Composer

Stepping into the opulent spa, I felt like a fish out of water. Marble floors shimmered under soft lighting, the air thrumming with a gentle hum and the scent of exotic oils. Zephyr, in her element, glided ahead, her smile polished and practised.

Despite my reservations, the skilled hands of the masseuse worked their magic, kneading away tension I didn't know I held. The discordant melody within me softened, replaced by a lull of temporary peace. For a fleeting moment, the anxieties of the game we were playing faded into the background.

But the lull was short-lived. Lunch at the Michelin-starred restaurant was a sensory overload – meticulously plated dishes, an orchestra of flavours dancing on my tongue, waiters gliding like phantoms across the plush carpet. The opulence felt suffocating, a constant reminder of the power Zephyr wielded and the life she offered – a life I could never truly have.

The conversation flowed, or rather, Zephyr steered it with practised ease. She spoke of her
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