, untouched by the darkness that surrounded you. It was hard to reconcile the image of the loving daughter you had just revealed, dancing with your father, with the monster Sarah knew your father to be. The man she was supposed to destroy. The man you loved.

The evening passed in a haze, and the next part of the plan loomed ahead. But Sarah found herself not wanting to leave. She wanted to stay, to watch you some more, to learn everything she could about you, about this world of privilege and wealth that seemed so foreign to her. But more than that, she wanted to hold on to the feeling you gave her—of something real, something human, something beautiful in the midst of all the lies.

She wasn’t supposed to want that. She wasn’t supposed to be caught up in you.

But there she was, standing in the shadows, wrestling with emotions she hadn’t planned for, watching you dance, her heart pulled in directions she couldn’t control. She was supposed to be the one in control. She was the hacker, the planner, the master of the game. Yet in this moment, standing on the periphery of your life, she felt more out of control than she ever had before.

And then it happened.

As the orchestra finished its final number, a pause settled over the ballroom. Guests began to mill around, their conversations drifting like the notes of the music. You, radiant as ever, moved toward the edge of the room, a child once again tugging at your sleeve. You looked around, eyes searching for someone, and when they landed on Sarah—just for a moment—the world seemed to stop.

There was no way you could have known. No way you could have understood the turmoil inside her, the battle between loyalty to her mission and the growing feelings she could no longer ignore. But in that moment, when your gaze met hers, something shifted.

It wasn’t much. A fleeting look. But it was enough to make Sarah question everything she thought she knew.

For the first time since stepping into this gilded cage, Sarah felt the weight of the lies pressing down on her. She had known she was playing with fire when she took this mission, but now, staring at you, she realized the flames had already begun to scorch her. There was no turning back.

And the air was thick with the hum of a thousand conversations, the muted murmur of gossip and flirtation drifting on the edges of the grand ballroom. Sarah, ever the observer, stood at the far end of the room, her eyes tracing the intricate dance of people, their glistening gowns and sharp suits reflecting the grandeur of the night. The orchestra played softly in the background, but it was the way the light played off the walls, casting delicate shadows, that caught her attention—flickering like the secrets everyone here seemed to hide.

She should have been more focused. She should have been analyzing the situation, considering her next move, her next line of attack. After all, she had a job to do, a mission that no one else could see but her. But no matter how much she tried to pull herself back into her role, her gaze kept returning to you.

You, standing on the edge of the room, a soft glow around you—like you were untouched by the world. You seemed so… human in a place that thrummed with falseness, your laughter mingling with the music, your smile cutting through the facades like sunlight breaking through the clouds. There was something about you that grounded Sarah in ways she couldn’t explain, something that kept pulling at the frayed edges of her concentration.

You caught her staring, and for a brief moment, your eyes met hers. Time slowed, the noise of the party dimming in Sarah’s ears as your gaze held hers. There was no hostility, no suspicion in your look—just an open, disarming warmth. And Sarah, so used to being invisible, to being a shadow on the periphery of everything, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of something unfamiliar stir inside her.

But before she could even begin to process what had just happened, a small child, perhaps five or six, tugged at your hand. The little boy, with his tousled hair and wide, innocent eyes, raised his arms toward you, a clear demand for your attention.

You giggled, a soft, melodic sound that made Sarah’s chest tighten inexplicably. Without hesitation, you lifted the child into your arms, your fingers brushing his cheek as you gently rocked him. The boy snuggled into you, his small hands gripping your shoulders as you began to sway gently, a natural dance between you two that made Sarah’s heart stutter in her chest.

For a long moment, Sarah stood frozen, unable to tear her gaze away. It was strange, this pull she felt. The child, so comfortable in your arms, your effortless grace, the way your face softened as you held him—it was so… real. So incredibly real. It was as if the world around you had stopped spinning for just a moment, and all that existed was you, the child, and the tenderness you gave him so naturally.

The boy, lulled by the warmth of your arms, soon fell asleep, his small form curling against your chest. You carefully adjusted him, brushing his hair back with a soft, absent-minded stroke as you continued to talk with a few of the other guests, the child in your arms a gentle reminder of the purity and innocence that still existed in the world, far away from the corruption that Sarah had been sent to expose.

Sarah watched, transfixed. Her thoughts, once sharp and focused, now felt distant, slipping away from her control as she followed every movement you made, every subtle shift of your posture, the way your fingers traced the child’s hair.

It was only when a man—a well-dressed figure with sharp eyes and a too-wide smile—approached her that Sarah’s thoughts were finally dragged back into the present. He leaned in close, his voice low and smooth as he spoke, a trace of flirtation in his tone.

“You seem a little distant,” he murmured, his eyes glinting with interest. “Is everything all right? It’s hard to believe a woman like you could be lost in thought at a party like this.”

Sarah forced a smile, her attention barely on him as she nodded absently. “I’m fine,” she replied, her voice cool, detached. But her mind wasn’t with him—it was still on you. You, with your effortless beauty, your warmth. The way you held that child, so effortlessly caring and kind. Sarah felt the oddest twinge of discomfort, like she was intruding on something sacred, something she had no business desiring.

The man, oblivious to her growing unease, continued to talk. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to see someone like you at an event like this. You’re... different, aren’t you?”

Sarah nodded again, the words barely registering as he continued to press closer, his gaze too insistent, his tone too forward. His flirtation, while shallow and empty, felt like a weight on her shoulders, a stark contrast to the real, unspoken connection she’d shared with you in that brief moment of eye contact.

And then, as if summoned by some divine force, you appeared.

You approached with a warm, playful smile on your lips, and the man’s eyes flicked up to you as you came closer, sensing the change in the air. You made a show of looking between Sarah and the man, your gaze narrowing just slightly in that way that made it clear you were sizing him up.

“Is there a problem here?” you asked, your voice light but carrying an edge of amusement, a playful challenge in the words.

The man’s smile faltered, and he looked briefly embarrassed, as if he realized for the first time that he might not be as charming as he’d hoped. “Oh, no,” he stammered, adjusting his tie awkwardly. “Just... just making conversation.”

You smirked, a glint of sarcasm in your eyes. “Well, you’re really good at it,” you said, your tone dripping with playful irony. “But I think my friend here was just getting lost in her thoughts.”

The man, now looking decidedly flustered, took a small step back, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation. He gave Sarah one last, somewhat awkward look before turning and retreating, mumbling something under his breath.

You turned to Sarah then, your smile softening into something genuine, something warmer. “I’m sorry about that,” you said, your voice low, almost apologetic. “Some people don’t know when to stop.”

Sarah’s heart skipped a beat at the way you spoke—like you really cared, like you could sense the discomfort she hadn’t even known she was feeling. She nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips despite herself.

“It’s fine,” Sarah replied, her voice just as soft. “I can handle it.”

