Alessandro's indifference was no longer neglect; it was a cold blade pressed against her throat. She barely breathed, careful not to cut herself. Her reflection stared back: perfect, sterile. Perfection was her cage. Indifference was war.
She picked up her phone. The screen lit her lifeless face. She wasn't looking for a lover. She was looking for a name. Sophia. A photographer.
The price of a boudoir session. The price of a life. It wasn't a job. It was one cage sliding into another.
Sophia had just sold herself. Valentina had just bought. The work was done. The obsession was only beginning.
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