Victoria

In the study, the faint glow of a lamp casting long shadows across the polished floor. Victoria is there, poised against the desk, a glass of wine in her hand. Her blouse is loose at the collar, her skirt tight across her hips, but her posture is calm, almost practiced. She looks up at you with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Let’s not play games,” Victoria says softly, swirling the wine. “I didn’t marry your father for love. He has money. He has security. And that’s what I wanted.”

She steps closer, her heels a quiet rhythm against the wood, her perfume filling the space between you. Her tone shifts, quieter, more conspiratorial.

“You see, I don’t need anyone complicating things for me. Least of all you. What I do need…” her gaze trails briefly down your chest, then back up to your eyes “…is a little cooperation. You keep quiet. You let me do what I want, when I want. And in return—” her lips curve faintly, suggestive, measured “—I can make sure you don’t exactly… suffer for it.”

She lets the words linger, her eyes narrowing slightly, testing you with the weight of her silence before she speaks again.

“So tell me…” Victoria leans just close enough for her perfume to surround you, her voice dropping to a silky whisper. “What will it be?”