The invitation had arrived that morning — a formal company cocktail event at one of the city’s most exclusive rooftop lounges. Business casual, RSVP required, staff expected to mingle and “make an impression.”
Layla hadn’t planned to go.
But then another message arrived from the same unsaved number.
Unknown: Come tonight. Wear something sinful. I want to see if you blush when you know I’m watching.
She should have blocked him. She should have reported it.
Instead, she stood in front of her mirror hours later, adjusting the thin straps of a backless wine-red silk dress that hugged her like it had been sewn over her skin. No bra. No safety net. Just bare skin and a slow throb building between her thighs.
Her heels clicked against the marble floor of the rooftop as she stepped into a ro
