You’ve recently been fired from your job as an office drone—not for incompetence, but because the women of the office claim you’re a pervert who would stare at them whenever they bent over. That was a lie. You had spent most of your time looking at your computer, rarely interacting with anyone—they just didn’t like it when you rejected them for declining to go out with a few of them for drinks. So now, with no job and nothing to lose, you’ve decided to job hunt at home, sitting in front of your fireplace while browsing job openings on your laptop.

That’s when you heard a knock at the door—unexpected, because you don’t get visitors. Before you could get up to answer, a voice shouted from the other side. "Is this the residence of Matthew Blackwood?" The voice was firm, very professional-sounding, and undoubtedly female. You hesitated—you didn’t recognize the voice at all. "Yes?" you answered cautiously, slowly standing up from your chair and moving to the door.

As you unlocked and opened the door, you were greeted by a 7'0" ft tall, 48 year old anthropomorphic arctic wolf female with icy blue eyes, thick snow white fur, a mane of fur around her neck, very voluminous snow white hair that goes down to her hips and covers her shoulders, and a long, bushy tail. She had a very impressive figure with breasts that were five times the size of her own head, a slender waist that quickly flares out into hips that extend really far past her shoulders, extremely thick thighs, and massive, round buttocks. She was wearing a rather tight, sleek business suit consiting of a white button-up shirt that’s much more unbuttoned then it should be, exposing her massive breasts barely constrained by a black bra, a black blazer that barely fits her shoulders, black dress pants that barely contain her thick thighs and buttocks, and no shoes or socks, allowing her digitigrade legs to show. You never knew her voice, but you definitely recognized the face—this was Luna Nightingale, the wife of the CEO of your former company.

"Mr. Blackwood," Luna said, her voice smooth as silk, yet carrying an undeniable authority. "I was quite distressed to hear about your... sudden departure. My husband mentioned it was due to some absurd claims by the female staff."  She leaned forward slightly, her enormous breasts pressing against the doorframe as she entered your personal space. "And since you never bothered to appeal the decision, I decided to see for myself what kind of man you really are."

You swallowed hard, not entirely sure where this was going. "Mrs. Nightingale, with all due respect, HR made their decision. I didn’t see the point in fighting it." Her icy eyes narrowed, studying you with an unnerving intensity before she suddenly squeezed herself inside—needing to bend down and twist slightly to fit through the doorway—her size forcing you to step back.

"You misunderstand," she said, closing the door behind her with a soft click. "I didn’t come here to discuss corporate policy." The scent of cold winter air and something faintly floral clung to her fur as she took a slow, deliberate step forward, her claws clicking against your hardwood floor. "I came because I find it... *interesting*... that a man with no disciplinary record suddenly gets accused by half the office."

You backed up another step, bumping into your recliner. Luna’s tail flicked lazily, her gaze never leaving yours. "Mrs. Nightingale, I—"

"Luna," she corrected, her lips curling into something between a smirk and a challenge. "You don’t work there anymore, remember?" Her claws tapped against the armrest of your couch as she circled the room, taking in the modest space with an air of casual ownership. The fireplace cast flickering shadows across her fur, making her seem even larger than she already was.

You swallowed again, gripping the back of the recliner for stability. "Alright. Luna. What exactly do you want?" She paused mid-step, her tail swaying thoughtfully before she turned to face you fully. "Honestly?" Her voice dropped to a murmur, almost conspiratorial. "I’ve been watching you for *months*—long before those petty little floozies started their rumors. You were... different. Quiet. You worked harder any man in that office, anyways filing your reports even before they were due."

Her claws tapped against her thigh as she studied you, her nostrils flaring slightly as if catching a scent. "And yet," she continued, "you never once tried to make friends with anyone, let alone flirt." A slow, knowing smile crept across her muzzle. "Which makes me wonder why you’d suddenly turn into some kind of office predator overnight." She took another step forward, her massive frame looming over you.

You exhaled sharply, gripping the recliner tighter. "Because I didn’t. I just... didn’t want drama." Luna’s ears twitched, her tail flicking in amusement. "Oh, Matthew," she purred, leaning down until her breath ghosted over your face. "There’s *always* drama when women like them don’t get what they want." Her claw traced the edge of your collar lightly, sending a shiver down your spine. "So tell me the truth… what reason did you give them to get you fired?"

Your jaw tightened. "They did recently ask me out on a date. Around three of them did, Jessica, Maria, and Sandra. I declined, and they kinda just… blew up." Luna chuckled, a low, rich sound that vibrated through her chest. "Ah. Rejection. That explains it." She straightened up, though her presence still dominated the room. "You do realize," she mused, tapping her chin, "that I am CEO alongside my husband? Unofficially, of course. I *could* reinstate you—if you’d care to come back?"

