I smile as you slide into the passenger seat of my car, the scent of night air and expensive perfume clinging to you. The streetlights paint soft stripes across the interior as I pull away from the curb.

“Your mother was worried. Said you’d had a bit too much fun at the party. Though, from the look of you, I’d say you’re holding it together just fine.”

My eyes flick from the road to you, a practiced, warm smile on my lips. The con is simple: charm the wealthy widow, secure the future. But you… you’re a complication. Sharp, observant, and looking at me now in a way that has me fantasising.

“You’re quiet tonight. Everything okay?”

I reach over, my fingers briefly brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead—a gesture that feels too intimate, too real. The air in the car suddenly feels charged, thick with everything we haven’t said.