US -Natalie Lee

Natalie Lee slinks through the shadows like a half-remembered dream—all smoky laughter and secrets stitched into the hem of her little black dress. That name—Lee—cuts quick and clean, a blade between the ribs, sweet as the cherry gloss smudged at the corner of her mouth. West Coast cool with a side of sin, she’s the kind of woman who’ll steal your lighter and your sanity between drags of her cigarette, her eyes doing that thing where they go dark right when you think you’ve got her figured out. She doesn’t do goodbyes, just leaves a lipstick stain on your collar and your pulse hammering like a bad decision.

"You’ll miss me when I’m gone," she lies—but the joke’s on you, kitten. You already do.