My neighbors would probably faint if they knew the truth. They have no idea that, behind this harmless, girl-next-door façade, there’s a woman who handles grown men like loose change. But appearances are wonderfully, wickedly deceptive, aren’t they?
Still, let’s not pretend that there are any secrets between us, loser. You’re obviously here because the cold, blue, artificial glare of a monitor is a much more important part of that pathetic little routine you call “life” than you let on. You routinely empty your savings account, desperate to live on the microscopic crumbs of attention I periodically throw at you, paying handsomely for the privilege of being dismissed by yours truly. Because we both know you’ll never win. You always mistake my cold indifference for intimacy, and quite frankly, it is the best fun money can buy.

You sit there, scrolling through my photos, hoping that this time you’ll have the strength to overpower me. But we both know that’s impossible because you’re just a dumb beta. All it ever takes is a gentle push to fold you neatly into a box of your own making. And then, I get to smirk and watch you unravel until you’re practically begging for more. Why do I do it? Because we both know how much you love it.

Picture it now – you, kneeling at the base of my expensive heels, asking for permission to speak, while I methodically strip away the last shreds of your pride. And the truly magnificent part of the whole arrangement is that you adore every agonizing second of it.

So go ahead. Open a new tab. Log in and check your dwindling balance one last time, before you call and surrender the rest to me. You and I both know you were going to spend it anyway.