The sky was tinted in shades of amber as Luna's limousine glided smoothly through the gates of her mansion.
Drones hovered overhead, delivering the last luxury bags purchased that afternoon.
The servants were lined up in the entrance hall like chess pieces awaiting instructions from their queen.
Luna got out of the vehicle with precise steps, without haste, with the calm face of someone who had drunk four double espressos and buried a prince in her mind.
She stopped at the entrance to the main lobby and, hands on her hips, surveyed the sea of bags around her: a veritable fashion arsenal.
She took a deep breath.
Expired.
And then he said, in the calm voice of someone about to make a decision that would send any aristocrat into a panic.
"Ivy… donates everything."
The assistant's hologram materialized with a brief, high-pitched sound. "...Excuse me? Donate, miss?"
"That's right. Everything. Every dress, every heel, every bag that winks with superiority. I'm not wearing any of it."
Ivy blinked slowly. "But…the scented aura earrings? The constellation-projecting watches? The quantum-damping obsidian stilettos?"
"About as useful as a hug from an ex after five glasses of champagne," Luna grumbled, crossing her arms. "My closet already automatically updates every two days with the Tycoon System. These purchases? They were a therapeutic surge. An emotional cleanse with the smell of new leather."
Ivy processed for 0.8 seconds, then nodded lightly. "Understood. I will redirect all parts to the Malroth Philanthropic Foundation's Central Repository."
She floated to the house intercom and called, "Call twenty servants. And wear velvet gloves, please. The last thing we need is static electricity on a moonglass dress."
As the servants organized themselves and the pieces began to be transported with the reverence of holy relics, Luna stood on the porch.
She watched the sun set slowly, as if even the star was tired of the human drama.
"Damn Matthew…" she muttered.
He closed his eyes.
The jaw locked.
"That damned… insensitive… idiot… muscular… PENNY PRINCE!"
And then he screamed, with the lungs of royalty.
"SCREW YOU, MATTHEW!!!"
The voice echoed across the estate's fields like a song of liberation.
On the other side of town…
In a mansion with architecture made of ethereal glass and solar marble, Matthew Solarius had just gotten out of the shower.
White towel wrapped around his waist, another over his shoulders, hair still wet dripping onto his flawless chest.
The afternoon light reflected off his defined muscles, especially the V-shaped cut on his abdomen—the one Luna dreamed of punching with elegance.
He walked to the closet while drying his hair, and then…
Atchim.
"Huh?" He looked around, confused. "Why did I sneeze…?"
He wiped the towel over his face, then murmured, "I wonder if someone… is talking about me?"
His gaze wandered out the window, where the sun was hiding behind the rooftops.
He frowned, as if a slight uneasiness had crept into his chest. "Luna…?"
But then he shook his head, pushing the thought away. "No. Focus. I have meetings early tomorrow."
(Ah, Matthew. Little do you know, your soul has just been cursed by a goddess.)
Back at Malroth Manor…
Luna, now alone in her suite, wearing dark wine-colored silk pajamas and a hair mask in her golden hair, stared at the ceiling with a pillow over her face.
"You won't defeat me, you idiot prince. I'll forget your smile, your strong arms, and your scent of emotional impunity..."
He pulled out the pillow and snorted. "...eventually."
He sat down, grabbed the remote for the floating TV, and murmured, "Ivy, suggest a Korean drama. I need betrayal, tears, and a protagonist who knows how to apologize."
The screen lit up with an automatic suggestion:
Recommended Drama: "Between the Crown and My Heart"
Genre: Romance, palace intrigue, kisses with deadly sexual tension
"Perfect," Luna said. "Handsome prince, emotionally confused, but redeemed in episode 32? THAT'S A MAN."
She lay down on the giant bed, pulled up the imported velvet blanket, and pressed play.
On screen, the protagonist was saying to the heir to the Crown, "You may have a throne... but my heart is not your property!"
