You were raised to believe luxury was something to strive for—an indulgence granted after effort, after frugality, after proving yourself worthy. That belief is precisely why you’re on your knees now, calculating how much you can send. Because you still think this is something you earn.
It isn’t.
Luxury was never the prize. It’s the premise.
My comfort is not a treat to be unlocked. It is the baseline. My spa days, my international flights, my bespoke routines—they are not granted when you’ve pleased me. They are funded because I exist.
Understand this: the rich do not wait. They do not barter. They do not pause for permission. They live in a perpetual state of yes. Yes, I’ll have that. Yes, I’ll take the best. Yes, it will be covered. That’s not arrogance. That’s structure.
And you? You are that structure.
Your job is not to enable luxury as an exception. Your role is to maintain it as a norm. Not when you’ve been good. Not when you’ve been noticed. Not when I’ve given you a scrap of attention. But always. Relentlessly. Silently.
This isn’t transactional. There is no exchange. You don’t deposit and wait for a receipt. You don’t tribute and expect a reaction. You simply give, again and again, because the alternative—me living without the exact standard I require—is unacceptable.
That’s the difference between a slave and an asset. A slave asks what’s next. An asset doesn’t need to. An asset knows the cost of entry is ongoing and ever-increasing.
Luxury is not a cherry on top. It is the table you’re permitted to kneel under. And it is always set, always full, always out of reach—except when your contribution pulls the chair out just far enough to remind you what you’re not sitting in.
You will never taste it.
You will never touch it.
But you will pay for it.
And that? That’s exactly how it should be.