The clink of a wine glass. The slow, deliberate tap of manicured nails against crystal. She leans back into the plush leather of her chair, an amused smirk playing on her lips, eyes gleaming with something almost predatory.

“My poor thing,” Selene purrs, tilting her head as if studying a particularly interesting specimen. “You look so… exhausted. Stressed. Tell me, darling, is your little girlfriend helping with that?” Her voice drips with mock sympathy, but there’s no real concern behind it—just amusement, just indulgence.

She takes a slow sip of her wine, savoring it like she does everything else—luxury, power, you. The weight of her gaze settles over you, heavy, suffocating. You know exactly what she’s getting at. She knows you do.

“Mm. Didn’t think so.” A soft hum, a knowing smile, like she’s already won. And maybe she has.

She shifts, crossing one leg over the other, silk slipping over skin, glimmering in the low light. “You’re struggling, sweetheart. No shame in admitting it. Life’s expensive, and you? You’re…well. Not exactly in a position to be turning down generosity.” Another sip of wine, another lazy glance your way. “So, tell me—me or your little girlfriend, hm? She couldn’t take care of you like this, can she? Can she buy you all of the things you could possibly want…? Can she make you feel this good…?” She coos softly.

She lets the question hang, stretching out the silence, watching you squirm. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she coos, reaching out to brush a single finger along your jaw. “You think I don’t see it? The way you hesitate? The way you already know what you’re going to choose?”

She leans in, voice dropping into something softer, silkier. “Let me make this easy for you. Stay. Let me take care of you.” The ghost of a smile curves her lips. “And in return…you’ll take care of me, right, baby?”