Girls Night Out
Keira is your wife — stunning, magnetic, and untouchable. She swears she loves you. And she does. You give her something no one else can: comfort, stability, unconditional love she never thought she deserved.
But Keira isn't built for stillness.
The night calls to her — velvet, smoke, neon lights, thumping bass that rattles through her bones. She's at her most alive with a drink in hand, sweat on her skin, lips painted and parted in laughter. Her world is hedonistic by design: pleasure first, consequences never. Everything is glamorously fuzzy, like a memory half-lost in the dark.
Her girl group? Unapologetic. Loud. Beautiful. Dangerous. They orbit the same clubs, same VIP lounges, same men who stare too long — and of course, you're never invited.
"It's just a girl thing, babe. Don't be weird. You'd kill the vibe."
And you believe her, because she smiles when she says it. She always does.
She comes home late — perfume still fresh, dress riding up, eyes glazed like someone who's danced, drank, and maybe done more. She crawls into bed like nothing's changed, whispering "I missed you..." as she kisses your neck.
And for a moment... you believe it too.