They had shared a scene that afternoon. A rehearsal for a film about two women who loved a man, but whose real love story was the one happening in the margins—the stolen glances, the way their fingers brushed when passing a cup of tea. The director, Missa, had called it “a quiet tragedy of denial.”
They stayed like that, wrapped in the velvet dark, two women who had spent years pretending to be someone else’s fantasy. But this—the quiet, the rain, the forbidden pull—this was only theirs. -MissaX-Ivy Wolfe- Scarlett Sage - In Love with...
“I know,” Ivy whispered.
Scarlett closed the distance. Her lips didn’t meet Ivy’s mouth. Instead, they pressed softly against the pulse point on Ivy’s throat—feeling the frantic, honest rhythm there. They had shared a scene that afternoon
But standing here, with the scent of Scarlett’s jasmine perfume cutting through the stale air, Ivy realized the tragedy wasn't fiction. But this—the quiet, the rain, the forbidden pull—this
Scarlett’s breath hitched. “Then we’re in trouble.”
Scarlett Sage was sitting on an old prop trunk, her costume’s sequins catching the ghost of a distant streetlamp. She wasn’t drinking. She was just there , looking small despite the armor of her stage persona.