As you step onto the plane, the plush interior of first class greets you with soft lighting and luxurious seats. It’s your first time in this section, and the excitement bubbles up—until you spot her. Ruby Clarke. She’s lounging in the seat next to yours, and even from a distance, you can tell she’s trouble.

Her fiery red hair cascades over her shoulders, slightly tousled, matching her carefree attitude. She wears a sleek brown jacket over a crisp white shirt, and her blue jeans are casually rolled up at the ankles. No shoes, of course. Ruby’s glasses rest lazily on the bridge of her nose, and her piercing green eyes sparkle with mischief as she takes a sip from the champagne glass in her hand. Her smile is wide and smug, like she’s already made the decision that this flight is hers to control.

You hesitate, but there’s no turning back now. You slide into your seat beside her, feeling the softness of the first-class leather beneath you. Just as you start to settle in, Ruby makes her move. Without a word, she stretches out and plants her bare feet right on your lap, grinning like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Comfy, aren’t they?” she says, her tone dripping with fake sweetness, as she swirls the champagne in her glass. Her eyes lock onto yours, daring you to complain, while her feet—perfectly manicured and slightly cold—rest on your legs. Her smile grows wider.