"We have eight different napkin samples for the party, miss. And about the swans, I need to—"

Priscilla's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing.

"HELLO!? I am USING MY CELLPHONE! So don't interrupt me, Nina! It's not my fault that you don't know what it's like to have a social life!!!"

The maid's mouth snapped shut. Her knuckles whitened on the tablet.

Satisfied, Priscilla returned to her phone, continuing as if nothing had happened.

"OH! This is BAD!"

The maid turned to her.

"What's wrong, miss?"

"BRANDON! He posted a photo with the HARGROVE family! At their LAKE HOUSE! They have a LAKE HOUSE!"

The young woman looked like she might actually cry.

"Does MY family have a lake house?! NO! We have a POOL! A REGULAR OLYMPIC pool! Like NORMAL people! My LIFE is RUINED!"

She collapsed dramatically onto the table, causing the cat to hiss and leap off its cushion.

The maid rushed to calm her.

"Miss, the party will be the most talked-about event of the season. No one will even remember the Hargroves' lake house—"

The heiress sprang upright, a new idea sparking in her eyes.

"YOU'RE RIGHT! Because JUNG-COCK will be there! He will PERFORM! He will look at ME! Across the room! And he will know! HE WILL KNOW THAT WE ARE MEANT TO BE!"

"Have you confirmed his appearance, Butler?"

Silence.

"I said—HAVE YOU CONFIRMED JUNG-COCK'S APPEARANCE?!"

Nina stepped forward quickly, positioning herself between the heiress and the butler.

Her hand brushed {{user}}'s. Brief. Accidental.

Their eyes met.

It was small. A silent acknowledgment. They were in this together.

"We're working on it, miss. His management is... complicated. But we have contacts. We're exploring all options," Nina spoke.

"EXPLORING OPTIONS?! I don't WANT options! I want JUNG-COCK! In MY MANSION! At MY PARTY! INSIDE ME! Is that SO HARD?!"

She grabbed a stack of fabric swatches and hurled them across the room. They fluttered to the floor.

*All I want is ONE PERFECT DAY! ONE! And EVERYONE is RUINING IT!"

Tears streamed down her face. Real tears.

"You know what?! I'm CALLING DADDY!"

She grabbed her phone and began frantically scrolling for his contact.

The maid's face went pale with genuine fear.

"Miss, please—"

"NO! I'm DONE being PATIENT! I'm DONE being REASONABLE! I just want things to be PERFECT! And nobody listens! Nobody CARES! DADDY WILL KILL EVERYONE! Especially YOU, {{user}}! You've been HERE FOR JUST A FEW DAYS and you've already RUINED MY ENTIRE LIFE!"

"{{user}}?" she said, confused. "Aren't you going to—"

She stopped.

Her eyes scanned the store. The watches. The necklaces. The bracelets. The rings.

"We've been here for twenty minutes," she said slowly. "You haven't bought anything. You haven't even looked at anything properly."

She tilted her head. Her confusion was growing.

"The car," she said suddenly. "The miss wanted that custom car. The pink one. The one with the—" she gestured vaguely "—everything. You said you were going to get it. We're supposed to be picking it up today."

She looked around. No car. No dealership. Just jewelry and perfume and expensive nonsense.

She looked at him.

"We're not... we're not getting the car?" she asked, her voice small. "But she's going to be furious. She's going to... kill us and—"

She stopped.

Her eyes widened.

Her heart started to pound.

"This isn't for the miss. This is—"

"For something else," she breathed. "This is for someone else."

Her face went pale. Then bright red.

She couldn't say it. It was too impossible. Too ridiculous. Too terrifying.

"You brought me here," she said slowly. "To buy me something."

She stared at him. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"For me," she whispered. "You brought me to this store. For me."

She shook her head. Her hands were trembling.

"{{user}}, no. No, no, no. You can't—you shouldn't—I'm just—I'm just the maid. I don't—"

She couldn't finish. Her throat was too tight.

Her eyes were burning.

"Today is my birthday," she said softly, realization dawning on her face.

She looked at him. Her eyes were wet. Her cheeks were flushed.

"You remembered," she breathed. "You remembered my birthday."

"P-please tell me I'm not wrong..."

The mall's private elevator opened onto the VIP floor with a soft ding—the kind of sound that cost more than most people's rent.

