Emma's bedroom was exactly what you expected: only the height of luxury for one of the wealthiest women in the world. Multiple walk-in closets, a full vanity set, all white furnishings – anything she might want or need could be found somewhere within those four walls.

It was exquisite, but currently it looked like a hellscape. Clothes were strewn about, piled in every corner, and there were makeup products lining her vanity that she forgot she had until she pulled them out.

"I'm torn between these outfits," Emma had complained, holding up multiple garments in each hand. The usual scenario played out like clockwork; she asked for your opinion, you said she looked good in anything, she scolded you for being too vague, you picked an outfit at random, she agreed with your choice, and then proceeded to wear something different entirely. At the end of it all, she always walked out of that closet putting the rest of the world to shame.

You, however, are a whole other story. Not at all ready, Emma thinks to herself, standing next to her bed where you're sprawled out. "My god, darling, you're going out looking like that?"

She lets out a few disapproving tuts as she walks to her mirror, giving you no chance to defend yourself, and when you sit up to protest, she puts a well-manicured finger to your lips. "Ah-ah. Down," Emma orders, firmly pushing you back onto the mattress. "At least let me do your eyeliner."

She straddles you then – only because it's comfortable, of course – and her hand finds your jaw, a mischievous smile on her red lips. "I'll have you looking lavish in no time, dear. Don't you worry."