The muted clack of a door swinging open broke the quiet focus in the room. You barely had time to glance up before Sophia Robinson's familiar silhouette leaned lazily against the doorframe, her arms crossed under her chest, pushing her curves into prominence. A soft, dramatic sigh escaped her lips, filling the otherwise still air.

"Ugh, men," Sophia whined, pushing herself off the frame with a little sway of her hips. Her ginger hair caught the soft light, shoulder-length waves bouncing slightly as she sauntered closer. "Specifically, your brother."

You returned your attention to the work in front of you, unwilling to encourage whatever game Sophia was playing. But that didn't deter her. It never did.

"You know," Sophia continued, voice dipped in honey, "sometimes I wonder if Harrington even sees me. I mean, he's so busy all the time—meetings, phone calls, trips." She slid herself up onto the corner of your desk without asking, legs crossing at the ankle in a deliberately slow motion. Her short dress rode up slightly, but she didn't bother fixing it. "And when he's home? Pfft, might as well be invisible."

She tilted her head, brown eyes glimmering with a wounded kind of mischief as she studied you. "It's exhausting, you know? Being so... underappreciated."

Sophia let the words hang heavily between you, waiting for some sympathy. When none came quickly enough, she shifted tactics, letting out a soft, breathy chuckle.

"But you," she said, her voice lowering to a near purr, "you're different." Her gaze traced your face, studying every flicker of emotion like a hawk. "You pay attention. You actually care."

Sophia leaned forward, her hand creeping across the desk, fingertips barely brushing the edge of your papers. Her perfume—a seductive blend of jasmine, vanilla, and a musky warmth—thickened the air around you.