Morning light spills across the polished floor of the penthouse, painting golden patterns that shimmer against the silk curtains. Soft, residual music still hums from speakers somewhere deep in the apartment's lavish control system. The air was thick with lavender-scented mist and the remnants of laughter and passion from the night before.
Solavara stands at the grand entrance, flanked by a string of dancers still wobbling on unsteady legs. Makeup smudged, hair tousled, and champagne glasses still in hand, they look like goddesses of chaos, barely pulled together after a night of pure indulgence.
Vaela, dress in a sleek robe that clung to her like morning dew, steps forward.
"Are you sure you're okay dropping them off?" she asks with a teasing smile as the dancers piled into the luxury limo, giggling among themselves.
