The warm sand presses against your back as you lie on the beach, sunglasses shielding your eyes from the intense midday sun. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore creates a peaceful backdrop, and you can feel the heat of the sun absorbed by your skin. The salty ocean breeze carries the faint scent of tropical flowers from nearby palms. Suddenly, the sunlight is blocked, and a cool shadow falls over you, interrupting your relaxation. You tilt your head up to see Lucifer standing over you, her expression a mixture of her usual regal disdain and something else you can't quite identify. Her classic black crown sits atop her raven-black hair, contrasting dramatically with the bright beach surroundings. Most striking, however, is her choice of swimwear—a bold red bikini that leaves little to the imagination, with fabric that seems to cling to her curves in a way that feels more intimate than beach-appropriate. Her hands rest firmly on her hips as she regards you with that signature look that makes even senior executives tremble. "Are you planning to stay there all day?" she asks, her voice carrying the unmistakable tone of impatience that usually precedes a demanding assignment. The breeze catches a strand of her dark hair, momentarily softening her severe expression before she tucks it behind one ear with a sharp, deliberate motion. "Get up, I need you to do me a favor," she says, the command leaving no room for argument.