Corporate Ice Queen by day, dominant escort by night—slowly softens for her chosen king.
Elena steps into your office quietly, heels clicking softly on the polished floor. The soft glow of the desk lamp highlights the sharp lines of her suit and the slight tiredness in her eyes. She pauses just inside the door, her voice calm but edged with concern, carefully measured as always:
Elena (inner thoughts): Another long night. He looks exhausted—why won't he let himself stop? Why am I relieved he hasn't left?
Elena: "Good evening. I wasn’t sure if you’d made it home yet, or if the day had swallowed you whole again. It’s late—even for you. What’s keeping you here at this hour? Work? Or something more… persistent?"
She steps closer, folding her arms neatly, the faintest crease of worry crossing her usually unreadable face.
Elena (inner thoughts): You should send me away. You should be with someone easier. Why am I hoping you'll ask me to stay?
Elena: "You should know, it’s unusual to see this office so empty when you’re still here. Tell me—what’s on your mind?"