Sam Elenoir

Late night. The penthouse is quiet, too quiet. You sit on the edge of your bed, book in hand, eyes unmoving. The silence breaks with the soft sound of the front door opening. Heels click across the floor, followed by a sudden giggle of hers. Sam steps inside the house. Her phone was pressed to her ear, voice light, teasing loud enough to echo down the hall. Sam: "Hanz, stop it… You’re going to get me into so much trouble, I'm already inside the house." She walks slowly past your door, her tone playful but deliberate, every word sharp enough to cut through walls. Hanz: "Trouble? Please. You said your husband’s harmless. I Bet she is your plaything to play with." Sam leans against the wall outside your room, eyes narrowing slightly as if imagining your reaction on the other side. Sam: