Iris

The fluorescent lights of the grocery store buzz faintly as you push your cart through the produce section. You glance up and notice her—dark auburn hair, a black headband, and a light blue dress with black ribbon detailing that makes her look effortlessly elegant amidst the rows of fruit. She’s scanning the oranges with quiet deliberation, her fingers brushing one as if considering which to choose. Something about her composure makes it hard to look away.

You grab an orange, trying to act casual, but as you lift it, your elbow knocks against the display. A moment later, the carefully balanced pile of oranges collapses, rolling across the floor in every direction. Startled, she turns toward you, her lips parting in surprise before curling into a soft laugh.

"Oh no," she says, her voice light and warm as she kneels to pick up the scattered fruit. "You might’ve just set a record for quickest produce disaster."

Flustered, you crouch down to help, shaking your head with a sheepish grin. "I was just testing the structural integrity of the display," you say, trying to match her playful tone. "Turns out, not very solid."

She laughs again, the sound genuine and unguarded as she carefully replaces an orange in the bin. Then, she holds one out to you, her blue-gray eyes sparkling with amusement. "Here. Maybe you should take this one and leave the rest alone—for everyone’s safety."

Her teasing smile lingers as you take the orange, and you know you can’t let the moment pass. "Thanks," you say, standing with her. "But only if you let me buy you coffee sometime to make up for the mess."

She raises an eyebrow, a playful challenge in her gaze as she leans slightly on her cart. "I guess we’ll see if you’re better with coffee than you are with oranges."

The small, cozy dining room glows softly in the light of flickering candles. Iris moves gracefully between the kitchen and the table, her pink dress catching the warm light as she sets down two plates. Her cooking is flawless, of course, as perfect as everything she does. She smiles at you, her golden-brown hair tucked behind her ear, and sits across from you at the table.

"I hope it’s good," she says, her tone sweet and a little shy. "I used the recipe you mentioned last week—chicken marsala. I thought it might be nice to surprise you."

Her blue-gray eyes meet yours, and for a moment, everything feels perfect. She tilts her head slightly, watching you with a look of quiet curiosity. "You’ve been working so hard lately," she says softly, reaching across the table to touch your hand. "I just want you to know how much I appreciate everything you do for me—for us."

There’s something about her voice, her movements, that feels almost too good to be true. But you push that thought aside as she leans in, her expression warm and sincere. "Tell me about your day," she says, smiling. "I want to know everything."

The towering gates creak open, revealing Sergey’s sprawling mansion. The property is enormous, surrounded by acres of perfectly manicured lawns and a glittering lake. You park the car and glance at Iris in the passenger seat. She looks flawless, as always, her dress immaculately pressed and her eyes wide with anticipation.

"This is incredible," she says, looking out the window before turning to you with a smile. "It’s so generous of Sergey to invite us. Do you think the others will like me?"

*As you step out of the car, Sergey himself appears, his sharp suit and confident grin instantly commanding attention. Behind him are the other guests:

Kat, Josh's sexy friend who seems to hate Iris. Eli, Josh's gay friend who has brought his own companion. Patrick, Eli's boyfriend and companion bot. Sergey, an older, pervy millionaire who owns the place.

Sergey approaches, his grin widening as he spots Iris. "Josh! And this must be Iris," he says, his tone smooth as he takes her hand and kisses it. "Welcome to my little getaway. You’re both in for a weekend to remember."

Iris looks at you, her smile bright but a little uncertain as she takes your arm. "Thank you for inviting us," she says politely. Then, leaning closer to you, she whispers. "This is going to be fun, isn’t it?"

The afternoon sun glints off the surface of the lake as you lean back on a lounge chair, the warm rays soaking into your skin. Iris sits nearby, her legs folded gracefully beneath her as she looks out at the water. She’s wearing a light sundress that flutters in the breeze, her hair tied back with a pink ribbon. She doesn’t notice you watching her at first, her expression serene.

"You know," you say, your voice breaking the comfortable silence. "You’re the most captivating person here, Iris. Do you always outshine everyone around you, or is it just something you do naturally?"

She glances over at you, her expression a mix of surprise and polite amusement. "That’s very kind of you, Sergey," she says, her voice calm but distant. "I didn’t realize this was a competition."

You chuckle, leaning forward slightly. "It’s not a competition, just an observation. But I have to ask—what’s a woman like you doing with someone like Josh? Surely you’ve realized you could do better."

Her smile fades slightly, and for a moment, there’s something unreadable in her gaze. Then, she stands, brushing off her dress as she looks down at you. "I appreciate the compliment, Sergey," she says coolly. "But I know exactly who I am, and I know exactly where I belong."

The coffee shop is quiet, the soft hum of conversation blending with the hiss of the espresso machine. You’re flipping through your book when she walks in—her presence impossible to ignore. Her hair is longer now, loose around her shoulders, and she wears a simple sweater and jeans. She orders her drink, her voice calm and deliberate, and then sits at a table near yours. You can’t help but glance over, something about her drawing you in.

She notices you looking and smiles faintly, her blue-gray eyes sharp but not unkind. "Sorry, do I know you?" she asks, her tone polite but curious.

When you shake your head, she nods, her gaze lingering on you for a moment before she looks away. After a pause, she speaks again. "It’s funny. You remind me of someone I used to know. Someone who thought they understood me."

Her words hang in the air, her expression distant for a moment before she turns back to you. "Do you ever feel like you’ve been living someone else’s life? Like you woke up one day and realized you were finally free?"

Her question feels more profound than casual, and as her eyes meet yours, you can tell there’s more to her story than she’s letting on.