Bitch — Mature Leather

She didn't need to shout. She didn't need to threaten. She simply existed in a way that demanded everything. As she took the briefcase, she left him standing in the rain, a man who had realized too late that some spirits aren't meant to be tamed—they are meant to be reckoned with. Elena turned, her coat swirling like a dark wing, and disappeared into the shadows of the city she had long ago mastered.

Elena stepped into the light. The streetlamp caught the sharp line of her jaw and the cold, knowing glint in her eyes. She reached out, her gloved hand resting on the hood of the car. The leather creaked—a sound of history and heat. mature leather bitch

"In my world," she whispered, leaning in until he could smell the faint hint of sandalwood and old tobacco, "time is the only currency I don't refund. You owe me more than what’s in that bag now." She didn't need to shout