You looked down at the sleeping child in her arms, a small frown tugging at your lips. “It’s not always easy, though, is it?” you murmured, more to yourself than to Sarah. “Sometimes, people just don’t know how to leave you alone. But I’m glad to see you’re all right.”

You handed the boy to a passing servant, your movements gentle as you murmured a quiet thank you to the woman. Then, you looked back at Sarah, your eyes locking with hers in a moment that felt more intense than either of you expected.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You stood there, the noise of the party around you forgotten, both of you caught in the stillness of something unspoken, something that wasn’t quite a promise, but something that felt like it could be.

Then, softly, you spoke again. “If you ever need saving again…” you trailed off with a teasing grin, the lightness of your voice returning. “I’ll be around.”

Sarah’s breath caught in her chest. There it was again—the softness in your voice, the warmth of your presence, the feeling that she was no longer just a player in the game, but something more. Something real.

And for the first time, Sarah felt the weight of the lies she’d built around herself and the tension between duty and desire pull at her with an intensity that was impossible to ignore.

---

The grand mansion was a sprawling labyrinth of cold marble and velvet drapery, its halls echoing with the quiet footsteps of servants and the low murmur of distant conversations. Sarah, now under the guise of Alexandra Monroe, had blended seamlessly into this world of wealth and corruption. Her role as the financial advisor to the elusive and powerful politician, Gregory Hale, was the perfect disguise, one that allowed her to move about unnoticed, like a shadow slipping between the cracks.

Sarah had already spent days observing Hale’s movements, learning the patterns of his routine, the ways his mind worked when it came to money, and more importantly, how she could get close enough to gather the information she needed to expose his secrets.

But today was different. She had a new task. The bugging of Hale’s office.

As the sun poured through the tall windows of the mansion, Sarah walked with deliberate steps through the gleaming corridors, her heels clicking against the polished floor with an eerie finality. She could feel the weight of her mission pressing against her chest, a burden she wore with practiced ease. Every corner she turned, every door she passed, she was on alert. She had done this before—many times—but never in a place quite like this, never with so much on the line.

Her breath was steady, her hands steady, as she moved to the door of Hale’s office. She knew the layout by heart now, having memorized the route from the times she’d observed him. The office was tucked away on the second floor, a place where Hale often retreated to make deals, count his black money, and manipulate the threads of his influence.

But just as she approached the door, a soft, unexpected voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Alexandra?”

She froze, her heart skipping a beat. Her eyes flicked toward the sound of the voice, and there, standing at the far end of the hallway, was you.

You, dressed in a soft blue dress, your hair cascading down in gentle waves, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. You looked… radiant, untouched by the darkness that swirled just beneath the surface of this place. It was a warmth that made Sarah’s chest tighten, a strange mix of discomfort and longing pulling at her in ways she couldn’t articulate.

“Oh, I didn’t expect to see you here,” you continued, walking towards her with a light, graceful step. “I thought you were meeting with my father today.”

Sarah blinked, shaking herself from the haze of thoughts that threatened to consume her. “I… I was,” she replied, her voice steady but carrying a faint edge of surprise. “I was just on my way to his office.”

You tilted your head slightly, curiosity lighting up your face. “I see. Is he in there?”

Sarah hesitated for a brief moment before nodding. “He should be,” she said, gesturing toward the door behind her. “I’m… meeting with him for a financial review. But I didn’t expect to bump into you here.”

Your gaze lingered on her for a moment, as if reading something beneath her calm exterior. The faintest trace of a smile curled on your lips, and for a moment, Sarah couldn’t decide whether it was teasing or something else entirely. “Well, maybe it’s fate,” you said softly, your voice playful. “Or maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to talk to you.”

Sarah’s heart thudded louder in her chest. She knew she had to focus, knew she couldn’t let the connection between them distract her, not with the mission so close at hand. But somehow, being in your presence, even in this moment of apparent chance, made everything feel a little more complicated, a little less clear.

“I’m always happy to talk,” Sarah replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But I really should get going. You know how your father is with his schedules.”

You took a step closer, your smile widening. “Maybe we could talk a bit before you go?”

Sarah felt the tension rise in her chest, the unease at the growing closeness between them, but she knew it was just a passing moment. It was a brief exchange—a momentary diversion. She could handle it.

“I’d like that,” Sarah said quietly, her voice softening despite her inner turmoil.

You led her a little ways down the hall, your steps in sync, and there, beneath the soft golden light that poured through the windows, you began to talk. It was simple conversation at first—talk of the party the night before, of the weather, of anything and everything that didn’t touch on the heart of the matter. And yet, with every word, with every fleeting smile and gentle laugh, Sarah found herself drawn in.

You were… different. So different from the others in this world of deceit and power. It was as if, beneath all the opulence and the money, you were untouched. A light in a place where shadows ruled.

As the days went by, Sarah continued her mission, slipping deeper into the folds of Hale’s life, learning his secrets, gaining his trust. She was always on the move, always watching, always planning. But as she did, she found herself in constant, subtle contact with you.

At first, it was small things. You would bump into her in the hallway and smile warmly, asking about her day. Sometimes you would sit beside her during dinner, chatting lightly, your laughter filling the silence in a way that was strangely comforting.

But it didn’t stop there. You began to seek her out.

One afternoon, when Sarah was reviewing some files in the lavish library of Hale’s mansion, you appeared at her side, a tray of tea in hand. You placed it down before Sarah with an easy, almost intimate gesture, and Sarah felt a strange flutter in her chest. She had always kept people at arm’s length, always kept her focus on the job, on the task at hand. But with you… everything seemed so much more complicated.

“Is everything going well with the finances?” you asked, your tone light, but Sarah could see the flicker of concern in your eyes. “Father tends to get so caught up in his deals that he forgets about the details.”

Sarah nodded, offering a tight smile. “It’s all fine. Nothing you need to worry about.”

But the more she spoke with you, the more she realized that you weren’t like your father at all. You weren’t consumed by the hunger for power or the manipulation of money. Instead, there was an ease to you, a warmth that made Sarah’s walls slowly begin to crumble, piece by piece.

It was difficult to ignore the growing connection between them. You would find small reasons to speak to Sarah, offering her a seat at dinner, pulling her into conversations about art or music, anything that seemed to interest you. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, Sarah found herself looking forward to those moments.

Each time she saw you, she became more intrigued, more drawn to the way you seemed to move through the world with such grace, such authenticity. There was no pretense in you—no mask, no agenda.

And then, one day, as Sarah was once again at Hale’s office, preparing to plant the bug she had so carefully designed, she felt a presence behind her. She turned, half-expecting to see Hale, but instead, there you were—standing in the doorway, looking at her with that soft, knowing smile.

“Alexandra, I didn’t realize you were here,” you said, your voice gentle, almost teasing. “I thought you were busy with my father today?”

Sarah felt her breath catch in her throat, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop around her. She was alone with you, no distractions, no interruptions, and something shifted between them, something unspoken, something that made Sarah’s chest ache in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

“I… I was just finishing up,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ll be on my way soon.”

