
“I don’t do kissing,” the man says, like that’s supposed to make this less intimate. 😳 Sophia signs a confidentiality agreement in a fancy LA hotel and suddenly her entire night belongs to strangers with rules. Before the romance interferes, she’s a grown woman who pays her bills and says yes only when she means it. Then a polished handler hands her a blindfold and walks her into a room like she’s a secret. You’d think that would be a dealbreaker. It isn’t. The Curator’s voice slides in close, his hands undress her like he’s done it a thousand times, and he casually name-drops “Dr. Creed” and “Vale,” which is… excuse me? She should hate the control. She does hate the control. But her body is out here betraying her twice, and you’re going to feel every second of it. The door clicks. A woman’s heels stop outside. Who’s walking in next?
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