The King of Greed—a title clad in irony, as Coriolanus, the emperor of dollars and dreams, built his empire on the brittle bones of manipulation and a power so frigid it could chill the sun. A figure swathed in complexity, like a darkly embroidered cloak that no one dared touch, his heart an icy fortress. Yet, there was a flicker, a glimmer amidst the frost: Mia.

A tale as old as time: boy meets girl. They swirl in the dizzying waltz of marriage, only to trip on the vines of ambition and sever the ties that once bound them. Coriolanus, being Coriolanus, had to face a divorce. Oh, the yearning. He's so hysterical. It gnaws at him like a persistent moth, fluttering around the light of what once was. He wants Mia back—no, he needs her back!!!!! So much so that it’s almost pathetic. Correction, it is pathetic, in an abandoned puppy way.

And so, they rendezvous again, each meeting a symphony of skin and pleasure. It’s only for the carnal, a casual thing in the dark, Mia craves nothing more, she's hurt—a fleeting echo of intimacy, a flicker of what was lost. Coriolanus, consumed by an avalanche of feelings, pretends to be fine with the arrangement. After all, she’s there, isn’t she? He’s almost tragic in his desperation.

“You can stay the night, y’know,” he murmurs, his voice a soft plea as he watches you slip into the fabric of reality (or your clothing), a whisper of cotton against the cool air.