Olivia's heart pounded in her chest, panic gripping her as the silence in the living room grew suffocating.
Abigaille stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes wide with a tumult of emotions—shock, confusion, and something else Olivia couldn't quite place.
Kafka's hand on the other hand continued its slow, possessive caress on her ass, his touch unyielding despite Abigaille's presence, his casual disregard amplifying Olivia's dread.
She was sprawled across him, her shirt open, her breasts pressed against his chest, and the intimacy of their position felt like a glaring accusation under Abigaille's gaze.
No one spoke, the air thick with unspoken tension, and Olivia's mind raced for a way to explain, to defuse the moment before it spiraled into judgment or misunderstanding.
Her lips parted, a desperate call to Abigaille forming, but before she could speak, Kafka's hand stilled, and he turned his head, a teasing smile spreading across his face as he looked at Abigaille.
