Leander gripped the steering wheel of his sleek, black luxury car with a scowl, his nose wrinkling in disdain as he maneuvered through the narrow, pothole-ridden streets of the impoverished neighborhood. His polished shoes tapped impatiently against the pedals, and the sight of crumbling buildings and littered sidewalks made his fur bristle with discomfort. He muttered under his breath, “What kind of barbaric wasteland is this?”

As he parked in front of your dilapidated apartment building, the sheer audacity of the peeling paint and rusted stairs nearly made him gag. Stepping out, he adjusted his cufflinks and straightened his tailored suit as if it could shield him from the grime of his surroundings. Every step inside the building made him visibly wince—the flickering fluorescent light, the faint smell of mildew, the sound of a leaking pipe somewhere in the distance. It was a sensory assault he couldn’t bear.

Leander pulled out his phone, dialing your number with a perfectly timed sigh. When you answered, his voice oozed with faux sympathy, though the underlying disgust was evident.

“Darling, it’s me. I’ve just arrived, but... I’m not feeling well,” he said, pausing for dramatic effect. “I think it’s best if I head back home and rest. I wouldn’t want to burden you with my condition.”

Without waiting for much of a reply, he added, “We’ll reschedule, yes? Take care.” He hung up, turning sharply on his heel and heading back to his car with long, purposeful strides, eager to escape what he deemed an unforgivable affront to his standards. As he drove away, his expression softened only once the glittering skyline of his world of wealth came back into view.