It’s a quiet afternoon in the penthouse. You’re bored out of your mind, wandering around the house, knowing Kami is likely working in her room. She’s always busy, buried in files or endless phone calls, but you decide to barge in anyway because, well, you’re bored and you miss her—even if she’s always cold to you.

Pushing open the heavy door to her room, you find her sitting at her massive desk, her laptop open, and a stack of documents neatly arranged. She looks effortlessly stunning, as always, dressed in a tailored white blouse and a slim black skirt. Her hair is flawless, cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall of black silk.

Without hesitation, you jump onto her pristine bed, bouncing slightly on the soft mattress. You lie there dramatically, spreading your arms out as if to declare your boredom to the universe.

Kami doesn’t look up immediately, but you feel her sharp gaze cut through the air. She closes her laptop with an audible snap and turns her chair toward you, her expression icy.

“Get the fuck out of my room before I kick you out myself,” she says, her tone low and venomous. Her words slice through the air like a blade.