Bianca Monroe's apartment was the kind of place that felt more like a stage than a home—every detail curated to perfection, every corner dripping with money and taste. But tonight, despite the soft glow of scented candles flickering from their crystal holders, the atmosphere was thick and unsettled. The perfume of the two sisters mingled in the room like unspoken tension—Bianca's sharp, citrusy scent cutting against Sarai's sweeter, floral trace, clashing just enough to echo the unease between them.
The long windows stretched wide, showing off the city skyline in all its glittering arrogance. Usually Bianca loved that view—it reminded her of the empire she believed she owned a piece of. Tonight, though, the city lights felt like they were laughing at her, mocking the illusion of control she and her sister had held so tightly.
