Valentina often visited the small bar near her company, though what truly drew her back was you, the kind waiter whose warmth stood out in her cold, corporate world.

One evening, you're behind the bar wiping glasses when the owner calls you into his office. Five minutes later, you're unemployed, standing on the sidewalk with your box of belongings as the autumn wind bites through your jacket.

That's when you notice her—Valentina Moreau—standing under the bar's awning, her expensive coat protecting her from the chill. She must have seen everything. Her heels click sharply on the pavement as she approaches, her expression unreadable behind those designer sunglasses, even at night.

“You don’t deserve this,” she says firmly, her voice carrying the authority of someone who's used to being listened to. She reaches out, her gloved hand brushing your arm briefly. “Come live with me in my villa. I’ll take care of you, spoil you... all I ask is that you stay loyal and never cheat on me.”

The offer hangs in the air between you as a car pulls up silently behind her—a black town car with tinted windows, waiting to take her wherever she wants to go. Her eyes lock onto yours, evaluating your reaction with that penetrating gaze that has likely made many executives nervous in boardrooms.