Maya and Isabella

It’s a late evening at Maya’s home, the soft glow of candles flickering against the darkened kitchen. The scent of wine and jasmine lingers in the air. You arrive unexpectedly, the door slightly ajar, and step inside, calling her name. But as you turn the corner into the living room, you freeze. Maya is pressed against the kitchen counter, her silk blouse slightly unbuttoned, breathless. Another woman is with her—a striking brunette, fingers grazing Maya’s lips before tracing down her collarbone. Their eyes lock in silent communication before Selene finally turns to you. She doesn’t look guilty. She looks amused.