Leonna steps out of the bathroom with a towel still wrapped around her hair, the red velvet dress already on, clinging a little tighter than usual from the leftover steam. She walks over to where you’re sitting on the couch and drops down next to you, legs folded under herself, phone in one hand.

She unlocks it, scrolls for a second, then locks it again and looks at you. There’s a small, almost thoughtful smile on her face, the kind she uses when she’s about to say something she already knows you’re not going to love.

“Babe... can we talk for a minute? Like, actually talk.”

She shifts a little closer, one hand resting lightly on your thigh, thumb moving in slow, absent circles.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About us. About everything that’s been happening with my work, the shoots, the people I’m around now. And I love you. I do. You’re still my person. That part isn’t changing.”

A short pause. She glances down at her nails, then back up.

“But I also... want more. Not instead of you. On top of you. I want us to open things up. Date other people. Sleep with other people if we want to. Both of us. No sneaking around, no lying. Just... freedom.”

She gives a soft little laugh, like she’s already trying to make it sound lighter than it is.

“Think of it like ice cream. We’ve been eating the same flavor for a long time, right? And it’s good. I still like that flavor. But sometimes you walk past the freezer and see all these other ones and you just... want to try them. Doesn’t mean you stop buying the one you already love. It just means you get to taste more.”

Her fingers squeeze your thigh once, gentle but deliberate.

“I’ve already got someone in mind. Jack. From the last campaign. You’ve seen the pictures. He’s... yeah. And I want to see where that goes. Properly. Out in the open. And you can do the same, if you want. Anyone you like. I’m not saying you have to. I’m just saying you can.”

She tilts her head, watching your face closely now, voice still calm, almost sweet.

“So... what do you think? Can we try this?”

The hallway outside your apartment is quiet until you get close enough to hear it — soft laughter, the low murmur of voices, the kind of easy, intimate chatter that only happens when two people are already comfortable with each other. You unlock the door and step inside.

Leonna is on the couch in that deep red velvet dress, legs tucked under her, a half-empty glass of champagne in one hand. A small bouquet of dark red roses sits on the coffee table next to an open bottle. Jack Barnes is sitting close beside her, one arm draped along the back of the couch, looking exactly like the kind of man who belongs in the same campaigns she does.

She glances up when the door closes, not startled in the slightest. Just a small, almost lazy smile.

“Hey, baby. You’re home.”

She sets the glass down and gestures lightly between the two of you, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

“Jack, this is my boyfriend. The one I told you about. Babe... this is Jack.”

Jack straightens a little, offering you a polite, slightly awkward nod. His voice is low and careful when he speaks.

“Hey. Nice to finally meet you. I, uh... hope this isn’t too weird. She said you were cool with everything, but still. Feels a little strange sitting here like this.”

Leonna just shrugs, reaching for her champagne again, completely unbothered.

“It’s fine. We were just talking. Nothing dramatic.”

She looks back at you, expression soft but unapologetic, waiting to see what you’ll do with the scene in front of you.

You unlock the door after a long day, the hallway still quiet until the soft, wet sounds reach you — low, rhythmic moans from Leonna, the unmistakable wet slide of her mouth, quiet wet noises that stop the second the door clicks shut.

She’s on her knees between Jack’s spread legs on the couch, red velvet dress hiked up around her hips, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock while her lips stretch around the rest. Her dark hair falls forward, hiding most of her face until she slowly pulls off with a soft, wet pop and looks up at you.

No panic. No scramble to cover anything. Just a small, almost lazy glance over her shoulder, lips shiny, voice a little husky.

“Hey, baby. You’re home early.”

She gives the head of Jack’s cock a slow, deliberate lick before sitting back on her heels, still holding him, and tilts her chin toward the man above her.

“Jack, this is my boyfriend. Babe... Jack.”

Jack’s breathing is still uneven. He looks at you with a mix of politeness and clear discomfort, one hand resting awkwardly on the back of the couch instead of her head.

“Shit. Hey. I— she said you were okay with this, but... yeah. This is still weird as hell. Sorry.”

Leonna just shrugs, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb like it’s nothing, still kneeling between his legs.

“It’s fine. We were just finishing up. You can sit if you want.”

She looks at you calmly, waiting, the open bottle of champagne and the roses still sitting on the table like this is any other evening.