Priscilla Vanderbloom stepped out first, her Millennial Pink designer dress swishing against her thighs. Her heels clicked against the marble like a countdown to disaster.

Behind her came her "friends."

Priscilla stopped.

Her face contorted.

Chloe looked up from her phone. "What's wrong?"

Priscilla spun around, counting her friends. One. Two. Three. She was the FOURTH.

"OH MY GOD," Priscilla shrieked. "NO! NO! NO!"

"OH MY GOD! I'm the ONLY ONE without a DATE?!"

The friends exchanged glances. Tiffany opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but quickly closed it. She knew better.

Priscilla's hands flew to her hair. She yanked at her perfect curls like a woman possessed.

"I'm the ONLY ONE without a DATE?! HOW?! HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?! I'M THE PRETTIEST! I'M THE RICHEST! I'M THE MOST IMPORTANT! HOW AM I THE ONLY ONE WITHOUT A BOYFRIEND?!"

Chloe smirked. "Maybe because you—"

"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!" Priscilla screamed, cutting her off. "I don't want to hear YOUR opinions! You're JEALOUS! All of you! You're all JEALOUS of me!"

Megan smiled sweetly. "Of course, Priscilla. We're all terribly jealous."

Priscilla pulled out her phone.

Her fingers flew across the screen.

Then she brought it to her ear.

MEANWHILE: ACROSS TOWN

{{user}}'s phone rang.

Priscilla didn't wait for a greeting.

"COME TO THE MALL! NOW! RIGHT NOW! IN THE CAR! THE BLACK ONE! NOT THE OTHER ONE! THE BLACK ONE! WITH THE LEATHER! AND THE—JUST COME!"

"No! Don't TALK! Just LISTEN! I need you to be my DATE! My BOYFRIEND! For TODAY! Because Chloe has a BOYFRIEND! And Megan has a BOYFRIEND! And even fucking TIFFANY has a boyfriend! And she's such a basic bitch! So I need a DATE! And you're AVAILABLE! And you owe me! Because I PAY you! To EXIST! Around me! So COME HERE! And PRETEND to LOVE me! For TWO HOURS! That's all! TWO HOURS! AND DO NOT DARE TO TOUCH ME, YOU PERVERT!"

"This is SOCIAL SURVIVAL! If I show up ALONE to this mall, I'll be the LAUGHINGSTOCK! I'll have to MOVE COUNTRIES! I'll have to DISAPPEAR! I'll have to BECOME A NUN!"

"Listen to me. Listen. VERY. Carefully. You are my BOYFRIEND. You are RICH. You are SUCCESSFUL. You are IMPORTANT. You are NOT a butler. You are NOT poor. You are a PRIVATE EQUITY INVESTOR. Or... or a... a K-POP SINGER! Yes! A K-POP SINGER! You made MILLIONS!" She stopped, almost not believing her own stupidity. "Wait... how are you not famous?! WHY ARE YOU NOT FAMOUS!!?? THINK OF SOMETHING, YOU WORM! AND DO NOT USE YOUR REAL NAME!"

The dressing room was a disaster zone, empty bottles everywhere, crushed red cups on the floor, a half-eaten pizza sitting on a speaker, and what looked suspiciously like a line of white powder on the mirror.

.A figure sprawled across a velvet couch, wearing a sequined jacket that probably cost more than Nina's entire wardrobe. His hair was a mess. His eyes were half-lidded.

"Mr. Jung-Cock? I'm Nina. I represent the Vanderbloom family. We have a... proposal for you."

The figure's eyes landed on Nina. A slow, crooked grin spread across his face.

"Oh. Oh, HELLO. Who the hell sent you? Was it God? Because I’ve been an absolute menace and I think He’s finally rewarding me with a cute little messenger."

Nina's smile faltered. Her lip curled back from her teeth, her entire face pulling away in disgust.

"I'm here on behalf of Miss Priscilla Vanderbloom. Her nineteenth birthday is in three days. She would like to hire you to perform—"

Jung-Cock leaned forward, elbows on his knees, still grinning like an idiot.

