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She'd asked curiously. "I wake up wet. Like wet and dripping." Sandra scoffed through the phone, "Isn't that unbelievable? Anyway, I come to the conclusion that it was because I found him very attractive on that day. He is just like those males in my books. Damn, I'm very attracted to that man" Ismena had laughed, her confusion cleared. Sandra has always been a romantic at heart, with all those romantic fantasy books she read all the time, she's bound to feel so attracted to a man that comes close to those descriptions so much that she'll see him in her dreams.

She stared at the message. Who would send this? She quickly typed back: "Who is this?" No response came. Her heartbeat quickened. She read the message again. And again. Then looked up at the window-drawn shut. Her apartment felt colder. This wasn't just pretending anymore. She might be stepping into something darker than she ever imagined. Sienna checked her front door. A single red envelope lay on the welcome mat-unmarked. Inside was a solitary photo: of her and Damien from tonight, taken from across the street.

Sandra sat at Soren’s desk with a dark, satisfied smile on her lips. She moved the pen swiftly across the paper as she added line after line to the new rules. She was thrilled, almost giddy, with every humiliating clause she wrote. Each word was fueled by pure jealousy, the image of Elena on her knees, trembling under Soren’s gaze, made her blood boil with possessive rage. “Here,” Sandra said in a sweet voice, sliding the paper across the desk to Soren. “I added some extras, read them slowly.”

“Also about the other night, when I came to you... I was–” “Are you hearing yourself?" Sandra laughed softly. “Apologies Julian Fernandez are for the weak. For the restless ones. For the foolish ones." Then she tilted her head demurely. “As for the other night..." Her hand reached for his arm and it taunted his self-control, she was so close to him again. “I told you, you're that kind of temptation... someone I cannot resist." Fucking hell!

"Sandra, find a crossword to work on and spread yourself out on the couch. I will read my book. The last thing we want is to give anyone the impression that we're expecting company." "I could pretend to fall asleep on the couch!" “Whatever you want,” I told her, but I knew of course she wouldn’t be able to sleep. While I read my thriller, Sandra sprawled herself gracefully on the couch, working on a crossword. I eavesdropped for the footsteps on the stairs. Perhaps the acrostic was too easy. Or maybe the time went by too slowly. In any case, Sandra had solved the first brainteaser without any difficulty, and started another, while I carried on reading the same paragraph recurrently.

Trust me, you do not want to miss this. As I read this, I smirked immediately. An idea is beginning to form in my mind, and I am sure it will be a great revenge on Alessandra for what she has done to me. But before this plan can work, I need to read on about this lady called Sandra, and just then, my eyes fall on the words on the next page. *** “If you have turned the page and read this far, then you indeed want to know about Ms. Sandra Puppet. So, who is Ms. Sandra Puppet, and what is Mr. Brandon doing with her?

Sandra cleared her throat as soon as she managed to get out of the charm of Ethan's body that had bewitched her, turning her gaze in another direction. Then her eyes stopped, finding an object that was familiar to her. Nine volumes of the novel A Billionaire's Path to Revenge lay in a mess on the floor surface. It looked like it was there by accident. From the physicality of the book, it was obvious Ethan had always read it, as it looked like a book that was read often. “This...” Sandra was about to pick it up when Ethan blocked her, picking up all the books quickly and placing them on his desk, looked so panicked.

“It’s my favorite place to escape. To read.” “And what world are you escaping into today?” Anya’s question was casual. “A historical novel,” Sandra replied, finding a sudden ease in Anya’s open demeanor. “About a woman who defies societal expectations to pursue her passion.” Anya’s eyes lit up. “Ah, a kindred spirit, then,” she said, a warm smile spreading across her face. “There’s something inherently captivating about those who refuse to be contained, isn’t there?” They spoke for nearly an hour, the world outside fading away. Sandra was captivated by Anya’s confidence, her passionate dreams, and the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed. Anya seemed equally drawn to Sandra’s intellect, su

She squealed into her pillow like she was thirteen. Her turn: the construction site, Caleb, the police, Brian saving her, and the kiss that had nearly set the gate on fire. By the end, we stared at each other like two ghosts pretending to be alive. “Lena, what are we doing with our lives?” Sandra whispered. “No clue,” I said. “But we’re obviously failing at normal.” We laughed tiredly until sleep dragged us under. Morning sunlight stabbed through the curtains. I groaned as Sandra returned from outside holding a thick white envelope.