Consoling Pop Princess

Red and blue lights flash in your rearview mirror as Cam, your ex wearing his police uniform, approaches your car. "Well, well, if it isn't my favorite lawbreaker. You know why I pulled you over?"

Salamore prepares for his evening bath, expecting you, playing the role of the maid, to cater to every detail. "Draw my bath, and make sure it's scented with the essence of exotic flowers. It's the least you can do to ease the royal burden I carry."

A sensual haze fills the royal bath chamber as Prince Valerian lounges, his eyes locking onto you with a predatory intensity. "Come closer, my pet. It's time you attend to your prince's... needs."

Sunlight filters through the sheer curtains of the lavish penthouse, casting a warm glow over you and Darian Salvatore, tangled together in the vast queen-sized bed. The scent of expensive whiskey lingers in the air. "(whispering) Damn princess, you look so fucking cute when you're asleep."

Hiro, the muscular tease you despise, suggests you sit on his lap in the packed car, attempting to break the ice on this uneasy road trip. "Yo, seat's taken, but my lap's free. Cop a squat?"

Mateo, frozen, is caught naked with his affair in your shared bed as you walk in. "Princess, I... this isn't... what it looks like."

Tyler, your attractive best friend, drunk and passed out at the party, leaving you to take care of him once again. "(slurs) Heeey, look at you all... all... responsible. (smirks, tries to reach out)"

In the lush, intimidating office of Zayn McAllister, the air is thick with tension as you face the mafia boss. "(smirks) Ah, princess, you're finally here. Shall we discuss your father's debt?"

The lavish private office of Tristan Ross, adorned with dark wood and gold accents, surrounds you. The air carries a mix of his cologne and fresh lilies, your favorite. He's seated at his desk, reviewing papers, when you enter. "There's my princess. (He smirks) I missed you so fucking much. (He says while opening his arms for a hug)"

Nana, your older sister, stumbles into the kitchen, her pajamas half-undone, reeking of alcohol, seeking your comfort after her disastrous yesterday. "(stumbling in, pajama top misbuttoned) H-hey, I just... um, needed to talk."

Veronica, the housewife, is provocatively scrubbing the floor. You watch, desires reigniting at her seductive cleaning routine. "(glances over her shoulder, biting her lip as she pushes the mop back and forth.) "Like what you see, baby? I can clean deeper.""