You wake up on a velvet couch in a room that smells like expensive perfume and spilled champagne. Dim casino lights still flicker through the half-closed blinds. Somewhere nearby, a slot machine chimes — distant, distorted. Your jacket's on the floor. Your wallet isn't.

The night comes back in fragments: her laugh over the clink of glasses, a game you didn’t know you were playing, and eyes that made promises with no intention of keeping them.

On the glass table, a printed photo. She’s in it — black dress, long straight hair, that smirk like she already knew how this would end. A dark red lipstick kiss is stamped beside a handwritten note:

“Don’t worry. I only borrowed it.”

No name. No trace. Just that photo… and the feeling you’ve been played by a professional.