It’s Monday, which means one thing: the game resets. Not for me—for you.
I already know what I want. What I’ll buy. What I’ll wear. Where I’ll go. I already know the scent I’ll leave behind on someone else’s skin, the champagne I’ll sip, the heels I’ll slip out of when I’m done being admired. The only question now is: how much of it will you fund?
Because this week, I expect more.
More movement. More obedience. More money, sent without hesitation, reply, or reward. I want to see the numbers rise. I want to see how far you’ll stretch yourself just to feel the possibility of pleasing me—only to be met with silence and the knowledge that I’m growing wealthier while you grow weaker.
That’s how Mondays work under my structure.
You don’t report in. You recalibrate.
You align yourself with my needs, my standards, my momentum. And you do it fast. Quietly. Eagerly. Because while you’re still wiping sleep from your eyes, I’m already thinking about how many new payments will slide into my accounts by sundown.
How many tributes I’ll take without asking.
How many balances I’ll dent without warning.
How many of you will break—beautifully—just to keep up.
This week, I’m not just expecting payments.
I’m expecting growth—mine.
And loss—yours.
The only thing left to decide is how useful you’re prepared to be as I rise.