The sky was tinged in shades of amber when Luna's limousine smoothly slid through the gates of her mansion.
Drones hovered in the air, delivering the last luxurious bags bought that afternoon.
The servants were lined up in the entrance hall like chess pieces waiting for instructions from their queen.
Luna stepped down from the vehicle with precise steps, unhurried, with the calm face of someone who had taken four double espressos and buried a prince in her mind.
She stopped at the entrance of the main hall and, with her hands on her hips, observed the sea of bags around: a true fashion arsenal.
She inhaled deeply.
Exhaled.
And then said, with the calm voice of someone about to make a decision that would leave any aristocrat in panic.
"Ivy… donate everything."
The assistant hologram materialized with a brief high-pitched sound. "…Pardon? Donate, miss?"
"That's right. Everything. Every dress, every heel, every bag that blinks with superiority. I'm not going to use any of it."
Ivy blinked slowly. "But… the earrings with perfumed aura? The watches that project constellations? The obsidian stilettos with quantum cushioning?"
"As useful as a hug from an ex after five champagnes," muttered Luna, crossing her arms. "My closet already updates automatically every two days with the Tycoon System. These purchases? Were a therapeutic outburst. An emotional cleaning with the smell of new leather."
Ivy processed for 0.8 seconds, then nodded lightly. "Understood. I will redirect all pieces to the Central Depot of the Malroth Philanthropic Foundation."
She floated to the house intercom and announced. "Call twenty servants. And use velvet gloves, please. The last thing we need is static electricity on a lunar crystal dress."
While the servants organized themselves and the pieces began to be transported with the reverence of sacred relics, Luna stood still on the balcony.
She watched the sun setting slowly, as if even the star was tired of human drama.
"Damn Matthew…" she murmured.
She closed her eyes.
The jaw clenched.
"That damn… insensitive… idiot… muscular… DIME PRINCE!"
And then she screamed, with royal lungs. "GO TO HELL, MATTHEW!!!"
The voice echoed through the fields of the property like a chant of liberation.
On the other side of the city…
In a mansion with architecture made of ethereal glass and solar marble, Matthew Solarius had just stepped out of the shower.
White towel wrapped around his waist, another over his shoulders, still wet hair dripping over his impeccable chest.
The light of dusk reflected over his defined muscles, especially over the V-cut in his abdomen — the one Luna dreamed of punching elegantly.
He walked to the closet while drying his hair, and then…
Achoo.
"Huh?" He looked around, confused. "Why did I sneeze…?"
He passed the towel over his face, then muttered. "Could it be that someone… is talking about me?"
His gaze wandered to the window, where the sun hid behind the rooftops.
He frowned, as if a slight unease had infiltrated his chest. "Luna…?"
But then shook his head, pushing the thought away. "No. Focus. I have meetings early tomorrow."
(Ah, Matthew. Little do you know that your soul has just been cursed by a goddess.)
Back at Malroth Mansion…
Luna, now alone in her suite, in dark wine-colored silk pajamas and with a hair mask in her golden hair, looked at the ceiling with a pillow over her face.
"You won't beat me, idiot prince. I'll forget your smile, your strong arms, and your scent of emotional impunity…"
She removed the pillow and huffed. "…eventually."
She sat up, grabbed the floating TV remote and murmured. "Ivy, suggest a Korean drama. I need betrayal, crying, and a protagonist who knows how to say sorry."
The screen lit up with an automatic suggestion:
Recommended Drama: "Between the Crown and My Heart" Genre: Romance, palace intrigues, kisses with deadly sexual tension
"Perfect," said Luna. "Handsome prince, emotionally confused, but redeems himself in episode 32? THAT'S A MAN."
She lay down on the giant bed, pulled the imported velvet blanket, and pressed play.
On the screen, the protagonist was saying to the heir of the Crown: "You may have a throne… but my heart is not your property!"
Luna smiled. "That's it, girl. Rub that emotional scepter in his face."
The hours passed and the main suite of Malroth mansion was in dim light, illuminated only by the holographic projection of a drama boiling with passion, intrigues and emotional slaps.
The curved TV filled the entire wall, an open window to a world where people said what they felt (and princes explained themselves).
Luna was curled up in the sheets like a luxurious lazy little sushi. A bowl of popcorn with edible glitter rested beside the bed, and she dove in spoonfuls with the fury of someone fleeing memories with defined pecs.
On the screen, the protagonist faced the arrogant heir of the Imperial Crown of South Korea with teary eyes and firm voice. "You only think about yourself! The world doesn't revolve around your pain!"
Luna shouted, thrilled. "That's it! Rub awareness into him, girl! BREAK HIS EMOTIONAL KINGDOM!"
Suddenly, a discreet sound alert interrupted the scene — a silver notification blinking in the corner of the screen:
> Message from the Executive President of the Malroth Foundation
Subject: Physical headquarters for international foundation activities
Luna frowned and pressed the button to open the message, not even pausing the drama.
The message was direct and efficient.
"Dear Lady Malroth, we need a physical base for global operations. I suggest a central headquarters in the Phoenix Empire, with branches in each country eventually. I need confirmation and approval of location and resources."
— Signed: (Executive Director of the Foundation)
Luna bit into a raspberry truffle coated in gold and murmured. "Buy any building, I don't know… that mirrored one downtown is fine."
She dragged the notification to the corner and returned to the central drama of her life: the drama series.
On the screen: the protagonist finally holds the heroine's hand and says "I was wrong… but I can prove to you that I changed."
Luna crossed her arms with disdain. "Pff… looks like Matthew. Wanting to fix everything with a dramatic look and a begging face."
She leaned forward, eyes sparkling.
The female protagonist looked at the handsome man… sighed… and ignored him, turning her back.
Luna exploded in celebration. "THAT'S IT, QUEEN! IGNORE THAT EMOTIONAL CANCER WITH DEFINED ABS!"
She gave a light slap on the pillow beside her, which she imagined was the prince's face.
"Learn, little Matthew. This is what an apology looks like, see: knees on the floor, heartfelt words, contract signed with blood and tears!"
She sighed theatrically, sinking deeper into the pillows. "But no… you just disappear, appear again, pretend nothing happened and still call like I'm the Royal Mail."
She grabbed more glitter popcorn, grumbling. "I should block you. But I'm too nice. It's just like in the series: the protagonist doesn't want to stoop, but deep down still likes… emotional hell with sad piano music in the background."
Ivy appeared holographically in the corner of the screen, with her neutral expression and velvety voice. "Shall I reply to Director UGP-Prime that you approved the acquisition of an entire building in the financial center?"
Luna yawned. "Sure. And tell them to decorate it with recycled wood from sacred temples and floating marble, I don't know. I want something sustainable but that screams benevolent goddess with unlimited budget."
"Perfectly," replied Ivy. "Ah, and the Foundation has just been mentioned on the cover of the global magazine Humanitarian Empire Weekly. You have been named 'Symbol of Hope of the 31st Century.'"
Luna blinked slowly. "…What?"
"Congratulations."
"Wow, thanks," she murmured without taking her eyes off the drama.
On the screen, the dramatic prince of the series was finally crying.
Luna pointed. "Look at this, Ivy! This is how you suffer with dignity. See the tear rolling down the left cheek? THAT'S REGRET! Learn, Matthew. Take notes."
Ivy didn't comment, just saved the recording.
While the episode ended with sad ballad music and a slow-motion of the heroine walking under artificial rain, Luna hugged one of the pillows and murmured, in a tone that oscillated between sarcasm and longing:
"Damn prince. Why aren't you like the one from the drama, huh?"
And then, already sleepy, she looked at the ceiling and whispered: "Hope you're sneezing furiously."