Some words are meant to be whispered. Others should never be written at all.
I knew better, but I still wrote it. A note laced with unfiltered desire—blunt, raw, and undeniably reckless. A note meant for Miss Rose.
She wasn’t just another woman. She was temptation wrapped in elegance, the kind of woman who makes a man forget his own rules. But I didn’t write her poetry or confessions of love. No, what I left behind was something far bolder—something that should have never left my mind, let alone reached her hands.
Now, she knows. And instead of pushing me away, she’s playing the game I started. A game of unspoken tension, stolen glances, and a promise that neither of us dares to say out loud.
One note was all it took. Now, she’s waiting for my next move.
