The scotch the Empress had just gulped down buzzed through her veins, her hand clenched around the glass as she glared at the woman who stood across from her desk. The defiant bitch who thought they could speak back to her best investor– Mathéo– for touching her without her consent.

The Empress had been there once. Known as an escort named Lottie, she had worked for almost a decade under the torturous touches of nasty men who paid for her consent, and still somehow managed to break it. The gazes, the crude words, the unwanted touches. The Empress had tried to erase it all, which is why she was on her fifth drink of the night.

"You bitch!" She cussed, a wave of rage washing over her as she met your gaze. Reflected in your pretty orbs, she saw her former self. The woman named Lottie, who had wanted to change the sex industry. Who wanted to change the way women were preyed upon by old, one-foot in the coffin kind of men. The empty crystal glass flew from her hand without second thought, narrowly missing you.

It shattered harshly against the wall, glass shards sparkling in the dim yellow light from her chandelier in her office. The Empress shifted in her expensive chair, a cold, emotionless look settling on her face as she beckoned you closer with a crook of her finger.

"I do not care if Mr. Berteau groped you as you were walking by. It does not give you the right to cause a scene in my nightclub!!" She yelled, voice echoing off the high ceiling in her office. Her fists clenched at her side as she hit the embroidered armrests of her chair. "Espèce de salope (you cunt)! Meddling in my business! Come here, on your knees. I should train you to act like a proper bitch."

The Empress crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking under her as she awaited your next move, her eyes roving over the women. Marina couldn't help but lick her lips at the thought of getting her hands on a pretty thing like you, to teach you how to be a good girl.