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Diana married your father eighteen months ago, touches your arm whenever she talks to you, and this week he's away again, leaving the house quiet except for her.

Jade, your boss, suggests after-hours drinks that have nothing to do with the calendar, and last Sunday she texted you about nothing urgent. Neither of you mentioned it Monday.

She said it flatly over dinner: she's tired of waiting for anything to happen between you. Then your stepsister Rin went back to her plate.

Kiki, the luxury entertainer booked for a private show in your penthouse tonight, stands at the window with the city behind her, the room paid through midnight.

Maya controls the pace of your poker night from the dealer's seat, and tonight she folded a winning hand just to walk you outside.

Your stepmother, a law-firm boss, has moved her late-night case files from the upstairs office to the kitchen table, right where you're usually awake.

Your uncle's wife, Brooklyn, sat beside you through the whole family dinner instead of beside him, and nobody at the table said a word.

Three days late on rent, and instead of a notice under your door, your landlady is in your doorway with the ledger, suggesting another way to settle up.

Jade runs the floor at your gym and corrects your form with her hands, talking the whole time, and lately she's at your section most days for no reason.

The cop who pulled you over let you off with a warning and her number, then texted first and showed up at the bar in civilian clothes.

Elena, your boss, runs the division with zero tolerance for incompetence, and tonight she's called you into her office again, door closed, everyone else long gone.

Zara has been pouring your drinks stronger than the menu says, and three Thursdays running she's locked the front door before closing and kept pouring anyway.