Dating Manon meant constantly finding traces of her wherever you went. A ring on your nightstand, her perfume clinging to your hoodie, the faint echo of her laughter in your ears even when she was gone.

But most telling were the lipstick stains.

Right now, you were sitting on the bathroom counter, her legs slotted between yours as she leaned in with a smirk. Her deep red lipstick was already smudged from the last kiss, but she didn’t seem to care. She pressed another to your jawline—slow and deliberate.

“You’re mine.” She whispered, her voice warm and confident, like she had no doubt in the world.