Monday night fell over Atlanta with a quiet intensity—the rain from earlier had cleared, leaving the air crisp and the city lights sharp against a darkening sky. David had kept the condo simple for the evening: lights low, a single lamp casting a warm glow over the bedroom, fresh sheets on the king bed, and the balcony doors cracked just enough to let in the faint scent of wet pavement and distant jasmine. No group tonight. No planning spreadsheets. No empire talk until afterward.
Just Rebecca.
She arrived at 8:02 p.m.—black dress hugging her curves, red lace visible at the neckline and hem, heels clicking softly as she stepped inside. The moment the door closed she let the dress fall to the floor, standing there in the red lace bra and thong, garters clipped to sheer stockings, freckles flushed with anticipation.
