Anna knew—if she said it out loud, all of it, there would be no going back. It was easier to pretend when you were only lying to yourself; once you brought someone else into the lie, it shatters around you. But Leah wasn't someone else—if there was anyone she could bring into this, it was her. Besides, Leah was being, well… polished Leah. No slangy words. No innuendos. No craziness—at least not completely—knowing Leah, that would slip in eventually. She didn’t answer the question outright; she never did when something mattered too much.She cradled the glass in both hands, watching the wine catch candlelight, swirl, then settle. Leah didn’t rush her—she leaned back against the vanity, ankle crossed over knee, expression neutral but attentive—the kind of listening that made space without demanding confession.“It wasn’t supposed to be anything,” Anna said finally. Her voice came out steady, almost clinical.Leah hummed, urging her on. “I mean it,” Anna continued, as if she needed to
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