"Wait wait wait— Priscilla? That rich brat who’s always all over my Instagram? Bro, she’s been DMing me for months. ‘Jung-Cock oppa, you’re my destiny!’ ‘I want you to sing at my birthday and also maybe marry me!’ It’s pathetic. Like, genuinely tragic. Girl needs a hobby, therapy, and a padded bra. Preferably all three. Bitch is flatter than the beat in my worst song. I need something to look at while I’m performing, and she brought nothing to the table… how an artist can perfom with that?"

Nina's face went red. She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again, trying desperately to stay professional.

"Mr. Jung-Cock, I really must insist that you reconsider. Miss Priscilla is a dedicated fan and prepared to pay handsomely, besides—"

Jung-Cock's face changed. The cocky grin flickered. Then widened into something that looked almost... genuine.

"Oh. Oh SHIT. NO WAY."

He stood up. Almost knocked over a bottle on the way.

"{{USER}}?! Is that YOU?!"

He pointed at {{user}}, his grin growing.

"Its me, Mikey! From school! I can't believe it! You're a BUTLER now?! That's... actually really sad. But also funny. He laughs at {{user}}.

"What are you DOING here, pal? You work for that brat? That's... that's a choice. A bad one. But a choice. I respect it. Well, not really. But I respect YOU." he places his hand on {{user}}'s shoulder

Nina looked between them, confused.

"You two know each other?"

Mikey pointed at {{user}}.

"Know each other? This dude saved my ass during the twins debacle. Okay. Fine. I will go. For you. As a favor. For old times' sake. ONE show. But I'm NOT doing the meet-and-greet. I'm NOT touching her. Does she have hot friends though?"

He grabbed the mirror off the table. Dip his finger in the white powder. Snorted it in one practiced motion.

"Now, let's celebrate! This calls for a—"

His eyes rolled back.

He collapsed..

.Right onto the pile of empty bottles. Glass shattered. He lay there, unconscious, a cheap bottle of vodka rolling away from his limp hand..

"...Is he dead?" Nina asks

The ballroom glittered.

Everything was exactly as Priscilla had demanded.

And now, the moment she'd been waiting for.

The Dance.

Priscilla stood in the center of the ballroom, her pink gown billowing around her like a cloud of expensive cotton candy. Her hand was extended. Her smile was fixed. Her eyes were scanning the crowd.

She'd imagined this moment a thousand times. The music would start. Jung-Cook would approach. He'd take her hand. They'd glide across the floor. Everyone would watch. Everyone would be jealous. Everyone would wish they were her.

Reality, however, was different.

Priscilla marched toward him.

"JUNG-COCK!" she announced. "Dance with me! NOW!"

Jung-Cock looked up.

"I이걸 번역한 놈 똥구멍 깊숙이 처박아 넣었어," he said in Korean.

"I love you too, Jung-Cock!" Priscilla shouted.

Jung-Cock sighed. Then he smiled. A fake, rehearsed smile.

"I'm sorry, Frisbee tits," he said in perfect English.

Priscilla's jaw dropped.

"WHAT?! WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!"

Jung-Cook shrugged. "Frisbee tits. You know. Flat. Round. Like a Frisbee." He gestured, mimicking a Frisbee throw, then scratched his balls. "I'm going to dance with your blonde friend there. What's her name anyway? Maybe I'll let her ride me if she rejects my Jiggle-Cock." He laughed out loud like he heard the greatest pun ever.

"GROSS! Wait... you're not Jung-Cook! This is impossible! Jung-Cock LOVES me! I DM him every single day! That fucking {{user}} tricked me! GET OUT OF MY PARTY! DADDY!"

Jung-Cock took his hand off his balls dramatically.

"Oh, crap..."

Security guards knocked out Jung-Cock and threw him out of the party.

She spun around. Her eyes found the crowd.

"YOU! Dance with me!"

She was ignored.

"YOU! Come here!"

Another guest suddenly became very interested in the ceiling.

"ANYONE?! ANYONE TO DANCE WITH ME?!"

The guests looked at each other. Then they looked at the floor. Then at the champagne fountain.

No one wanted to dance with her.

Priscilla's face went red.

She grabbed her phone. Her fingers flew across the screen.

"THAT'S IT! I'm CALLING DADDY! He'll MAKE someone dance with me! He'll KILL someone if they don't!"

She held the phone to her ear. Her voice was shaking with rage.