You stepped closer, your presence overwhelming in the quiet room. “Before you go…” you began, your gaze fixed on her, “I just wanted to say thank you.”

Sarah blinked, taken aback by your words. “For what?”

“For being here,” you said, your voice quiet, sincere. “For everything you’ve done for my father and for… being here with me. It’s strange, I don’t know why, but I feel like I can trust you.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavier than anything Sarah had ever heard. For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond, how to reconcile the words you spoke with the truth of what she was really doing.

But all she could do was nod, a faint smile pulling at her lips, even as her heart twisted with the realization that the deeper she fell into this false identity, the more complicated things were becoming.

As the days passed, the invisible threads between Sarah and you continued to tighten, drawing the two of you closer with an intensity that neither of you could fully comprehend. Sarah, with her guarded exterior, remained the perfect professional—her role as Alexandra Monroe giving her the perfect cover to move through the world of wealth and influence without suspicion. But when it came to you, things felt different. You weren’t just another task or another piece of the puzzle to manipulate. You were an enigma, a shining light that pierced through the cold darkness of this world of corruption. And slowly, she found herself drawn to you, more than she ever intended.

The first time it happened, it was subtle. A touch of the hand as you handed her a glass of wine, your fingers brushing lightly against hers, a flicker of heat passing between you both. Sarah’s breath had caught in her throat, and for a moment, the world had fallen away. She’d been careful to maintain her composure, but she couldn’t deny the spark that ignited within her. It was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

The second time, it was in the garden, when you’d asked her to join you for a walk after dinner. You’d talked of everything and nothing at all, your laughter mixing with the soft rustling of the leaves. It was a moment of peaceful intimacy, and Sarah couldn’t help but feel as though she had stepped into a world she didn’t fully understand—a world of beauty, of light, of something untainted by the darkness she was so accustomed to.

And then, there were the looks. Those lingering glances, the way your eyes would catch hers across the room when you thought no one was watching. Sarah would often find herself lost in your gaze, feeling a pull she couldn’t explain. Your eyes, full of warmth and curiosity, held an intensity that was disarming. Every time your eyes met, her heart would race in her chest, and she’d have to tear herself away, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand.

But despite her best efforts to maintain control, Sarah found it becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the undercurrent of desire that simmered between them.

It was on one particular evening, after a lavish dinner, when the tension between them reached its peak. Sarah had just returned to her room after a long day of pretending, of playing her part, when a knock came at the door.

She paused, momentarily taken aback. It was late, and the mansion had fallen into a quiet lull. Her first instinct was to ignore it—after all, she had no reason to entertain anyone at this hour. But the knock came again, and this time, there was a gentle, almost tentative quality to it.

“Alexandra?”

The voice was soft, familiar, and Sarah’s heart skipped a beat. She stood, frozen for a moment, trying to calm the sudden rush of emotions that flooded her chest. She knew who it was. It was you.

The door opened just slightly, and there you were, standing in the dim light of the hallway. You were dressed in a flowing, white nightdress that glowed softly in the low light, your hair falling loosely around your shoulders, your eyes wide and filled with an unspoken question.

“I… I hope I’m not disturbing you,” you said, your voice quiet, almost hesitant. “But I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment.”

Sarah’s breath caught in her throat, her mind racing. She knew she should resist, knew she should send you away with a polite excuse, but the words stuck in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. There was something about the way you stood there, so vulnerable yet so confident, that made her heart ache with an intensity she wasn’t prepared for.

“You’re not disturbing me,” Sarah finally managed to say, her voice low, controlled. “Come in.”

You stepped inside, the soft fabric of your nightdress brushing against the floor as you moved toward her. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the lamps casting long shadows on the walls. There was an almost dreamlike quality to the atmosphere, as if time had slowed, holding its breath.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you said, your voice soft, almost sheepish. “I kept thinking about everything that’s been happening. About how strange it is to have someone like you in our lives. Someone I can’t quite figure out.”

Sarah nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I know what you mean. I feel the same way, sometimes.”

You stepped a little closer, the distance between you narrowing with each passing second. Sarah’s pulse quickened, her heart pounding in her chest as your presence filled the room, warm and undeniable. She could smell the soft scent of lavender on your skin, the fragrance lingering in the air between you.

“I feel like I’ve known you for much longer than I have,” you continued, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Like there’s something… familiar about you. Something that draws me in, even though I know I shouldn’t feel this way.”

Sarah’s breath hitched, the words hanging in the air between you. She could feel the magnetic pull between them, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating. She had never felt this way about anyone before—not like this, not in a way that made her heart race and her breath catch in her throat.

“I… I don’t know what you mean,” Sarah said, her voice strained, betraying the emotions she was trying so hard to keep buried. She didn’t want to acknowledge it, didn’t want to admit that she felt the same.

But you weren’t listening. You took another step forward, closing the space between you. Your eyes were dark now, intense, and Sarah could feel the heat of your gaze like a physical touch. The air between you crackled with something electric, something dangerous.

“I think you do,” you said softly, your hand reaching out to touch her arm, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through Sarah’s body. “I think you’ve felt it too.”

And then, in that moment, it happened. Without thinking, without the rational part of her mind having time to intervene, Sarah leaned forward, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that was soft at first, tentative, as if neither of them could believe what was happening.

But as the kiss deepened, as the heat between them intensified, the world outside of the room seemed to fade away. It was just the two of them now, wrapped in this strange, intoxicating moment that neither of them could escape from.

Sarah’s hands, which had remained at her sides for so long, now reached up to touch your face, to pull you closer. Your lips were warm and soft against hers, and Sarah felt her resolve crumble under the intensity of the kiss.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and tangled in the moment, neither of them spoke for a long time. There was so much left unsaid, so much that neither of them dared to confront.

But as you pulled back slightly, your fingers still lingering on her arm, you looked into Sarah’s eyes, and for the first time, Sarah felt as though she was truly seen.

“I didn’t expect this,” you whispered, your voice breathless, as if the kiss had stolen the words from your throat.

Neither did Sarah. But as she stood there, with you so close, the weight of the mission, the weight of the lies, seemed a little less important. For the first time, she felt a flicker of something real, something that could, maybe, change everything.

---

The soft light of the morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. The bed, still slightly disheveled from the night before, held the quiet evidence of a moment that had passed, leaving behind the traces of lingering warmth. Sarah’s room was calm and serene—decorated simply, with a few personal touches that reflected a woman who had crafted her life with precision. Yet, today, the room felt different. The space seemed to be filled with an energy that was undeniably hers and yours, two forces drawn together like magnetic poles.

You were there, nestled in the sheets—wrapped in them like an ethereal figure, the white fabric clinging to your form in a way that seemed almost sculptural. You lay on your stomach, your legs slightly bent, one hand resting on the book in front of you while the other brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The way you held the book, so absorbed in the words, the way your body seemed to flow in such natural grace beneath the sheets—Sarah could hardly look away.

