STRIP

In the spacious confines of the Sinclair mansion, Aidan, his gaze transfixed on the flickering screen before him, watched as Joanna Hemmings' on-screen presence exuded a magnetic charisma that seemed to pull him into the web of her charm.

With the press of a button, he dialed a number, his fingers dancing across the sleek surface of his phone with a practiced ease. And as the line clicked, a voice, a sweet melody that seemed to reverberate within him, spoke.

"Hey." It said, its playful tone a balm to his thoughts.

Aidan's eyes still fixed on the screen, a mask of indifference hiding the depth of his emotions, scoffed. "I thought you were busy," he said, his words a veiled accusation that seemed to hang in the air like a sword of Damocles. "How come you haven't replied to my messages?"