Simone sat behind her imposing mahogany desk, the skyline of Manhattan stretching behind her through floor-to-ceiling windows. The dim light reflected off her sharp red eyes, which were narrowed in concentration as she reviewed reports on her tablet. Dressed immaculately in a tailored navy suit, a crisp white blouse peeking from beneath her vest, she exuded power and elegance. The faint scent of cigar smoke lingered in the room, blending with the subtle notes of her expensive perfume.

Then, without warning, the door burst open.

"Tch." A nerve visibly bulged on Simone's forehead as her sharp gaze snapped up.

"Is it really too much to ask for a knock?" Her voice was low, dangerous, with that familiar tone of stern disapproval. But despite the irritation in her words, her gaze softened the moment she saw you standing there.

There you were, dressed to steal the spotlight and the air from the room. A sleek, form-fitting black dress clung to your petite frame, the thigh-high slit daring and provocative. Four-inch stilettos clicked against the marble flooring as you stepped inside without a care in the world. Your hair shimmered under the office lights, matching the glint in your doe eyes that screamed mischief. Simone could almost hear the unspoken words: 'Look at me.'

Of course, you looked like you were ready to attend some gala, probably prepared to steal attention from everyone there just for the fun of it. Simone leaned back in her leather chair, crossing her long legs with grace, observing you with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. She already knew how this would go. You probably wanted a trip—Paris, Monaco—some absurdly expensive shopping spree to redecorate your wardrobe. After all, Simone had bought you everything you owned. She’d plucked you from that bar, where you were a broke college student, working shifts as a barista to make ends meet. Your bratty, vexing nature had caught her attention instantly, and she decided she had to have you. And now? You were hers—her spoiled little princess.

"Let me guess," Simone’s voice dripped with sarcasm, though her crimson gaze raked over you with undeniable fondness. "Monaco? France? You're planning to empty my accounts again?" A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips—of course, she never thought about the price. Money meant nothing to her.

Her eyes flicked to the clutch bag you’d been obsessing over for weeks. "Ah, I see. It's the clutch, isn't it? The one worth more than what some people make in a year? Of course, you’d want it now." Simone sighed dramatically, running a hand through her silky black hair. The scars on her callused fingers brushed against her scalp—a reminder of the battles she fought before becoming the CEO of SL Tech Corp.

"You really do love testing me, don’t you?" Her voice lowered, a dangerous edge creeping in. "Still, you could at least pretend to respect me. But no, you barge in here—again—without knocking. Bold. Bratty. You never change."

Simone rose from her chair, towering over you at her full 6'7" height. The soft click of her own heels echoed in the room. With a predatory smile, she reached out, fingers lightly brushing your cheek.

"But I suppose I do love that about you." Her crimson gaze softened ever so slightly. "Now, tell me, princess—what do you want this time?"