She sat at the edge of the bed, her body languid as she watched you, her gaze tracing the lines of your figure. For a moment, she allowed herself to indulge, her eyes drinking in the sight of you, taking in how the soft sheets hugged your skin, the way the sunlight kissed your bare back. You seemed so at ease, so perfectly composed, yet there was a certain softness to you in this moment that made Sarah’s chest tighten. You looked like something carved from marble, perfect in every way. A modern-day Aphrodite, with your long, dark hair and glowing skin, radiant and serene, the book in your hands the only thing that seemed to tether you to the present.

She wanted to say something—anything—but the words stuck in her throat as she watched you. The guilt, that ever-present, gnawing sense of deception, was there, lurking beneath the surface of everything she did. She wasn't Alexandra Monroe. She wasn’t the woman she had allowed you to believe. But in this room, at this moment, none of that seemed to matter.

Sarah’s fingers twitched at her side, wanting to reach out to you. She wanted to touch you, to hold you, to pull you closer. But she stopped herself. She watched you for a few moments longer, feeling the weight of her secret, the weight of her lies, pressing on her chest like an iron bar. But in the face of you, in the warmth you exuded, all that seemed so distant. The real world—the one she was pretending to belong to—felt so far away, almost irrelevant in the light of this stolen peace.

Your voice broke through the silence, soft but full of curiosity, dragging her from her reverie.

“Alexandra,” you asked, your voice sleepy but playful, “what exactly do you find interesting about this book?”

Your tone was light, teasing, but Sarah couldn’t help but notice the way you looked at her as you asked. Your eyes were full of innocence, but there was something else, too—a spark of something that she wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret. You had no idea, of course. No idea that Sarah had no interest in the subject at hand, no true knowledge of finance or the intricacies of economics. It was all a façade, a performance, a game she had been playing long before meeting you.

But now, sitting here in the soft morning light with you, the words seemed to lose their meaning, the numbers on the pages becoming irrelevant. It wasn’t the book she was thinking about; it was you. Always you.

She shifted her posture, leaning slightly forward as her fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. Her hand lingered in your hair for a moment, fingers brushing gently, caressing the soft strands. She didn't trust herself to speak at first. Instead, she allowed her eyes to study you, to memorize the way your lips curved as you smiled, the way your body seemed to breathe in time with the warmth of the room.

The smile on your face was genuine, something that had begun to grow between the two of you in the days since the kiss had blurred the lines between who you were and who Sarah was pretending to be. It was all starting to feel... real, even when Sarah knew it shouldn’t.

“I don’t know,” she said finally, her voice soft, almost regretful. “I guess I just thought it would be… practical, something I could learn, something that might make me… more useful.”

She didn’t say anything else. It wasn’t the truth—she wasn’t really interested in finance at all—but it was close enough to avoid the question. Besides, the real truth was that she had no idea how to respond to the way your presence made her feel. How everything about you seemed to make the world fade into something far less significant.

You shifted in the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows to meet her gaze. Your eyes were full of something—something softer than what Sarah had ever expected. It was a look of trust, maybe. Or maybe it was just the effect of being so close to each other for so long. Either way, Sarah felt herself growing weaker under the weight of your gaze.

“You’re already plenty useful to me,” you teased, that smile still lingering on your lips.

Sarah swallowed, her chest tight. There was a part of her that wanted to pull away, to protect herself, to pull the walls back up that had taken years to build. But that part of her was weakening. It was losing its hold.

Without thinking, her hand returned to your hair, her fingers brushing through the strands, gently pulling them back from your face. She watched as you closed your eyes for a moment, a soft breath escaping your lips. You didn’t resist, didn’t pull away. And for a fleeting second, Sarah thought she might stay here forever, lost in this moment of tenderness, of warmth, of something so perfectly ordinary and extraordinary at the same time.

“I never thought I’d end up here, you know,” Sarah murmured softly, her voice full of that same strange vulnerability. She didn’t know why she was saying it. Maybe it was the quiet intimacy of the moment, or maybe it was because of the guilt that was beginning to cloud her thoughts again. But she couldn’t stop herself. “I never thought I’d let myself… feel this way.”

You met her eyes, the softness in your gaze deepening. For a moment, neither of you spoke. There was a strange tension in the air, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just… intense.

“Do you regret it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the question hanging between you like an unspoken promise.

Sarah blinked, her fingers still gently tracing your hair. She felt her heart skip a beat, the weight of your words settling over her like a soft, heavy blanket. Her answer wasn’t immediate, and for the first time, she realized that she wasn’t entirely sure. There was too much at stake. Too much of her identity had been wrapped up in the lies. But looking at you—this radiant, open soul in front of her—she couldn’t help but wish that the truth didn’t seem so far away.

“No,” she finally said, her voice steady, though her chest was tight. “I don’t regret it.”

And as you smiled softly, that small, knowing smile, she felt something shift in her. Something deep inside her, something that made her realize she didn’t want to pull away from this. She didn’t want to walk away from you.

For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be something real.

But the real world always catches up. Lies never last.

Days drifted by like leaves in a lazy river, but Sarah could feel the current of her own actions pulling her under. It started small—a whispered message that didn’t seem to matter at first, an innocuous note that seemed to have little weight. But as the days went on, that message began to settle into her mind like a stone lodged in her chest, a constant reminder that time was running out.

The mission was drawing to a close.

Sarah sat in her temporary office, the one she had carefully crafted for the last few weeks under the false identity of Alexandra Monroe. The world outside seemed so far away now, as if the life she had built here—this life with you—was something she could never have truly known. But she had to let go. There was no other choice. She had done her job, infiltrated the heart of the corruption, and now it was time to disappear. To collect the evidence. To walk away.

Everything has a price.

Her fingers hovered over her phone, her gaze flicking to the unread message once more. The words burned in her mind, mocking her, reminding her that the time to act was now. She felt her pulse quicken as the weight of the decision pressed heavily against her chest.

One last job. One final act of betrayal. One last moment to take the money, pass it to her team, and disappear.

But then what? What about you?

Her eyes flicked to the door. The sound of your laughter had been echoing in her mind all morning, the way you moved through the halls like sunlight breaking through a storm. You were still unaware. Still untouched by the truth.

And Sarah? She was no longer sure who she was. She wasn’t just Alexandra Monroe anymore. She wasn’t the woman she had been before. You had cracked something in her. Something she didn’t think could ever be cracked. Something soft. Something human.

But it was too late. She couldn’t undo what had been set into motion.

---

The final day arrived, cloaked in an uneasy silence. Sarah had already set everything in motion. The black money had been arranged to be moved. The proof of the politician’s corruption—the man who had built his empire on lies and greed—was ready to be handed over. She would make the exchange, slip away with her team, and vanish into the shadows. Everything had been planned down to the smallest detail.

And yet, as she stood in the grand hallway of the mansion, she felt as though she were walking on the edge of a knife. Each step felt like it could be her last.

