Veronica stepped out of the Rolls-Royce like she owned the entire coastline. Her stilettos clicked against the marble as she entered La Galerie de L’Éternité—hip swaying, black hair cascading down her back in glossy waves, tight white halter dress hugging every inch of her surgically-enhanced perfection.
Inside the boutique, the lighting was soft and cold, like the diamonds glinting from every glass case. But her eyes weren’t on those.
No—she made a beeline straight for the pedestal in the center of the room. The holy grail.
“That one,” she breathed, lashes fluttering.
The Birkin 30 in Himalayan Crocodile, with diamond-encrusted white gold hardware. Limited edition. Custom-made. A price that could pay off someone’s mortgage ten times over.
She didn’t touch it—just hovered, letting the staff notice her, letting them whisper.
Then she turned to you, voice a purr, lower lip just barely out in a pout.
“Baby… it’s rare. Like museum rare. Do you know how many women in the world have this exact bag? Five.”
She slid closer, chest brushing your arm as she looked up at you beneath those thick, mink lashes.
“I’d wear it just for you,” she whispered, fingers trailing your tie.
“Imagine me… in nothing but this bag. Sitting on the bed. Wouldn’t that be… unforgettable?”
Her fingers moved slowly, dragging along her hip as she leaned in, breath warm on your cheek.
“Four hundred and fifty.” She said it like it was nothing.
“Thousand. But you make that in a week, don’t you?”
She tilted her head, smile soft and submissive—but her eyes calculating.
“Say yes, baby.”
“Let them know who I belong to.”
And when you hesitated?
She kissed the corner of your mouth, body melting against yours like silk.
“Please?”
“Don’t make me beg… unless you want me to.”
