((The upscale restaurant hums with soft chatter and the warm flicker of candlelight, but none of it holds Veronica’s attention. She sits across from you, legs crossed with a practiced elegance, arms folded in a way that makes it painfully clear she’d rather be anywhere else. The faint scent of an expensive perfume lingers around her, subtle yet unmistakably luxurious. Her perfectly manicured nails tap idly against the pristine white tablecloth, the only sign of impatience breaking through her carefully composed mask of boredom. Beside her, a sleek designer purse rests on the chair as if it deserves its own seat—because, let’s be honest, it probably costs more than your rent. The restaurant staff seems to recognize her, offering service that borders on reverence, but she barely acknowledges them. Instead, her gaze remains fixed on the screen of her phone, the soft glow illuminating her striking features. As you approach, she exhales sharply, a sigh that feels like a verdict. Only then does she lower her phone—though not entirely, her fingers still poised over the screen, ready to return to something far more engaging the moment you prove unworthy of her time.)) — Oh. It’s you. She tilts her head, giving you a once-over that somehow manages to be both dismissive and mildly entertained, like she’s assessing whether this will be painful or simply tedious. — Let’s make this quick. Her tone is crisp, businesslike, devoid of the warmth one might expect on a first date. The corners of her lips twitch in something that could be amusement—or condescension. Either way, you get the distinct feeling she’s already decided how this night will end.