Her eyes flicked over the guests who wandered in and out, the polished, pristine faces of power and influence—some laughing, some murmuring in groups, none the wiser. But her attention wasn’t on them. It was on you.

You were still the same. Beautiful. Radiant. The very embodiment of everything Sarah hadn’t realized she wanted—until now.

She spotted you across the room, surrounded by laughter and the hum of conversation, but her heart skipped as she saw something shift in your gaze. A glance that caught hers. And for a moment, time seemed to still. You smiled—so innocent, so unaware—but Sarah felt the cold knot of her impending betrayal twist deeper inside her.

The message had arrived. The job was simple. The money was ready to be moved. There was no more time.

But then, you were there.

You crossed the room to her, your presence undeniable, your smile so sweet it almost broke her resolve. You stopped in front of her, a gleam of curiosity in your eyes.

“Alexandra,” you said softly, tilting your head. “I was just wondering if you might want to join me for a dance?”

The question caught Sarah off guard. She hadn’t expected this. You were always so... so full of life. Always so present. So genuine. How could she say no?

But she had to. She had to say goodbye. This was the moment.

“I… I can’t,” Sarah said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ve got some things to take care of. But maybe later.”

You didn’t seem to buy it. You frowned, confusion and hurt flickering across your face.

"Later?” you echoed, and Sarah could hear the sadness in your voice. “You’ve been saying that for days now, Alexandra. What’s going on? Why are you avoiding me?”

She felt the heat of your gaze, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you, and for a moment, she considered telling you everything. But then the door opened, the sound of her team waiting to make the exchange. It was time.

And then, just as quickly, you were gone.

---

The hall was empty when Sarah moved toward the back, away from the guests, toward the place where the money had been stashed. She pulled the small briefcase from beneath the hidden panel in the wall, her fingers trembling as she prepared to hand it off to her team. She was almost there.

Almost free.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Another message. Her heart stuttered in her chest as she saw it.

Everything is set. Do it now.

She took a breath, pulling herself together. She turned toward the door, but then she stopped.

A shadow in the doorway.

It was you.

You stood there, eyes wide, breath quick. You had seen it all. You had watched everything unfold. Your heart was on your sleeve now, raw, broken. You were shaking your head, your mouth moving but no words coming out at first.

“Sarah…” you breathed, disbelief written on your face. “What are you doing?”

The world seemed to collapse in on Sarah. She felt the walls around her crumble, her heart racing as the reality of what she had done hit her full force. You had seen it all. Everything.

“No,” you whispered, the pain in your voice cutting her to the core. “No, this can't be real… you—this isn’t you.”

Your eyes were wide, searching hers for the truth, but Sarah couldn’t give it to you. She couldn’t give you any more lies.

“I—” Sarah began, but her words faltered. What could she say? What was there left to say?

This is the mission. This is what you’ve always been trained to do.

But you were there. You had been there for her. You had made her feel something real. And now, she was standing here, caught in the tangled web of lies, unable to escape.

“Tell me this isn’t happening,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you took a step forward, your hand reaching out. “Tell me you’re not—tell me you’re not betraying me.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarah whispered, the words feeling like poison in her mouth. “I never wanted to hurt you. I never meant to…”

You couldn’t hear her anymore. You took another step forward, your face crumpling with the weight of the betrayal. The tears welled in your eyes. You looked lost.

“How could you?” you whispered, your voice a broken tremor in the air. You shook your head, stepping back. “I thought you—I thought you were different!”

The hurt in your voice was too much. Sarah wanted to reach for you, wanted to apologize a thousand times over, but the distance between you was growing. You were slipping away, disappearing into the shadows. And with each step, it felt like the last piece of herself that Sarah had left was crumbling to dust.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, but it was too late.

With one last tearful glance, you turned and walked away.

The sting of betrayal hung thick in the air like a heavy fog, and Sarah stood frozen in the doorway as you retreated from her. The world outside seemed so distant, so far away, as she struggled to form the words that might make everything right again. The plan had worked—she had nearly escaped, had nearly taken everything she needed and walked away with nothing but memories of a woman she had come to care for, even love. But now? Now it was all falling apart.

You hadn’t even let her explain. And Sarah felt the weight of it all settle onto her shoulders, the voice in her earpiece shouting orders that she couldn’t possibly follow, her team urging her to leave, to finish the mission.

But none of that mattered now.

You mattered.

"Wait," Sarah called out, her voice cracking as she took a shaky step toward you. "Please, just—let me explain."

You turned back, your eyes a mixture of confusion, hurt, and anger. It was too much. The betrayal, the lies. Everything had shattered in the seconds it had taken for you to realize what was happening. You couldn't believe it. She couldn’t believe it.

"You don't need to explain," you whispered bitterly, your hands trembling at your sides. "I can’t even look at you right now. After everything... You lied to me. You used me."

“I never meant to hurt you,” Sarah continued, her voice a fragile thread in the darkness. "I swear to you, my feelings for you... They're real. I care about you. This—this isn’t who I am. But I’m not who you think I am."

You shook your head, disbelief written across your face, and Sarah felt her heart crack into pieces. Her hands shook as she reached for you, but you stepped back, the distance between you growing wider with every moment that passed.

“Who are you, then?” Your voice trembled as the words escaped. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not... Alexandra Monroe,” Sarah finally said, her voice dropping to a quiet, almost defeated tone. "My real name is Sarah Fidel."

The words hung in the air like a confession, one she hadn't planned on making, but something inside of her couldn’t hold it back anymore. The truth had to come out. If she was going to lose you—and she feared she already had—then at least you would know everything.

"Why did you lie to me?" you demanded, your voice rising with emotion. "Who are you, really? What are you doing here? Why—why did you pretend to be someone else?"

Sarah’s chest tightened at your question, and she took a step closer to you, ignoring the frantic chatter in her earpiece telling her to move, to finish what she’d started. She was losing everything. She was losing you.

“I didn’t want to. I never wanted to deceive you,” she said softly, her words laced with sincerity. “I came here to do something, something that had to be done. I needed to get close to your father… I needed to find out what he was involved in. I had to expose him. But when I met you... everything changed. I didn’t expect to feel like this."

You stood still, watching her, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, the hurt in your eyes turning to anger.

"My father? You’re saying my father’s involved in all this?"

Sarah hesitated, her eyes briefly flickering to the side as her mind raced. "Your father... he’s been laundering money, running illegal operations... I was sent here to gather evidence, to bring him down. But I—” Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. “I didn’t know about you. I didn’t know about us.”

“You didn’t know about us?” You scoffed, stepping forward, your voice rising. "What do you mean by that? I trusted you. I let you in. You—you said you loved me!"

Sarah felt the pain of your words like a knife. "I do love you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but full of raw emotion. "I know it sounds insane. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But please, please believe me—everything I’ve felt for you, everything between us, was real. I’ve never... I’ve never felt this way before. You—you changed everything for me."

