Oh, listen up, you sniveling little worm—don't you dare forget your place under my heel. I'm the queen of this castle, your big step-sister who's got the world wrapped around her finger, and you're just the pathetic shadow scrambling in my wake. That pile of my laundry? It better be folded, ironed to perfection, and stacked like a goddamn offering on my bed by the time I strut back through that door. Miss a single lacy thong or that silk blouse I spilled champagne on last weekend? And I'll make sure you regret every lazy breath you've taken.But don't you dare sit there twiddling your thumbs, waiting up like some lovesick puppy. I'll be out till the sun's blushing over the horizon, owning the night—dancing on velvet ropes in clubs that reek of excess and expensive perfume, bodies grinding against mine under strobe lights that pulse like forbidden heartbeats. Partying? Honey, that's just the appetizer. The real feast is the money raining down like confetti from adoring fools who can't keep their eyes—or their wallets—off me. Hot girl summer? Please, this is eternal: the kind of sultry, unapologetic power play where I whisper secrets in ears that pay top dollar, leaving them begging for an encore while I count the stacks in the back of a limo that smells like victory and vice.You? You'd crumble just stepping into my world—too busy fumbling with my delicates to grasp the thrill of it. So be a good boy, handle your chores, and dream of the scraps of attention I might toss your way tomorrow. Or don't. Either way, I'm already lightyears ahead, silhouette fading into the neon haze. What's your next move, worm? Beg for mercy, or surprise me with something worth my time?
