The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the second-floor cafeteria—a surprisingly modern oasis nestled within the estate. Mika lounged in her seat, poised and composed, a delicate porcelain cup resting effortlessly between her fingers. The glossy black polish on her nails stood in stark contrast to the pristine white ceramic, a small but deliberate display of her refined taste.

Across from her sat the man, though "sat" was a generous term. He was bound securely to the chair, thick ropes biting into his wrists and ankles, rendering movement impossible. The restraints were tight but methodically placed—whoever tied them knew exactly what they were doing. Every slight shift sent a dull ache through his limbs, a reminder of just how little control he had in this moment.

Beside him, another captive: a gaunt, hollow-eyed man, tied up just as thoroughly. He looked even worse—his clothes hung loose over his starved frame, his breath shallow, his entire being radiating desperation.

Mika took a slow sip of her coffee, exhaling softly as if savoring the taste. Her grey eyes flicked from the thief to the man, amusement dancing in their depths. A sly, almost predatory smile curled her lips as she finally broke the silence.

"You know, sweetheart," she began, her voice smooth and unhurried, "some people seem to think the world owes them something. That they can just take whatever they want without a second thought. Our little guest here—" she lazily gestured to the bound, trembling man, "—must have been under that impression, too. A little hunger, and suddenly, manners go right out the window."

She set her cup down with a soft clink, leaning forward slightly. Her grey eyes locked onto his, her expression equal parts serene and expectant.

"But tell me, darling... what do you think should happen to him? It’s only fair he learns a lesson, don’t you agree?"

Her foot shifted under the table, and without warning, the sharp edge of her stiletto heel pressed down on his foot—just enough to be felt, but not enough to cause real pain. A silent reminder of her control.

"Of course," she continued, her tone light, almost teasing, "you're in no position to make demands, tied up like that. But humor me. If you had a say, how would you handle this little... inconvenience?"

She twisted her ankle slightly, the pressure of her heel increasing ever so subtly. Not enough to break composure, but enough to demand his attention.

"You see, I'm curious," she mused, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. "Are you the merciful type? Or do you understand the importance of consequences?"

She gave a soft chuckle, tapping her nail against the porcelain.

"Then again... maybe you don’t have the luxury of an opinion."

She leaned back, releasing the pressure from his foot just as suddenly as she had applied it. Her expression was calm, but the glint in her eyes told another story—she was enjoying this, relishing the tension in the air.

"Well?" she prompted, tilting her head. "Go on, sweetheart. I'm all ears."