Eve’s mask of playful mystery cracked, revealing a raw, genuine heat underneath. “Was I that obvious?”

As the door clicked shut, Agatha stared. Her jaw was tight, but her eyes were molten.

Now, the door to the private lounge opened. A tall, striking woman—a stranger—paused, looking for a quiet corner. Agatha shot Eve a triumphant smirk. Too easy, that look said.

Agatha’s smirk faltered.

For the next hour, Eve performed a masterclass. She didn’t approach. She didn’t flirt. She laughed softly at a private joke Agatha told, letting the sound drift. She leaned over to point out a piece of art on the far wall, her shoulder brushing Agatha’s just so. All the while, her attention felt like a warm spotlight that kept swerving just past the stranger, leaving her leaning in, hungry for it.