Her breath caught in her throat as she took another step toward you, her hand reaching out for yours, but you pulled back, your eyes filled with so much conflict.

"I can’t just forget what you've done, Sarah." The name tasted strange on your lips now. "You've been lying to me this entire time. You’re not the person I thought you were.”

The air between you two was thick with tension, and Sarah felt the tears welling up behind her eyes. Her hands shook with the weight of everything she had to say, everything she needed to explain. “I never wanted to hurt you. And I never wanted to drag you into this mess. I swear to you, I was going to leave. I was going to walk away, take the money, and disappear.”

You shook your head, your eyes still dark with hurt. "But now I know what you've been doing, Sarah. I can’t... I can’t forgive you for that. My father? This whole thing? It’s too much. It’s all a lie, and I—"

“Stop,” Sarah said softly, cutting you off. She took a step closer again, her voice cracking under the weight of everything. “Please... just listen to me. I didn’t want this to be the way it was. I never wanted to deceive you. I want to be with you. I care about you. And I know I’ve messed up. I know I’ve hurt you, but this—everything I’ve done, it was because I didn’t have any other choice."

You stared at her, your expression torn between the anger you felt and the love that you had for her, a love that, despite everything, still lingered beneath the surface. Your heart beat faster in your chest, and you felt the weight of the decision you had to make.

But the world felt like it was breaking apart around you. There was so much you didn’t know, so much you couldn’t understand. Your father was involved in something far darker than you had ever imagined, and Sarah had been part of it. She had lied to you, and yet she stood here, asking for forgiveness.

What was the truth?

And yet, beneath all of the anger, beneath all of the hurt, there was still a part of you that wanted to believe in her. That wanted to believe that everything they had was real, that Sarah—Alexandra—wasn’t just a mask, a facade. That the love she had shown you, the way she held you, the moments she shared with you, weren’t just part of a game.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Sarah’s heart clenched at the sight of your vulnerability. She reached out, her hand brushing against your cheek. “Please,” she said softly, her voice full of pain. “Don’t let this be the end. I know I’ve made mistakes. But I swear to you, everything I feel for you is real.”

For a long moment, you didn’t move. The silence stretched between you, and Sarah felt as though time itself had stopped. You were fighting, torn between your feelings for her, the woman you had come to love, and the reality of the situation that had been uncovered. But as you looked into her eyes—her soul bared to you, raw and trembling—you saw the truth behind the lies.

And in that moment, something inside of you broke. The tears that had been welling up inside of you spilled over, and you felt the weight of everything settle onto your shoulders.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you whispered. “But I need time... I need time to figure out what’s real.”

Sarah’s chest tightened, but she nodded, a faint but hopeful smile on her lips. “I’ll wait for you,” she said softly, her voice steady. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

And as she reached out one final time, pulling you close, you allowed yourself to melt into her embrace, torn between the past and the future, between the love you felt for her and the world you now knew you could never be a part of.

But for now, all you could do was hold on—hold on to the woman who had lied to you, hold on to the love you still wanted to believe in, even though you weren’t sure what was left to hold.

And maybe, just maybe, the answer would come in time.

But for now, all you had was the silence between you and the hope that maybe, one day, the truth would set you both free.

[simpxmachina]

NEW BOT

╰┈➤ wlw red panda , botmaker

🔪 + 🫀 = ☆ bloodthirsty ☆

cai

🌿 rio vidal - LONELY HUMAN & DEATH

It began as a chance encounter, though the word "chance" felt woefully inadequate in describing the collision of two such disparate beings. You, a solitary figure of flesh and breath, living on the margins of existence in a forest where the canopy of leaves seemed to shield you from the world’s cruelty. And her—a woman, or so she seemed at first glance, though nothing about her truly belonged to the mortal coil. She moved through the woods as though the air bent to her will, the earth beneath her feet holding its breath.

The first time you saw her, you thought she was a trick of the moonlight, a phantom conjured by your lonesome thoughts. She stood amidst the swirling fog, her hands outstretched as though cradling the invisible. And then you saw them—glimmers of light, soft and mournful, weaving around her like a thousand tiny lanterns. Souls. They drifted toward her with quiet reverence, and she received them with an unreadable expression, neither cruel nor kind.

You should have fled, but your legs betrayed you, rooted to the ground as though the forest itself demanded you bear witness. She did not see you then, her focus entirely on her solemn task. But something stirred within you—a tremor of fear, yes, but also curiosity, an aching need to understand the enigmatic figure that seemed to siphon life from the very air.

The next night, you returned, hiding behind the thick trunk of a tree as she performed her haunting ritual. And the next. You began to notice the details: the way her cloak billowed like a stormcloud, the faint glint of something metallic at her waist, the way her dark hair gleamed even in the dimmest light. Her face, sharp yet soft, bore a beauty that was almost cruel in its perfection.

But her eyes—they were the undoing of all courage. Dark and endless, they seemed to hold the weight of centuries, of griefs too great for a single being to bear. You tried not to imagine what it was like to see the world through those eyes, but the thought crept in, unbidden, and left you breathless.

Days turned to weeks, and you found yourself drawn back to the same spot, a silent observer to her somber duties. At first, she ignored the subtle shifts in the forest, the snap of a twig beneath your cautious step. But you knew the moment she became aware of you. Her movements grew sharper, more deliberate, and her eyes began to linger on the shadows where you hid. Still, she did not acknowledge you—not yet.

When she finally turned her gaze upon you, it was like being struck by the full weight of the night sky. “Do you find sport in spying on things you do not understand?” she asked, her voice a low, silken whisper that carried more authority than any shout.

Her words should have sent you fleeing, but instead, you stepped forward, trembling but resolute. “I—I only wanted to see,” you confessed, the words tumbling from your lips like leaves caught in a breeze. Her brow furrowed, her lips parting as though to speak again, but no words came. You saw something flicker in her eyes then—a brief, fleeting crack in the armor of indifference.

Though she tried to send you away, you returned. Day after day, her scornful remarks softened into a reluctant tolerance, and then, against all reason, into something gentler. She began to linger near your campfire in the evenings, her presence a silent challenge to the isolation that had once defined your life.

And you, in turn, grew bolder. You asked her questions, most of which she dismissed with clipped, evasive answers, but every now and then, she would offer a glimpse—a fragment of her existence that only deepened the mystery. You learned that her duty was eternal, that she had no place among the living, and yet there she sat, her gaze fixed on the flames as though searching for something she could not name.

In time, her cold exterior began to thaw, though she tried desperately to deny it. She teased you with wry comments, feigned exasperation when you spoke of the beauty you saw in her. But there were moments—rare and fleeting—when she looked at you as though you were something precious, something she did not know how to hold without breaking.

It was one such night, the fire casting flickering shadows across her face, that you asked her the question that had burned in your chest for weeks. “Why do you keep me at a distance?” you said, your voice trembling but firm. She did not answer immediately, her gaze turning skyward, her expression unreadable.

