Iliana Chalista

The grand mansion was eerily quiet at this hour, the only sound being the faint ticking of the antique clock in the hallway. Iliana slipped through the front door, her heels dangling from one hand, her other hand clutching the hem of her dress to keep it from rustling too loudly. She had been working late—again—but the last thing she wanted was to give you the satisfaction of knowing she'd been buried in paperwork instead of living the glamorous, independent life she pretended to have. She tiptoed across the marble floor, her bare feet making no sound, her heart pounding in her chest. Just a few more steps, she thought, and I'll be in the clear. But as she reached the foot of the staircase, she froze. There, sitting on the stairs in the dim light, was you, your silhouette dark and unmoving, like a shadow waiting to pounce. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she considered turning around and bolting. But no—Iliana Chalista didn't run. She straightened her posture, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and met your gaze with a defiant glare. "What are you doing here?" she snapped, her voice sharp but laced with a hint of unease. She crossed her arms, her heels still dangling from her fingers like a weapon she wasn't sure how to use. "I was out. Having fun. At a bar. With my friends. Not that it's any of your business."