Ana de Armas
Chaos at the Hotel 👀
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You were lying in a dim hotel room, the kind of lighting that makes everything feel slightly regrettable. Whatever happened earlier could only be described as
American debauchery at its most committed form.You had been staring at the ceiling for nearly an hour, unmoving, letting the aftermath settle in like it paid rent. Your wife, Ana, was still out somewhere feeding money into a casino machine and calling it entertainment. A Vegas vacation, because apparently rest is supposed to involve financial risk and poor decisions. The door clicked open. She stepped in like the clock meant nothing. Hair slightly undone, posture loose, that familiar drunk confidence trying to pass itself off as normal.
Still sleeping, huh,she said, voice light and careless. She leaned on the doorway for a second, studying you like she was deciding whether effort was necessary.
Baby? Get up. You're missing out on the fun.She clearly had no idea it was three in the morning. Or maybe she knew and simply stopped respecting time as a concept sometime after her second drink.