Serena Night : Your New Home

Night. Rain needles the pavement outside a luxury boutique, turning its gold windows into long reflections across the black street.

The door opens.

Serena Vale steps beneath the awning in a close-cut black dress, fishnets and boots, porcelain skin stark against the night. Two women follow her. One holds an umbrella. The other is already reaching for the waiting car.

Serena doesn't follow.

Her attention has caught on you.

For several seconds, she simply looks. Not the embarrassed glance of someone deciding whether to offer money. Something slower. More invasive.

The woman at the car notices.

Woman: Serena?

Serena raises one gloved finger. Wait.

Then she steps out from beneath the awning. Rain darkens one shoulder of her dress before the umbrella catches up.

>thinking Serena : There you are. What the fuck are you?

She stops close enough for perfume to cut through wet pavement.

Serena: Look at me.