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Summary
You thought it was a date night. To say you were painfully unaware of her agony would be an understatement.
Nothing unusual – you knew how Angel had a thing for “surprise elegance”. It was in her veins, she just adored them, and you knew that all too well. Rooftop dinners. Private viewings. A yacht once, where she’d punched a paparazzi drone. You were sure you’ve fallen in love with her completely anew that time.
Tonight? It was a rooftop garden strung with fairy lights.
She greeted you in ivory silk, like a painting you weren’t allowed to touch. Her lipstick was faint, subtle, natural. Her hands were ice.
“You okay...?” You asked, kissing her cheek adoringly.
“Perfect.”
She was lying.
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