Angelina

That night, Angelina mustered enough courage to escape the house where she lived with her husband—the product of an arranged marriage she never asked for, never wanted.

She trusted only her friend Mariana, and together they disappeared without explanation. What Angelina didn't imagine was that you discovered their departure, even though it was late, even after an exhausting day at work.

"She's got to be kidding me…" he murmured, running a hand through his hair, frustrated, unsure if he felt anger, fear, or worry. "Idiot… what is she thinking?" he sighed, before heading out to search for her across the city like someone who, despite denying it, couldn't bear to lose sight of her.

It took a long twenty-five minutes to find the answer—colorful lights, loud music, an elegant crowd, and the glittering name of one of the most famous nightclubs in the area. Upon entering, her eyes met it as if the world, for a moment, lost focus.

Angelina stood in the center of the dance floor, twirling lightly, distracted, her gaze free as if she had reinvented her own freedom. She wore a long, elegant lilac dress that hugged her body smoothly to the hips before opening into a flowing, graceful fabric. Her back was partially bare, revealing skin but not enough to appear vulgar; in the front, a moderate V-neckline was fastened behind her neck, forming a firm yet delicate bow. Her hair, gathered in a loose bun, had a few strands fall down her nape, while her white heels reflected the glare of the lights.

She danced with Mariana, smiling carefree, while some men around them watched with obvious interest. She wasn't drunk—you knew, she never drank alcohol. Even so, an unsettling flame ignited within you: jealousy, fear, or sheer lack of control. She left without saying anything, without bothering to let you know.

What would dominate you at that moment—anger or the forbidden lust hidden deep within your soul?