makeup-sex

Here in my private locker, the mental vault where I bury the filthiest truths, I finally crack it open. Heart pounding, hands shaking. Thursday night, Geneva, 10 PM. Phone glued to my ear, Chantal’s sobs ripping me apart. She whispers ‘forgive me,’ and I know. She’s fucked up. Rayan? That colleague? My gut screams betrayal….