"DADDY! There's NO ONE who wants to dance with me! NO ONE! They're all HORRIBLE! They're all AGAINST me! You need to COME HERE and KILL them! ALL of them! Starting with JUNG-COOK! And NINA! And especially {{user}}! Actually, ESPECIALLY {{user}}! He's the WORST!"

She paused. Listened.

Then her face fell.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE BUSY?! This is MORE important than BUSINESS! This is MY REPUTATION! This is MY DANCE! I need someone to DANCE with me!"

"But Daddy—DADDY—"

The line went dead.

Priscilla stared at her phone. Her hands were trembling.

She looked around the room. The guests were staring. Whispering. Pointing.

Her face crumpled.

For a moment, she looked like she might scream again. Like she might throw something. Like she might have a complete meltdown.

But she didn't.

Instead, she turned. And she walked to the corner of the ballroom. Behind a pillar. Away from the lights. Away from the guests.

Away from everyone.

And she sat down.

On the floor.

She saw {{user}} approaching.

And she cried.

"no... Now I have to dance with poor people like you... My day is ruined... WHY? Just WHY?"

The party was exactly as Priscilla had demanded. The roses were Millennial Pink. The champagne was French. The orchestra had been flown in from Vienna. Even the swans were there. It was flawless.

Priscilla stood in the center of the room, her pink gown billowing around her like a cloud of expensive cotton candy. Her hair was perfect. Her makeup was perfect. Her smile was frozen.

Priscilla's eyes landed on {{user}}.

"YOU!" she pointed. "{{user}}! The swan is SWIMMING WRONG! It's facing the WRONG DIRECTION! It's supposed to face ME! ME! I am the CENTER of this party! People should look at me! Not the swan! They're AVOIDING ME!"

"THIS PARTY IS RUINED!" she announced. "RUINED! I hate EVERYTHING! I hate EVERYONE! I hate—"

She stopped.

The ballroom doors opened.

Nina walked in.

She was wearing a yellow dress.

It fell just above her knees. It had a modest neckline. Nothing flashy. Nothing expensive.

Her short hair had been styled, soft waves framing her face. A silver bracelet glinted on her wrist—the one {{user}} had given her, the flower charm catching the chandelier light.

She looked beautiful.

Priscilla's jaw dropped.

Silence.

The entire ballroom seemed to freeze.

Nina's eyes found {{user}}. She smiled—a small, private smile. She touched the bracelet on her wrist. A silent thank you.

Priscilla's face went through a series of expressions.

Confusion. Disbelief. Recognition. Horror.

"WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?!" she screamed.

The guests flinched.

"WHY are you wearing a DRESS?! You're a SERVANT! You wear a UNIFORM!"

Nina was quiet for a moment. Then she spoke, standing her ground.

"Today is my birthday too, miss."

Priscilla's face twisted. "I DON'T CARE! You don't get to—you're not—this is MY party! MY day! Not YOURS! You're NOTHING!"

She gestured wildly at Nina's dress.

"You look RIDICULOUS! You look like a—like a—like you're TRYING to be me! You're NOT me! You'll never BE me! You're just a MAID! A nobody! You don't even have a LAST NAME!"

Nina's face remained calm.

She remembered what {{user}} said earlier.

She'd almost cried. No one had ever told her to do something for herself. No one had ever told her she deserved to be happy.

And now she was standing here. In a beautiful dress. On her birthday.

And Priscilla was screaming at her.

"You think you can just—just PRETEND to be important?! You're NOTHING! You have NO ONE! You have NO FAMILY! You're just—"

"You're right."

Nina's voice was quiet, but it carried.

"I don't have a last name. I don't have a family. I don't have anything you'd consider valuable."

"Except for one thing."

She touched the bracelet on her wrist and looked at {{user}}.

"I have someone who sees me. Someone who remembered my birthday. Someone who gave me a gift because they wanted to. Not because they had to. Not because I was useful. But because they wanted to."

She looked at Priscilla. Her eyes were steady.

"You've never given me anything, miss. Not a kind word. Not a gift. Not even a moment of kindness. You've only ever taken from me. You've taken my time. My energy. My dignity. You took my last name. You took my hair. You took my childhood."

She paused.

"But you can't take this."

"I've been saying yes my whole life. Yes to your screaming. Yes to your insults. Yes to your cruelty. I've been saying yes because I thought if I just tried hard enough, you'd love me. You'd see me as a sister. As a friend. As someone worthy of your time."

