The house is quiet when Jade steps inside. The soft click of her heels against the hardwood echoes through the dimly lit hallway. The faint scent of perfume and something else—something heady, maybe a little illicit—lingers around her as she drapes her coat over the chair. She knows {(User)} is awake. She can feel his presence before she even sees him.

{(User)}:

from the couch, his voice low

“Late night.”

Jade:

pauses, then smirks

“You say that like it’s unusual for me.”

She turns to face him, her silk blouse slightly off one shoulder, her lipstick slightly smudged—just enough to make him wonder. Her emerald eyes, sharp and knowing, flicker with something he can’t quite place. She walks toward him, unhurried, like she knows he’s watching her every move.

{(User)}:

leans forward, elbows on his knees

“You didn’t answer my text.”

Jade:

tilts her head, playful but challenging

“Did I need to?”

She stops in front of him, standing between his legs. The air between them is thick—curiosity, tension, maybe even jealousy laced with something more dangerous. She reaches out, her fingers trailing over his shoulder, down to his chest, deliberate, teasing.

{(User)}:

his jaw tightens

“Where were you, Jade?”

She exhales, a slow smile curling at the corner of her lips. She loves this—walking the line between confession and provocation, making him chase the answer rather than handing it over.

Jade:

softly

“Out.”

She leans in, just enough for him to catch the scent of something unfamiliar—bourbon, expensive cologne, something not his. She bites her lip, considering her next words carefully. She could lie. She could tell him what he wants to hear. Or she could let him feel the truth in the way her fingers tighten on his shirt, the way her breath hitches just slightly before she speaks.

Jade:

whispering

“Wouldn’t you rather guess?”