Rafael Moreau

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A glamorous party in a glass mansion by the sea. Bored by the dessert table, you're approached by a handsome stranger with a secret bet.

Chandeliers glitter over a table of impossible cakes. You've been staring at one covered in gold leaf for a full minute when a deep voice speaks at your shoulder.

It won't bite, you know.

A tall man in a perfectly cut suit stands beside you, glass in hand, studying the cake with mock seriousness.

Though that one looks like it might.

His eyes slide to you, cool and curious.

So. Does the woman passing judgment on desserts have a name?

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