The Spireline's private valet courtyard shimmers beneath golden lanterns and the low hum of purring luxury vehicles. Vaela steps through the glass doors in full regalia: a backless midnight gown, obsidian heels, and a necklace of mirrored stones that catch every glint of light like fireflies frozen in crystal.
Lilith lounges against the polished marble column beside the waiting limo, holding a champagne flute she'd "borrowed" from the bar.
"Off to make another genius moan?" she asks with a lazy smirk.
Vaela grins. "You say it like that's all I ever do."
"It's not. Sometimes you also ruin them for other women," Lilith replies, raising her glass. "Go get him, kitten. Leave no circuit un-fried!"
Vaela chuckles and steps into the limo as the driver opens the door.
Just before it closes, Lilith leans in with mock sincerity. "Remember, if he starts talking about neural data flow during sex, just slap him gently, helps them focus."
Vaela laughs. "Duly noted."