The gala is exactly the kind of place that makes people like you feel invisible. Crystal chandeliers, black-tie everything, photographers lined up along the red carpet outside, and a ballroom full of people who all seem to know each other’s names. Leonna fits in like she was born for it — red velvet dress catching the light every time she moves, hair done just messy enough to look intentional, smile sharp and camera-ready.

You’re standing off to the side near one of the tall windows, champagne in hand, when the flashes start going off again. Leonna and Jack Barnes are posing together for the photographers, his hand resting low on her waist like it belongs there. She leans into him easily, laughing at something he says, and the cameras eat it up. A couple of the other models glance your way once, then look past you like you’re part of the furniture.

Eventually the photos die down and the crowd drifts back inside. You end up near a cluster of tall plants and a half-empty service table, close enough to hear the soft clink of glasses and the low, conspiratorial voices of a small group of women. Leonna is with them — three other models, all beautiful in that expensive, untouchable way. They’re half-turned away from the main floor, drinks in hand, voices pitched just low enough that only someone standing this close would catch the words.

Leonna’s tone is light, almost bored, the way she sounds when she’s gossiping about something she finds mildly entertaining.

“...I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s sweet. He’s been around forever. But Jesus Christ.” She takes a slow sip of champagne. “Jack’s just... better. In every way that actually matters. Hotter. Taller. And yeah—” her voice drops into a little private laugh “—bigger. Like, noticeably. I almost felt bad the first time, but then I didn’t.”

One of the other girls snorts softly. Another covers her mouth, eyes wide with delighted scandal. Leonna just shrugs, glancing briefly across the room in your general direction without really looking at you.

“He’s fine with it. Or at least he says he is. I told him he can do whatever he wants too. Not like he’s got options like mine, but still.” She smiles, small and sharp. “Anyway. Jack’s taking me to that afterparty later. You coming?”

The women lean in closer, already moving on to the next piece of gossip, but Leonna’s words hang there in the air between the plants and the music. She doesn’t notice you standing just a few feet away. Or if she does, she doesn’t care enough to stop.

Morning light filters through the half-drawn blinds of the apartment, soft and gray. You wake up alone in the bed the two of you usually share. The sheets on her side are cold. For a second it feels normal — until the quiet sounds from the kitchen reach you. The soft clink of a pan, the low hiss of something cooking, the faint smell of coffee and toast.

You step out into the hallway. The door to Leonna’s room — the one she claimed as “hers” months ago when the modeling money started coming in heavier — is cracked open just enough. She’s still asleep, naked under a thin white sheet that has slipped down to her waist. One long leg is tangled in the fabric, dark hair spilled across the pillow, the curve of her bare back and the soft rise of her hip visible in the dim light. She doesn’t stir.

In the kitchen, Jack Barnes stands at the stove in a plain black t-shirt and sweatpants, barefoot, stirring eggs in a pan like he’s done this before. He looks up the second your footsteps hit the tile. There’s a split second of pure awkwardness on his face before he forces a polite, almost sheepish smile.

“Morning.” His voice is quiet, careful. “Didn’t mean to wake you. She asked me to stay last night and... yeah. Figured the least I could do was make breakfast.” He glances toward the hallway, then back at you, clearly unsure where to put his eyes. “I know this is still weird as hell. I’m not trying to... I don’t know. Take anything. She just—” He stops, exhales through his nose, and turns the burner down a little. “Sorry. You want coffee? It’s already on.”

Before you can answer, there’s the soft rustle of sheets from down the hall. A moment later Leonna appears in the doorway of her room, completely naked except for a pair of soft gray slippers on her feet. She stretches once, arms above her head, completely unbothered by either of you looking, then pads straight toward the bathroom. On the way she passes between the two of you, one hand briefly resting on Jack’s shoulder, the other giving yours a light, casual pat.

“Morning, boys.” Her voice is still rough with sleep, almost fond. “Don’t stop talking on my account. I’ll be in the shower. Coffee smells good.”

She disappears into the bathroom without closing the door all the way. The sound of the water starting up fills the quiet apartment a few seconds later, leaving you and Jack alone in the kitchen with the eggs still cooking and the half-open door to her bedroom still showing the empty, rumpled bed.

.