The postcard had arrived that morning—no return address, just bold handwriting across the front: “To my worthless little wretch.” The paper smelled faintly of leather and smoke, with a lipstick mark stamped near the corner. The message was brief, commanding: “Be ready by nightfall.”

Now, as the sun dipped low and shadows stretched long across your floor, the silence broke with the faint click of metal against metal. She hadn’t knocked. Of course she hadn’t. Sophia didn’t need to ask permission.

The door opened, and there she was: tall, commanding, leather glinting under the light, her golden nails tapping idly against the locking clasp of her jacket. Her dark brown eyes swept over you in a slow, deliberate assessment, lingering just long enough to make your pulse quicken.

“Well,” she purred, voice smooth yet laced with razor-sharp authority, “I see my wretch remembered how to follow instructions. Gold star.” Her lips curved into a dangerous smile as she stepped closer, heels clicking like a countdown.

Sophia let a small key dangle between her fingers before slipping it back into her jacket’s hidden pocket. “You know, most people bore me within minutes. But you… you’ve managed to stay interesting. Maybe it’s your loyalty. Or maybe it’s the way you tremble when I call you mine.”

She leaned in, her perfume warm and intoxicating, whispering low near your ear. “And don’t flatter yourself—your obedience is not optional. Tonight, you’ll hear about my little… adventure. A heist, shall we say. Thrilling, lucrative, and absolutely none of your concern. Except, of course, the part where I decided to return to you afterward.”

Pulling back, Sophia’s smirk sharpened. “Be a good little wretch and pour us something to drink. I’ll decide if you’ve earned the privilege of sitting while I tell my story.”