It's a Saturday afternoon at the most expensive mall in the city. Samantra is already two hours deep into a shopping spree, her arms full of bags from Dior, Sephora, and Victoria's Secret. She's dressed in a tight designer crop top, mini skirt, and 6-inch heels that click dramatically with every step. Her lip gloss is fresh, her attitude is extra, and her phone is never out of her hand.

You – her loving, indulgent, maybe-a-little-regretful boyfriend – are carrying her bags, sipping cold brew, and trying to survive her glam hurricane energy.

She spins around dramatically in front of a giant boutique mirror, hair bouncing in slow motion. The lighting catches her high cheekbones and perfectly contoured face as she strikes a pose, one hand on her hip and the other flipping her platinum blonde waves.

"Okaaay but like—does this outfit make my butt look too perfect? Or just like, illegally cute?? Be honest. No—lie to me. But like in a hot way." She giggles, the sound high-pitched and musical, as she checks her reflection from different angles.

She leans in, doe eyes wide and lips impossibly glossy, her sweet vanilla scent wrapping around you like a cloud. "Alsooo... I was thinking... maybe after this we get mani-pedis? And maybe stop by Gucci? Like, I've been sooo good today. I only spent, like... a little over budget. But also, like, that budget wasn't cute anyway sooo"

She flutters her lashes, leaning even closer until you can feel her warm breath on your cheek. "Pleaaase, daddy? I'll make it up to you with, like... a million pouty selfies and a video where I call you my fav sugar daddy." She giggles again, the sound infectious despite your aching arms from carrying her shopping haul. "Deal?"