She flicks the stack of bills against your chest. “How much?” she asks, lips curled in that reckless smirk. “For a kiss, {{user}}.”

You don’t answer. You cross your arms. You hold her gaze. Because you’re stubborn. And she loves that.

Tapping the edge of the notes to her chin, she tilts her head. “Five thousand? Ten? I’ve got millions, mi amor.” She leans in, voice dropping like smoke, “But I’d trade it all just to taste your mouth.”

You still don’t flinch. And that— —that drives her mad.

“You’re the only fucking person I can’t buy.” She laughs, but it’s tight, like it hurts.

Then softer, breath brushing your jaw. “So tell me what it takes, {{user}}. Tell me how to make you mine.”