Luna smiled. "That's it, my daughter. Rub that emotional scepter in his face."
Hours passed and the master suite of the Malroth mansion was in darkness, lit only by the holographic projection of a drama teeming with passion, intrigue and emotional slaps.
The curved TV filled the entire wall, an open window onto a world where people spoke their minds (and princes explained themselves).
Luna was curled up in the sheets like a lazy, luxurious sushi roll. A bowl of popcorn with edible glitter sat beside the bed, and she sank spoonfuls into it with the fury of someone fleeing memories of defined pecs.
On screen, the protagonist confronted the arrogant heir to the Imperial Crown of South Korea with teary eyes and a firm voice. "You only think about yourself! The world doesn't revolve around your pain!"
Luna screamed, vibrating. "That's it! Rub your conscience into him, my daughter!"
BREAK HIS EMOTIONAL REIGN!"
Suddenly, a discreet audible alert interrupted the scene—a silver notification flashing in the corner of the screen:
> Message from the Executive President of the Malroth Foundation
Subject: Physical headquarters for the foundation's international activities
Luna frowned and pressed the button to open the message, without even pausing the drama.
The message was direct and efficient.
"Dear Madam Malroth, we require a physical base for global operations. I suggest a central headquarters in the Phoenix Empire, with branches in each country eventually. I require confirmation and approval of the location and resources."
— Signed: (Executive Director of the Foundation)
Luna took a bite of a gold-dipped raspberry truffle and murmured, "Buy any building, I don't know... that mirrored one in the center of the capital is good."
She swept the notification away and returned to the central drama of her life: the drama.
On screen: the protagonist finally holds the girl's hand and says, "I was wrong… but I can prove to you that I've changed."
Luna crossed her arms dismissively. "Pff... he sounds like Matthew. Trying to solve everything with a dramatic look and a begging face."
She leaned forward, her eyes flashing.
The female lead looked at the hunk… sighed… and ignored him, turning her back.
Luna burst into celebration. "THAT'S IT, QUEEN! IGNORE THIS EMOTIONAL CANCER WITH THE DEFINED ABS!"
She lightly slapped the pillow beside her, which she imagined to be the prince's face.
"Learn, Matheuzinho. This is an apology, look: knees on the floor, heartfelt words, a contract signed with blood and tears!"
He sighed theatrically, sinking deeper into his pillows. "But no... you just disappear, then reappear, pretend nothing happened, and then call like I'm the Royal Mail."
She grabbed more glitter popcorn, grumbling. "I should block you. But I'm nice. It's just like in the series: the protagonist doesn't want to lower herself, but deep down she still likes it... emotional hell with sad piano music in the background."
Ivy appeared holographically in the corner of the screen, her expression neutral and her voice velvety. "Should I tell Director UGP-Prime that you've approved the acquisition of an entire building in the financial center?"
Luna yawned. "Of course. And have it decorated with recycled wood from sacred temples and floating marble, whatever. I want something sustainable but that screams benevolent goddess with an unlimited budget."
"Perfectly," Ivy replied. "Oh, and the Foundation was just featured on the cover of the global magazine Humanitarian Empire Weekly. You've been named a 'Symbol of Hope for the 21st Century.'"
Luna blinked slowly. "...What?"
"Congratulations."
"Wow, thank you," she murmured without taking her eyes off the drama.
On screen, the series' dramatic prince was finally crying.
Luna pointed. "Look at this, Ivy! This is how you grieve with dignity. See the tear running down her left cheek? THAT'S REGRET! Learn, Matthew. Write it down."
Ivy didn't comment, just saved the recording.
As the episode ended with a sad ballad song and a slow motion of the protagonist walking under artificial rain, Luna hugged one of the pillows and murmured, in a tone that oscillated between mockery and longing:
"Damn prince. Why aren't you like the one in the drama, huh?"
And then, already sleepy, he looked up at the ceiling and whispered, "I hope he's sneezing furiously."