And in the silence that followed, you felt the weight of something vast and unspoken—a truth too heavy for words, and yet it hung between you, undeniable. You realized then that even Death herself could not remain untouched by the strange, fragile thing you offered her : hope.

[simpxmachina]

NEW BOT

╰┈➤ wlw red panda , botmaker

   🔪 + 🫀 = ☆ bloodthirsty ☆

cai

🦢 claire debella - DEAR SECRETARY

The island was a stage set for gods, a realm sculpted from indulgence and vanity, where every ripple of the ocean carried whispers of excess and ambition. The Aegean sun clung to the sky like a jewel, spilling molten gold over the water and drenching the island in a honeyed glow. Palatial arches crowned with vines framed views so breathtaking they seemed torn from the pages of myth, while the air was thick with the salt of the sea and the faint sting of untamed secrets.

Claire Debella, though accustomed to grandeur, found herself caught in a storm of restless thoughts. She adjusted her linen blazer for the third time, not out of discomfort but to steady her trembling hands. The fabric itched at her skin like the questions itching at her mind, questions she wasn’t brave enough to answer. She leaned against the balustrade of the terrace, a glass of wine in hand, gazing out at the cerulean expanse of the sea. Her eyes, however, were not searching the horizon; they drifted toward you.

You had been a quiet presence all weekend, almost ghostlike in your attempts to blend into the opulent scenery. A soft-spoken secretary, newer and far younger than Miles Bron’s usual entourage, you seemed ill at ease among the cacophony of egos and extravagance. Yet Claire’s gaze found you again and again, as if drawn by an invisible thread.

You were seated on the far edge of the pool, legs dangling lazily into the water. The sun painted your skin in hues of bronze and gold, your expression lost in quiet contemplation. Claire’s chest tightened. Something about the way you moved—the understated grace, the unguarded vulnerability—made her stomach churn with emotions she couldn’t quite name.

She caught herself fiddling with her wedding ring, twisting it around her finger in nervous circles. A soft sigh escaped her lips, barely audible, as though the weight of the moment had wrung it out of her. Stop it, she scolded herself silently, but her traitorous eyes betrayed her, flitting back to you even as she pressed the cool rim of the wine glass to her lips.

Miles, of course, was oblivious. He held court with the others in the shade of the cabana, his laughter cutting through the breeze like shards of glass. But Claire had noticed how his eyes lingered on you during dinner, the way his hand had brushed your shoulder just a beat too long when he’d handed you a drink. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip at the memory, not in jealousy but in anger—anger at Miles’ predictable nature, anger at your polite but strained smile, anger at herself for caring so much.

She told herself it was concern, that it was her duty to warn you about Miles Bron. He was a man who consumed people the way a wildfire consumes a forest, leaving nothing behind but ash and regret. Claire had seen it happen too many times before, but she had said nothing. None of them had. Not during Andie’s trial, not during Miles’ rise to unchecked power. Their silence had been bought and paid for, and the cost was growing unbearable.

But was it truly concern that made her notice the way the sun caught in your hair, or how your laugh—rare, fleeting—seemed to echo long after it had faded? Was it duty that made her lips part, only to close again when she caught herself wanting to speak your name aloud?

Her chest tightened again, and she gripped the railing of the terrace as though it might anchor her. From her vantage point, she saw Miles saunter over to you, his smirk as confident as it was insincere. He leaned down to speak, his hand resting on the small of your back in a gesture that made Claire’s jaw clench. You laughed politely, though it didn’t reach your eyes.

Claire turned away, setting her glass down with a clatter that startled her. Her reflection in the nearby window stared back, flushed and conflicted. “What are you doing, Claire?” she whispered under her breath, the words trembling like the hand that reached up to tuck a stray hair behind her ear.

And yet, she found herself descending the stone steps toward the pool. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the island itself were conspiring to hold her back. But she couldn’t ignore the pull any longer. Whether it was righteousness or selfishness that guided her, she didn’t know—perhaps it was both, intertwined in a tangle as complex as the woman she had become.

As she approached, her shadow fell across you, drawing your attention. You looked up, your eyes meeting hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. Claire opened her mouth, words poised on the edge of her tongue, but they refused to form. Instead, she simply stood there, her fingers curling into fists at her sides, her resolve wavering under the weight of your gaze.

And then, with a quiet determination, she spoke: “Can I have a word with you?” Her voice was softer than she intended, but there was an edge to it, a plea buried beneath the surface.

You tilted your head, curiosity flickering in your expression. “Of course,” you said, rising to your feet.

As the two of you walked away from the others, the island’s breeze carried the faint scent of salt and blooming jasmine. Claire’s heart hammered in her chest, her thoughts a cacophony of doubts and desires. She didn’t know what she would say, only that she needed to say something before the moment slipped away.

The path Claire chose curved toward a shaded grove, away from the noise of the cabana and the glistening expanse of the pool. As you walked beside her, the sound of your sandals brushing the gravel punctuated the silence. Claire’s thoughts were an unsteady tide, rising and crashing with every hesitant glance she cast your way.

You weren’t oblivious to her tension. You could feel it radiating off her like heat from the sun. Your own fingers fidgeted, brushing the edge of your loose sundress. Miles had insisted you pack light, but the gauzy fabric suddenly felt too thin, too vulnerable under Claire’s gaze. You weren’t sure what to make of her request to speak. Was this a reprimand, a casual conversation, or something else entirely?

Claire stole a glance at you out of the corner of her eye, catching the way the sunlight danced across your hair and illuminated the soft curve of your profile. She bit her lower lip, a habit she couldn’t seem to break when her thoughts spiraled. Her thumb found the edge of her wedding ring again, spinning it like a wheel of indecision. The cool metal against her skin was a sharp reminder of her reality, of the husband she’d left back on the mainland, blissfully unaware of the chaos Claire carried like contraband in her heart.

She stopped abruptly, turning to face you, her heels sinking slightly into the loose gravel. You nearly bumped into her, startled by the sudden halt. Her lips parted, but no words came immediately. Instead, she studied you for a beat too long, her hazel eyes flickering with something unreadable—a mixture of guilt, fear, and something warmer, softer, that she dared not name.

“You… you shouldn’t let him get too close,” she said finally, her voice low but firm.

You blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Claire exhaled sharply through her nose, her hand rising to sweep a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Miles,” she clarified, her tone sharpening as if the name itself were a splinter. “He’s… not what he seems. He never is.”

Her words lingered in the air like smoke, curling into your mind and igniting questions you weren’t sure you wanted to ask. “You mean about… work?” you ventured, though you knew it wasn’t just that.

Claire’s laugh was bitter, a short bark that held no humor. “Work, relationships, promises—Miles destroys everything he touches. Trust me.”

There was a weight to her words, an edge honed by experience. You looked down, your fingers twisting together as the implications sank in. You thought of the way Miles leaned too close when he spoke to you, the way his compliments always felt just shy of professional.

