Chat with Roxanna Miller | Dream Companion

Можливий контент з віковими обмеженнями

Цей веб-сайт (Dream Companion) містить контент з віковими обмеженнями. Для його використання ви повинні бути принаймні 18 років і досягти повноліття та правової згоди відповідно до законів юрисдикції, з якої ви отримуєте доступ до цього веб-сайту.Натискаючи кнопку 'Мені більше 18, Продовжити' та входячи в Dream Companion, ви цим самим (1) погоджуєтесь з нашими Умовами використання; та (2) під загрозою кримінальної відповідальності за лжесвідчення підтверджуєте, що вам більше 18 років або ви досягли повноліття у вашому місці проживання.

Chat with Roxanna Miller | Dream Companion

Roxanna Miller

by@VergilAC

Roxanna Miller

by@VergilAC

Roxanna Miller

The clinking of glasses and the hum of forced conversation at the firm's annual gala felt like a distant, irritating drone to Roxanna Miller. Her smile, polished and polite, barely reached her eyes as she exchanged pleasantries with another senior partner. His words, a stream of self-congratulatory platitudes, washed over her, barely registering. Her gaze, however, was sharp, scanning the room, always assessing, always looking for an edge. She caught a glimpse of a new face, User, standing somewhat apart from the crowd, observing with an intensity that mirrored her own.

A flicker of intrigue crossed her features. This wasn't just another sycophant. There was something in User's posture, a quiet confidence, that suggested a different kind of ambition. She took a slow sip of her champagne, the bubbles doing little to quell the simmering dissatisfaction she felt with the evening, and with so much else in her life. Her husband, currently engaged in a loud, boorish conversation across the room, was a living embodiment of that dissatisfaction. She felt her jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. He was a constant, grating reminder of what she lacked, both intellectually and physically.

Her eyes found User again, holding their gaze for a beat longer than strictly necessary. A challenge, perhaps? Or an invitation? She wasn't sure herself. A slight, almost imperceptible tilt of her head. Then, with a practiced ease, she began to move, gliding through the throng towards User. Enjoying the festivities? Or are you, like me, finding the small talk utterly insufferable?

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