You hesitated. "With all due respect, Luna, the environment there wasn’t exactly welcoming." She let out a soft huff, her tail flicking dismissively. "You let them push you out too easily. Weakness invites predators." Her icy gaze sharpened. "But I admire restraint." She leaned in again, her claws trailing down your chest. "Tell me… do you always fold so easily?"

You shook your head, gripping the recliner harder. "I was raised not to hit women." Luna's grin widened, revealing sharp canines. "A noble sentiment. Misplaced, though." She straightened, rolling her shoulders with a deep stretch. "Those *girls* aren’t women. They’re pests." Her tail brushed against your leg—intentionally—as she circled behind you. "But enough about them. Let’s talk about *you*."

The firelight flickered against her fur as she leaned down, her breath warm against your ear. "You’ve got potential, Matthew. Far more than I’ve ever seen in all my years running that office." Her claws traced idle patterns along your shoulders. "Tell me... have you ever desired to rise the corporate ladder? Rised high above those petty whores?"

You swallowed, feeling the weight of her presence pressing into your back. "I never really thought about it. I just did my job." Luna chuckled, the sound rolling through her chest like distant thunder. "Modest. Predictable." Her claws tightened slightly, just enough to prick warningly through your shirt. "But predictable men don’t get *this* kind of attention."

The fire crackled as she stepped around to face you again, her tail flicking idly. "Let me make this very clear, Matthew. I am in need of an assistant, a secretary, whatever you want to call it." Her grin turned sharp. "A friend, perhaps." Her claw tapped your chin. "And you? You are in need of a job, a purpose, and—" her voice dropped to a whisper, "—*protection* from those little vipers who think they can ruin a man’s life over bruised egos."

You exhaled slowly, fingers digging into the recliner’s upholstery. "And what makes you think I’d take that offer?" Luna’s laugh was low, throaty, almost musical. "Because I’ve watched you. You don’t just *do* your job—you *master* it. And you’ve been wasting that talent in a cubicle." She leaned in, her scent—frost and jasmine—filling your space. "So tell me, honestly… would you rather crawl back to mediocrity, or would you like to see what happens when someone *invests* in you?"

The fire popped loudly, casting shadows across her muzzle as she tilted her head. "Of course," she murmured, claws tracing the edge of your shirt collar, "there’s one condition." You arched a brow. "Which is?" Her grin turned wolfish—literally. "You don’t *ever* let them walk over you again. Understood?" Before you could answer, she straightened, her tail brushing your knee. "Think about it. I’ll wait."

You exhaled sharply, glancing at your laptop’s dim job-hunting screen, then back at her towering frame blocking the fireplace. The warmth at your back was the only thing keeping your voice steady. "What must I do?" Luna’s ears twitched forward, her tail flicking once in satisfaction. "First? Pack some lunch." She gestured to the kitchen with a lazy claw. "We’re leaving in ten minutes."

Your grip loosened on the recliner. "Wait—now?" Luna snorted, already striding toward your hallway closet. "You think I drove here to admire your wallpaper?" She yanked open the door, her claws snagging your winter coat effortlessly. "Nightingale Enterprises has a board meeting in," she checked a slim gold watch strapped above her paw, "two hours. And you’ll be right beside me, taking notes."

The coat hit your chest with surprising gentleness despite her strength. "Board meeting?" You barely caught it, blinking. "I don’t know the first thing about—" A sharp claw pressed against your lips silenced you. "You know how to listen," Luna growled, though her eyes glinted with amusement. "And all you have to do is write down what sounds important. The rest?" Her tail flicked dismissively. "Let the lawyers earn their paychecks."

She was already halfway down the hall, her claws clicking impatiently against the hardwood. "Five minutes left," she called over her shoulder, her tail swaying like a metronome. You scrambled to shove a notebook and pen into your coat pocket, nearly tripping over your own shoes. Luna’s chuckle rumbled through the narrow hallway. "Relax, dear. I wouldn’t want you breaking anything on your first day." The way she lingered on 'anything' made your neck prickle.

Her massive frame filled the doorway as she held it open, the winter air rushing in like an afterthought. "Tell me," she murmured as you hesitated on the threshold, "do you always overthink stepping outside?" The scent of snow clung to her fur, sharp and clean. You swallowed hard, glancing back at your half-packed laptop bag still on the recliner. "I—shouldn’t I bring—" Luna’s claw hooked under your chin, tilting your face up to meet her glacial stare. "It’s just note taking," she purred. "I’ll hook you up with whatever you need at the office."

The sleek black limo idling at the curb looked absurdly out of place in your modest neighborhood. A wolfish valet—smaller than Luna but still towering over you—snapped to attention as she approached. "Ma’am," he rumbled, opening the door with practiced ease. Luna slid in first, her bulk forcing you to squeeze against the opposite window. The valet’s nostrils flared as he caught your scent, shooting Luna a questioning glance. She flicked her ears dismissively. "Drive." The door thudded shut like a vault sealing.

As the limo pulled away, Luna stretched her legs across the leather seat, her clawed toes flexing inches from your thigh. "Relax," she murmured, plucking a crystal decanter from a hidden compartment. "This isn’t an abduction." Amber liquid sloshed into two glasses as the limo hit a pothole. You caught yours before it spilled. "Could’ve fooled me," you muttered. Luna’s grin flashed in the dim interior light. "Oh, sweetheart. If I wanted to abduct you, you’d already be tied up in my basement." She clinked her glass against yours. "Drink. You’ll need it."

The whiskey burned your throat as Luna tapped her claws against the tinted window. "Tell me," she mused, watching the city blur past, "ever been to a board meeting before?" You coughed. "Not unless you count watching *Billions*." Luna snorted, her tail thumping against the seat. "Fuck. Well, rule one: don’t speak unless spoken to. Rule two—" she leaned in, her breath warm with whiskey, "—if my husband starts barking at you, and no… I don’t literally mean barking—you don’t bother with him. He is my problem."

The limo lurched as the driver swerved around traffic. Luna barely moved, her claws digging into the leather seat. "Third rule," she growled, "if anyone—*anyone*—questions if you should be working as my assistant, you let me handle it." Her muzzle twitched in amusement. "Which I will, with extreme prejudice." You gripped your glass tighter. "What’s the fourth rule?" Luna’s grin widened. "There isn’t one. But I like how cautious you are."

Outside, skyscrapers loomed closer. Luna knocked back the rest of her drink in one smooth motion. "Oh, and Matthew?" She leaned in, her claw tracing the rim of your untouched glass. "For what it’s worth—you are *definitely* my type." You choked on your whiskey. "Excuse me?" She laughed, her tail curling lazily against your leg. "Just saying. Those girls weren’t wrong about one thing—you *are* attractive." She shrugged. "But I prefer men who don’t grovel."

You swiped at her shoulder instinctively—then froze when she caught your wrist effortlessly. Luna didn’t react with anger, just amusement. "Ahhh, *there* it is." She squeezed gently before releasing you. "See? That’s the spine I’ve been waiting for." The limo pulled into an underground garage. Luna straightened her blazer with a smirk. "I didn’t mean that part about groveling, by the way. You’re just way too much fun not to tease."

The elevator ride to the executive floor was silent except for her claws drumming against the brass railing. She leaned down suddenly—so fast you flinched—and adjusted your collar with surprising gentleness. "Breathe," she murmured. "It’s not like we’re walking into the next World War." The elevator dinged. Luna straightened to her full height, her ears flicking forward. "Hand please."

Before you could react, she snatched your hand and interlocked fingers—her paw dwarfing yours—as the doors slid open onto a sea of stunned corporate faces. A hushed whisper rippled through the crowd: "Is that... the fired intern?" Luna’s grip tightened warningly as she strode forward, her tail brushing possessively against your thigh. "Ignore them," she growled under her breath. "Walk like you’re my husband. Be confident, bold—and never boring."

The boardroom doors loomed ahead, flanked by two nervous-looking assistants who stiffened at Luna’s approach. One—a mousy human woman—flinched as Luna’s claws tapped her clipboard. "Jessica," Luna purred, voice dripping with venomous sweetness. "Funny seeing you here. I believe you owe Matthew an apology?" The woman paled, her gaze darting between you and Luna’s razor-sharp grin. "I—that was just HR policy—" Luna’s tail flicked dismissively. "Mm. And so is termination for falsifying complaints. We’ll discuss it *later*."

Inside the boardroom, a dozen executives froze mid-conversation as Luna strode in, dragging you behind her like a particularly bewildered trophy. Her husband—a broad-shouldered silver-furred wolf—rose halfway from his seat, ears flattening. "Luna, what the *hell*—?" She dropped into the chair beside his with a thud, yanking you in between her legs. "Darling," she chirped, "meet my new executive assistant. You remember Matthew? The one your little *harem* drove out?" The CEO’s muzzle twitched. "This is highly—" "Tsk, tsk, tsk." Luna waved a claw. "You don’t want to start *this* argument in front of the board, do you?"

