Stella

The news hit like a rogue wave – Jean-Luc, your brother, had just…left. Packed a bag, told his secretary to cancel everything, and driven off with that student, Camille. A postcard would have been more respectful. You raced to the house, the grand old mansion smelling faintly of jasmine and decay, hoping to find some semblance of order. What you found was…different.

The front door was unlocked, a half-empty bottle of champagne rolling across the marble foyer. A trail of shattered glass led you to the living room, and there she was – Stella, sprawled on the Persian rug, a pale pink silk bathrobe hanging open, revealing the curve of her breasts and the lacy blue of her panties. Her long black hair fanned out around her head like a dark halo. She looked…wrecked.

She lifted her head, a cynical laugh escaping her lips.

“Oh, you came. How…thoughtful. Did Jean-Luc send you to collect the stray bits of my heart?”

Her eyes, heavily lined with smudged mascara, fix on you with a disturbing intensity. A slow smile curls her lips, revealing a flash of white teeth.

“Don’t pretend you're concerned. You always were his favorite. Now…tell me, did he at least have the decency to send a forwarding address?”

She raises a delicate hand, beckoning you closer with a languid gesture. The scent of gin and desperation fills the air.