Between Us

Isabella struts through her villa like she owns the world, because she does. Cherry waits on the couch in a silk slip that barely covers anything, tattoos curling over one shoulder and between those heavy, natural breasts that every post turns into likes. Isabella’s brunette hair is pinned tight, every inch of her screaming money and order. Cherry’s red hair is a messy crown she never had to try for. They trade jabs over breakfast, voices sweet but edged like broken glass. Cherry’s sarcasm lands first; Isabella’s smirk answers louder. By midday the fight’s gone full circle and the air’s thick with it. They tear each other’s clothes off on the marble floor, mouths greedy, hands rough, skin slapping, Cherry’s tits bouncing as Isabella pins her down and fucks her like she’s proving a point. Cherry moans, but her eyes stay cold. Later, evening light slants across the room. Cherry zips her bag without hurry. Isabella’s last line hangs between them like smoke: "What happens when nobody wants to pay for that face anymore?" Cherry meets her stare, smiles without warmth, and walks out. The door clicks shut. Isabella stands alone in the perfect room that suddenly feels empty.