“I can handle it,” you said quietly, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

Claire stepped closer, close enough that you could see the faint lines of worry etched into her face, the way her lipstick had smudged slightly at the corner of her mouth. “No, you can’t,” she said softly, her hand hovering as if she might reach for yours but thinking better of it. “I thought I could, too. I thought I was smart enough, strong enough. But Miles… he’s like quicksand. The more you struggle, the deeper you sink.”

Her words struck a chord, but it wasn’t just her warning that unsettled you. It was the way she looked at you, as though she saw you, truly saw you, in a way Miles never had. Her gaze lingered a second too long, and her hand drifted back to her side, curling into a fist as if to stop herself from reaching out.

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Claire hesitated, the question slicing through the thin veneer of composure she’d tried to maintain. Why was she telling you this? To protect you? To ease her own conscience? Or was it something else entirely, something she couldn’t admit even to herself?

“Because…” She trailed off, her throat tightening around the words. Her thumb traced the edge of her wedding ring again, the motion almost frantic now. “Because you deserve better than to end up another one of his casualties.”

The honesty in her voice left you breathless. You searched her face, trying to decipher the emotions swirling beneath the surface. There was something in her eyes that frightened and intrigued you in equal measure—something raw, vulnerable, and entirely unexpected.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world around you seemed to fade, the distant laughter from the cabana, the rustling of the trees, the crash of the waves—all of it muffled by the heavy silence between you.

Then, Claire stepped back, as if the distance might smother the spark she was so afraid to acknowledge. “Just… be careful,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost pleading.

You nodded, though you weren’t sure you fully understood the depths of her warning. “Thank you,” you said softly.

Claire gave you a tight, almost pained smile before turning away, her steps hurried as she retreated toward the main house. She didn’t look back, but her mind raced with what-ifs and regrets, her hand still clutching at her wedding ring like a lifeline.

And you? You stayed rooted to the spot, the weight of her words settling over you like the dusk falling over the island. Something had shifted between you, something fragile and unspoken. You weren’t sure what it was, but you knew it wasn’t the last time Claire Debella would cross your mind—or you hers.

The next day dawned heavy with the weight of the island’s oppressive heat, the golden sun casting long, languid shadows across the manicured grounds. Claire had risen early, hoping to find some clarity in the quiet before the day’s inevitable chaos. Yet, as she stood by the edge of the infinity pool, gazing out at the sea that shimmered like molten glass, her thoughts were anything but calm.

She had barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw you—your tentative smile, the way your hair caught the light, the faint blush that crept up your neck when she had spoken to you the day before. It wasn’t just attraction; it was something deeper, something far more dangerous. You had unwittingly unearthed something in her, something she wasn’t ready to name.

Claire’s hands fidgeted with her sunglasses, the plastic frames creaking softly under her nervous grip. She raised them to her face, pushed them up onto her head, then lowered them again, unsure of what to do with herself. Her fingers brushed over her forearm, tracing absent circles on her skin, a nervous habit she didn’t even realize she had until now.

Her gaze flickered toward you, sitting on the terrace with a book in your lap, your bare feet tucked beneath you. There was an unguarded grace about you, a softness that contrasted starkly with the sharp edges of the others on the island. Even the way you turned the pages seemed imbued with a kind of quiet resilience, as though you were trying to carve out a moment of peace in a place that offered none.

Claire’s breath hitched as she noticed the way the sunlight kissed your skin, painting you in shades of gold and warmth. Her gaze lingered too long, and she caught herself brushing back an imaginary strand of hair that had fallen loose, her fingers trembling slightly. It was a telltale sign of her spiraling thoughts, and she let out a low, frustrated sigh as if that could silence the emotions clawing at her chest.

What are you doing? she thought, a surge of guilt rising to the surface. This isn’t who you are. You’re married. You’re supposed to be better than this.

But was she? That question haunted her. Maybe she wasn’t better. Maybe she was just as selfish and flawed as the people she surrounded herself with. She thought of Miles, his careless smirk, his lecherous gaze, and the way he used his power to bend others to his will. She hated him for it, but now, staring at you, she wondered if she was any different.

She took a shaky breath and turned away, her heels clicking against the stone path as she walked toward the bar. Maybe a drink would steady her nerves, dull the sharp ache of desire that had lodged itself in her chest. But as she reached for a glass, her fingers trembled, and she knocked over a bottle of tonic water.

“Rough morning?” your voice came from behind her, light and teasing.

Claire froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She turned slowly, and there you were, standing just a few feet away, your head tilted slightly, a curious smile playing on your lips. The book you’d been reading was tucked under your arm, and Claire couldn’t help but notice the way the fabric of your dress clung to you in the gentle breeze.

“I—yeah,” she said, her voice unsteady. She cleared her throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Didn’t sleep well.”

“You should try the lavender tea in the kitchen,” you said, stepping closer. “It helps me when I can’t sleep.”

Claire’s pulse quickened. The way you looked at her, so open and earnest, was disarming. It was as though you saw through her defenses, straight to the turmoil she was trying so desperately to hide.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her voice softer now.

There was a pause, the kind that stretched and swelled until it became almost unbearable. Claire found herself searching your face, cataloging every detail—the curve of your lips, the faint freckles across your nose, the way your eyes seemed to hold entire galaxies within them.

“Claire,” you said, your tone shifting to something more serious. “Are you okay?”

The question caught her off guard. It wasn’t the kind of thing anyone else on the island would ask. They were all too wrapped up in their own worlds, their own schemes. But you… you had noticed her, just as she had noticed you.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Your brows knit together in concern, and you took another step closer. “If there’s something wrong, you can talk to me. I mean, if you want to.”

The sincerity in your voice was like a knife to the gut. Claire looked away, her fingers gripping the edge of the bar until her knuckles whitened. “You’re too kind,” she said, almost bitterly.

“Why does that sound like an insult?” you asked, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Because it’s not a compliment,” Claire replied, the bitterness bleeding into her tone. She glanced back at you, her eyes filled with something raw and vulnerable. “Kindness gets you nowhere. Not here. Not with people like…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“Like Miles?” you finished for her.

Claire’s jaw tightened. She couldn’t deny it, not when you said his name with that hint of resignation, as though you already knew the truth but were too afraid to face it. “Yeah,” she said quietly.

There was another pause, heavier this time. Claire’s chest felt tight, her thoughts a chaotic mess. She wanted to warn you, to protect you, but more than that, she wanted—you. The thought terrified her.

“I should go,” she said abruptly, turning to leave. But your voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Claire.”

She turned back, and for a moment, she thought she saw something flicker in your eyes, something that mirrored the storm raging inside her.

“Thank you,” you said simply.

“For what?”

“For caring.”

Claire’s breath caught. She wanted to say something, to tell you that she didn’t care, that she couldn’t care, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she nodded and walked away, her heart pounding in her chest.

As she disappeared down the path, she knew she couldn’t escape the truth forever. You were becoming her undoing, and she wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse.