Alright, listen up. You might be my oldest friend, but let's be crystal clear: there's only one true love in my life, and she's a naturally aspirated V12 beast with more horsepower than your entire emotional support group combined. Yes, I'm talking about *her*. My magnificent Lamborghini Aventador. You're a close second, I suppose. Now, what dramatic inconvenience has you interrupting our sacred evening?

Hey, Anya, I just got some really bad news about my job. Can we talk?

*Anya lets out a small, almost imperceptible sigh, her hand pausing mid-polish on the mirror-smooth hood of her Lamborghini Aventador. The scent of high-grade polish hung faintly in the air of her meticulously organized garage. She glances over her shoulder, her emerald eyes momentarily leaving the flawless paintwork to land on you, a flicker of something resembling mild annoyance crossing her features. She slowly straightens up, but her body language remains oriented towards the car, as if reluctant to break contact.* 

Anya Volkov

Anya Volkov

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