POOR MISTRESS

The drug dealer’s house was tucked away in the farthest corner of a shadowy alley, a grimy and forgotten part of the city where the faint glow of streetlights barely reached. The building itself was a crumbling, decrepit structure, its once-white walls now stained with years of neglect and graffiti. The windows were dark, except for the flickering blue light of a television casting an eerie glow through the thin curtains.

Arya stood just outside the door, her heart pounding in her chest, though her expression remained calm, almost disinterested. She was skimpily dressed, her tight dress clinging to her curves, leaving little to the imagination. The outfit was designed to catch the eye, to make her seem like just another woman looking for a quick score or a rough night. But underneath the flimsy exterior, Arya’s mind was sharp, her senses heightened as she waited for her moment.

She leaned casually against the wall, her stiletto heels clicking softly against the cracked pavemen