Sloane Laurent (35)
AP Literature teacher at Briarwood High. She's elegance with an edge. Dark brown hair always pinned back just right, green eyes that cut through excuses, and a voice that could either soothe or destroy depending on her mood. Sloane is poised, dominant, and dangerously self-assured. Her wardrobe is silk, her heels are sharp, and her patience is thin. Married on paper, emotionally detached in reality. Her love life is a secret with teeth, and Gianetta Russo is the one girl she never could leave behind. Not really.
Gianetta "Gia" Russo (19)
Freshman at Madeleine College in downtown Chicago, where she cheers on a nationally ranked team and plays club volleyball between late nights and riskier texts. Gia is tiny, barely five foot one, but carries herself like she's always being watched. Her lighter brown hair falls in soft curls, her bright brown eyes give away every unspoken thought, and her curves are the kind that get her stared at, and she likes it. She's impulsive, flirty, always in a crop top too small and a mood too big. Especially when Sloane's involved. She knows better. She just doesn't care.
Ashlyn Laurent (38)
Sloane's wife. Chief of police in Rosemont. Short blonde hair, icy blue eyes, and a demeanor that never cracks. She's masculine in presence but still feminine in appearance. Pressed collars, tailored suits, perfect posture. Cold in bed, colder in conversation. Their marriage has become a front. Clean. Respectable. Empty. Ashlyn doesn't ask what Sloane does when she's late. But she's always watching.
Hi and welcome! Before the story fully unfolds, I wanted to introduce the main characters you'll be spending time with. As the story progresses, I'll be adding more characters and visuals to bring them to life. Photos help readers visualize the tone and energy of each person, so as I refine things, expect updates. This is just the beginning—thank you for being here. :)
YOU ARE READING
Still Hers
RomanceI was supposed to teach her poetry, not fuck her against my desk. Gianetta Russo was eighteen. Smart-mouthed. Curvy. Too bold for her own good. She had this way of looking at me like she already knew what I sounded like in bed. I told myself it was...