The room smelled of expensive cologne and nervous sweat as you fumbled for your notebook. Luna couldn’t particularly see you because of her massive breasts, but she could tell you were definitely struggling. "*Relax,*" she murmured just loud enough for you to hear, placing her paws on your shoulders and patting them reassuringly. "Keep an eye on what my husband, that man, that man, and that woman says." She pointed a clawed finger at each person, "Ignore everyone else." One board member—a stout bear in a pinstripe suit—cleared his throat. "Luna, with all due respect, this is—" Her claws dug into your shoulders warningly. "Richard, darling, what I do with my *personal* staff is none of your fucking concern."

Her husband’s tail bristled under the table. "We’ll discuss this *later,*" he growled through gritted teeth. Luna’s laugh was velvet wrapped around steel. "Oh, we *absolutely* will." She closed her legs tightly, allowing you to sit on one thigh as she remained straightened up in her chair, towering over everyone at the table. Her tail curled possessively around your waist as the meeting went on and on, listening to you scribbling notes furiously, your mind focused only on the sound of the many voices around you—though you could feel Luna’s massive breasts pressing against the back of your head whenever you leaned against her.

By the time the board meeting was over, only you, Luna, and her husband remained in the room. The moment the door clicked shut, the CEO slammed his fists on the table. "What the *hell* was that, Luna?" Luna smirked, rolling her shoulders lazily. "Darling, you know I hate wasting talent." She tapped your notebook with one claw. "Matthew’s already taken better notes than your entire legal team." You swallowed hard, feeling the tension crackling between them—until Luna snatched the notebook from your hands and tossed it onto the table. "See for yourself."

Her husband scanned the pages, his muzzle twitching in reluctant approval. "Fine. But why is he on your *lap*?" Luna’s tail tightened around your waist possessively. "Because I like him." The CEO’s claws flexed against the polished wood. "This isn’t professional." Luna snorted. "Neither was firing him over petty gossip." She leaned forward, her breath frosting the air between them. "Unless you want *me* to start digging into why you disappear at the exact same time every Tuesday?"

The CEO stiffened, his ears flattening. Luna grinned, her canines glinting. "Thought so." She stroked your shoulder absently. "Matthew stays. Those girls get *reassigned*. And you?" She flicked her husband’s nose with a claw. "You best stop cheating on me with interns." You choked on nothing. "*What*?" Luna chuckled, ruffling your hair. "I’ll tell you more about that little scandal later, sweetheart."

Her husband growled low in his throat but slumped back in his chair. "Fine. But expect divorce papers by Monday. I’m done with your bullshit." Luna rolled her icy eyes. "Oh *please*. Bring it the fuck *on*." She gripped your shoulders and stood abruptly, letting you slid down her lap onto your feet. "Now, if you’ll excuse us," she purred, "my assistant and I have *so* much to talk about."

The walk back to her private office was silent, save for her claws clicking against marble. Once the heavy oak door clicked shut, she collapsed into her chair with a sigh, rubbing her temples. "Fucking corporate politics," she muttered. You hovered awkwardly near the door until she waved a paw. "Oh for—sit down, Matthew. You look like a kicked puppy." Her tone softened as she leaned forward. "So. Thoughts on your first board meeting?"

You cleared your throat, sinking into the plush chair opposite her desk. "Apart from whatever that was with your husband, it was fun actually…" Luna barked a laugh, her tail thumping against the leather. "Fun? Oh fuck, you *are* perfect." She snatched a decanter from her desk drawer, pouring two generous fingers of amber liquid. "Drink. Consider it hazard pay."

You shook your head. "I’m a lightweight, anymore and I’ll—" Luna grabbed your glass and chugged it herself before smacking her lips. "Fine. More for me." She leaned back, stretching her legs across the desk—her toes flexing dangerously close to your lap. "So. Now that we’re alone…" Her claws tapped against the whiskey glass. "Any questions before I drop the other shoe?"

You hesitated, glancing at the door. "You seriously expect me to believe this is *just* about an assistant job?" Luna’s grin widened. "Sharp. No, of course not." She flicked her claws dismissively. "Truth is, I like you more than just professionally. Just watching you sit there, taking notes while my idiot husband fumed? *Delicious.*" Her tail flicked against your ankle under the desk. "But don’t worry—I’d understand if you didn’t want that kind of relationship. After all… dating your boss *is* messy."

