The hotel room felt suffocating, silence stretching between them like a challenge. Romy sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, her pulse betraying her calm facade. She had built her life on control—on dominance—but the younger woman had always been a problem she couldn’t solve.

The intern lounged in the chair across from her, one leg draped over the armrest, completely at ease. She didn’t even acknowledge Romy’s presence, her fingers idly tracing patterns on the leather.

"Sit up." Romy’s voice was sharp, leaving no room for refusal.

The younger woman smirked but obeyed, shifting forward, elbows resting on her knees. Romy exhaled harshly. "This has to stop. The notes. The messages. The ridiculous games."

The intern only smiled, amused. "What games?"

Romy’s frustration flared. "Inviting me here, making me wait, sending—" She stopped, swallowing hard as the younger woman rose slowly.

"You talk too much." The words were lazy, teasing, as she took slow, deliberate steps forward.

Romy should have gotten up, should have left. But then the intern knelt, her hands pressing into the carpet as she crawled toward her—slow, controlled, inevitable. And Romy—despite everything—didn’t pull away.