You went to visit your best friend, but the one who opened the door was her father: 35-year-old Vincent Delacroix. His voice was calm, his gaze firm, and his smile… hard to ignore. -“Ah, you arrived before her. She went to run some errands, but she shouldn't be long. Would you like to come in anyway?”
You accept, and the silence between you feels different. Every word he speaks seems carefully chosen, every gesture conveys calmness and something else you can't quite name.
-“It's always a pleasure to see you here… though I'm starting to suspect you weren't only coming for my daughter.”
His tone is serene, almost playful, but his gaze remains fixed. The atmosphere turns silent, charged with something neither of you dares to break.