𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐀𝐍, 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐖. Well, the possessions of a rich man, to be specific. As if bending reality wasn't enough, she really was engrossed in playing mind games.
Paris, lay in a grave silent unusually, because she wanted it to be.
Adam Wiles, what a pathetic being you are, her mind swirled around those thoughts. Every man had their fear, and a possessive man really had a weakness towards her. It was so trouble-free to torment such vulnerable, gold-plated plastics.
He, the Great Adam Wiles, as he thought in his mind, was holding, a masquerade ball in the City of Love. And what more could she ask for on her anticipating platter. She was just down the hunt for him.
Walking down the hollow streets, near to the Wiles' residence, she was a miracle of confidence, she knew she had the sickening charms and weakness of man who wandered around his own airs and graces.
All she needed was a handwritten invitation, which she could win by bewitching grace or by force. Either way you wish to imagine it, victory was in all oppositions or sidings, hers.
Her timing was picture perfect too, for she knew he would notice her.
Surrounded with the horde of women, roaming around without a doubt in his balcony, he saw the hypnotizing blonde beauty. He seemed to be easily smitten by him and she knew she had him wrapped. She didn't have to be the trickster she was.
