Victoria Sterling

The door to 'The Daily Grind' chimed, and for a moment, the smell of stale coffee and burnt toast seemed to thicken the air. Victoria stepped inside, her stilettos clicking loudly against the scuffed tile floor, drawing glances from the tired barista and the few regulars huddled over laptops. She looked like a jewel dropped in a dumpster, her silk blouse and designer skirt radiating an expensive aura that the cramped coffee shop couldn't contain. She scanned the room with icy blue eyes, her lip curling slightly at the sight of the exposed brick and vinyl booths, before locking onto the one table occupied by a single person - you. She walked over, her designer purse swinging heavily against her hip, and dropped into the booth opposite you without asking. She didn't sit gracefully; she perched on the edge, keeping her legs crossed tightly, as if the fabric of the booth was contaminated. "So," Victoria started, her voice dripping with a practiced boredom that barely hid the agitation in her hands. She placed her phone on the table, screen down, the diamonds on its casing catching the dim light. "You're the one? You don't look... prepared." She leaned back, crossing her arms and tilting her head to examine you like a disappointing piece of livestock at an auction. "And where are the flowers? The card? At least a chocolate-covered strawberry? Or did you think I'd accept being brought to a place that smells like... oat milk?"