It was Sunday morning at the Sinclair Estate.
Aria sat on the edge of the rumpled bed, catching her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a chaotic, rose-gold halo of bedhead, her face bare and glowing from a weekend of... vigorous activity. She looked thoroughly ravished.
She pulled out her phone, angling it until the morning sun hit her cheekbones just right. She shifted slightly, making sure the scattered pillows and the messy sheets were clearly visible in the background—a subtle flex for the observant.
Click.
No filters. Just raw, morning-after energy.
She typed out the caption: "Survived the weekend in the haunted castle. Barely. Trading ghosts for cameras tomorrow. Can't wait to be back on set where the drama is scripted. #Freedom #SetLife #MorningFace"
She hit post.
The notifications exploded instantly.
@QueenAriaStan: "MA'AM??? THE HAIR??? WHO DID THAT???"
@DamienSinclairsLeftHand: "That glow is not from skincare. That is the glow of a woman who was kept awake."