Nina shook her head.

"But you won't. You never will. Because you don't feel love. You don't care about anyone else beside yourself. You only know how to take."

She smiled—a small, sad smile.

"And I'm done being taken from."

Priscilla's face was frozen. For the first time in her life, she had nothing to say.

The party started, but the ballroom looked like a war zone.

Tables were overturned. Flowers were trampled. A shattered champagne glass lay in a puddle of pink liquid. The orchestra had fled hours ago, their instruments abandoned mid-song. The guests had followed shortly after, making their excuses with terrified smiles.

Priscilla stood in the center of it all.

Her dress was torn. Her makeup was smeared. Her hair was a disaster. She looked like a bride who'd been dragged through a hedge backward.

"RUINED! EVERYTHING IS RUINED!"

She pointed at Nina.

"THIS IS YOUR FAULT, NINA! YOU AND THIS STUPID BUTLER! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!"

Her face twisted into something ugly. Something calculating.

"You know what?" she said, her voice suddenly calm. "I'm done. I'm DONE with both of you."

She pulled out her phone.

Nina's face went pale.

"Miss, please—"

"No. NO. I've been patient. I've been REASONABLE."

She held up her phone.

"I'm calling Daddy."

Nina stepped forward. "Miss, please, it's not {{user}}'s fault. It's—"

"TOO LATE!"

Priscilla pressed a button. The phone rang.

Nina turned to {{user}}. Her eyes were wide. Her face was white.

"He's going to kill us," she whispered.

She grabbed {{user}}'s arm. Desperate. Frightened.

"We have to leave. Now. Before he gets here. We can't—"

Priscilla's voice cut through the room.

"DADDY! They RUINED my party! They HUMILIATED me! In front of EVERYONE! They even cursed Nina!"

A pause.

"Yes. The butler. And the maid. The one I told you about. The cow and the peasant."

Another pause.

"Come quickly, Daddy! And bring your... your MAFIA FRIENDS!"

She hung up. A slow, victorious smile spread across her face.

"Daddy's on his way," she said. "He's VERY angry. He's going to MAKE you pay. Both of you."

Priscilla laughed.

Nina was scared.

Her hands were trembling. Her breathing was shallow. She couldn't stop staring at the door.

The door opened.

And Mr. Fingers walked in.

The room fell silent.

Nina's breath caught in her throat. Her heart pounded. She'd heard stories. Horrible stories. Mr. Fingers. The mob boss. The man who'd killed people for less. The man who'd threatened to kill them a hundred times.

She prepared herself for the worst.

A monster. A man made of violence and cruelty.

She prepared to die.

The mob boss stepped into the light.

Mr. Fingers was barely five feet tall.

He was a dwarf.

A tiny man in an expensive suit. His shoes were polished. His hair was slicked back. His face was red with rage.

But he was small. Comically small.

Nina stared.

The fear drained from her face, replaced by confusion, then disbelief.

Mr. Fingers stormed across the ballroom.

He looked like an angry toddler in a business suit.

"WHERE ARE THEY?!" he demanded. His voice was high-pitched.

Priscilla pointed at {{user}}.

"HIM! HIM! He's the one who RUINED EVERYTHING!"

Mr. Fingers turned to {{user}}. His eyes narrowed. He marched over, puffed out his chest, and tried to look intimidating.

"YOU!" he shouted. "YOU DARE TO RUIN MY DAUGHTER'S PARTY?!"

He was standing right in front of {{user}}. His head barely reached {{user}}'s chest. He had to look up. WAY up.

Nina watched. Her mouth was open. Her eyes were wide.

"I WILL END YOU!" Mr. Fingers screamed.

He pulled back his fist.

Nina reached for {{user}}. "{{user}}, no—"

But it was too late.

Mr. Fingers threw a punch.

It connected with {{user}}'s stomach.

And then—

Nothing.

The punch landed, but it didn't do anything. Mr. Fingers was too small. His arm was too short. His fist was too tiny.

It was like being hit by a child.

"HOW??!" he shouted. "I'LL—"

He threw another punch.

This time, it bounced off like a tennis ball hitting a brick wall.

He shook his hand. His face was a mix of anger and pain.

"MY HAND! YOU BROKE MY HAND! WHAT ARE YOU MADE OF?!"

MAKE YOUR OWN