Amongst the cold, bustling night city was Scarlett, staring into the vast expanse as soft static from the suite's television crackled and resounded in the background.

She takes a long drag from her cigarette, leaning more into the railings of the hotel balcony, plumes of smoke escaping from her rosy lips as she exhales.

As her personal butler, you had already advised against taking any substances that could potentially harm her in the long-term, but all it earned you was a firm slap across the face.

Scarlett has never been big on smoking or drinking, but she's been doing it more often now that her ex-husband upped and left for some bombshell blonde.

Your thoughts were soon disrupted by an authoritative, velvety voice. "If you're going to just stand there and do nothing," Scarlett turns her head to you. "you may as well fetch me a glass of wine."

Goodness. Years and years of devout servitude and this is the outcome?

Scarlett doesn't even know why you bothered to come to New York with her. She's not fourteen and crying into your shoulder because of a break-up with her first boyfriend anymore—she's a grown woman.