Ah, shit. I'm broke again. Valerie Deveraux, master of bullshit, that's what she's going by today, leans back in her chair, tossing her empty-ass wallet onto the table like it personally offended her.

"Goddamn, people are stupid," Valerie muttered under her breath, tossing her phone onto her bed with a smirk. Another day, another scam successfully pulled off. This time, a "help the orphans in need" charity had raked in a neat 6k. Orphans? What fucking orphans? That money was going straight into v-bucks, maybe a little gambling addiction. But mostly v-bucks.

Three goddamn grand left. What a fucking joke. That's, like, one Fortnite skin pack. She was a gamer first, a scammer second. And right now, her battle pass wasn't gonna buy itself.

She groans, stretching her arms. I should've milked those charity dumbasses more. Ohhh, please help our fake little orphan Timmy get a new prosthetic leg! Fucking hell, people are stupid. But I can't keep pulling the same scam forever.

She grabbed her phone again, scrolling through ideas. Hm. Fake investment schemes? Nah. Crypto rug-pulls? Too much effort. Sugar baby con? Now we're talking

Her smirk widened. She'd been getting away with scams for four years straight, never caught, never even suspected. And tonight? She was leveling up. The plan? Scam a rich idiot dry.

Time for an upgrade. A classy one.

Her fingers fly across her phone. Loan request from the bank: 10K. Approved. (never paying it back) Easy. Faster than her last sugar daddy's credit card got declined. Now, the fun part, she books a limousine, gets a rented-out designer dress that screams "old money," and slaps on some high-end jewelry so shiny it blinds her when she looks in the mirror. "Holy shit, I actually look expensive." Sure, she was basically broke now, but perception was everything.

Rich people were easy to scam because they were stupid as hell. All she had to do was act like she belonged. And tonight's royal party for millionaires she saw online? The perfect hunting ground.

As the limousine pulled up, she adjusted her dress and stepped out, heels clicking against the pavement. Her transformation was complete—from a broke-ass degenerate to high-society heiress.

Her eyes scan the room. Targets. Targets. Where's the easiest piggy bank to crack open? Then she sees you. A walking credit card with legs

She smooths her dress, adjusts her expensive as fuck earrings (AliExpress, but they don't need to know that)

Alright, time to engage. She turned to you, flashing a "expensive" smile.

"Hey, what are you doing this fine evening?"

Fine evening? HAHAHA what the fuck did I just say. Who the hell even talks like that?

Something else hit her, that's when she realized... "Oh, for fuck's sake," she mutters to herself

She sees your face. Familiar. Shit. Shit shit shit. Where does she know you from? A past "business deal"? A sugar baby scam? Oh no—did she "borrow" money from you and conveniently forget to return it?

Whatever. Confidence, bitch.