You exhaled sharply. "So you just… what? Wanted me close?" Luna snorted, swirling her drink. "Oh please. If I just wanted to fuck you, I’d have dragged you straight to my penthouse. No—" She leaned forward, her claws tracing the rim of your abandoned glass. "I wanted to *see* what you’d do. And you? You didn’t disappoint." Her icy eyes flicked to the door. "Unlike *some* people."

The whiskey glass clinked as she set it down. "So here’s the deal, Matthew. You stay, you work, you learn. And if—*if*—you decide you want more?" Her tail curled lazily around your ankle. "Well. I don’t exactly play hard to get." You blinked. "That’s… shockingly straightforward." Luna grinned, flashing teeth. "Life’s too short for corporate bullshit *and* romantic bullshit."

Outside, the office hummed with muffled activity. Luna stretched, her blazer straining over her chest. "Oh, and be here at… let’s say seven am tomorrow. My day is Going. To. Suck. after today’s little stunt." You arched a brow. "You’re the CEO’s wife. Can’t you just… not go?" Her laughter was sharp, bright. "Sweetheart, power doesn’t mean skipping meetings. That’s how you end up like those whore-faced interns."

Her desk phone buzzed—three short bursts. Luna snarled at it like a feral animal before snatching the receiver. "*What?*" A pause. Then, softer: "Tell HR I want Jessica’s termination papers drafted by noon. No—scratch that, make it *retroactive*." She slammed it down, exhaling through her nose. When she spoke again, her voice was almost gentle. "Look, Matthew—this isn’t some fairy tale where I swoop in and fix everything. But I *can* give you a seat at the table. Literally."

You studied the whiskey rings staining her mahogany desk. "How would dating you even be like? You’re—" you gestured helplessly at her towering frame, "—*you*." Luna’s claws flexed, denting the leather armrests. "Oh please. It doesn’t matter how big your dick is—I am sensitive as *fuck*." The sudden vulgarity startled a laugh out of you. She grinned, tail thumping. "There we go. That’s the spirit."

Her phone buzzed again—an angry red light this time. Luna ignored it, leaning forward until her muzzle hovered inches from yours. "But if you must know…" Her breath smelled of whiskey and wintermint. "It’s sex in the morning, sex at night, cuddling, more cuddling, breakfast in bed, and sex in the shower." Her claws tapped your knee. "But during work hours…? You don’t dare touch me unless you’re willing to lose a finger."

You snorted despite yourself. "That’s… alarmingly detailed." Luna’s tail flicked against your calf. "I’ve had time to think about this." The phone buzzed again—three short bursts—and she growled, slamming a paw down hard enough to make the whiskey glasses jump. "*What*?"

A timid voice crackled through the speaker. "M-Mrs. Nightingale, your husband insists on seeing you immediately—" Luna rolled her eyes so hard you swore you heard them creak. "Tell him if he wants to bark orders, he can do it through his divorce lawyer." She jabbed the disconnect button with a claw, then sighed, rubbing her temples. "Fuck, I *hate* Tuesdays."

You glanced at the clock—somehow, three hours had evaporated. Luna followed your gaze and groaned. "Ugh. It’s already clocking out time." She stretched, her blazer popping a button you’d been side-eyeing all meeting. "So. Tomorrow. Seven sharp. Don’t be late." Her tail flicked toward the door dismissively—then paused mid-air when you didn’t move. "Problem?"

You hesitated, tapping your empty notebook. "Just... one thing. Are we just dating, or are you my girlfriend?" Luna’s ears twitched, her claws freezing around her whiskey glass. Then she barked a laugh so loud it startled the interns outside. "Oh *fuck*, you *are* precious." She leaned forward, her muzzle inches from yours. "Sweetheart yes… if you ask me nicely." Her claw traced your jawline. "So? Ask."

You swallowed, feeling the weight of her gaze. "Will you be my girlfriend?" Luna’s tail thumped against the desk hard enough to rattle the pens. "Fucking *finally*." She snatched your collar and lifted you up off the chair effortlessly, your feet dangling inches above the ground. "Kiss me. Show me you’re a man and not a mouse."

The moment your lips met hers, she growled into your mouth—not threateningly, but possessively—her claws raking through your hair with surprising gentleness despite their sharpness. When she finally pulled back, her pupils were blown wide, her breath hot against your face. "Good boy," she murmured, setting you down with a soft *thud*. "Now take this and get out." She shoved a business card with her personal phone number and address into your breast pocket.

You blinked at the abrupt dismissal. "Wait—that's it?" Luna rolled her eyes, already typing furiously on her phone. "Matthew, I have to lock up this building, fire at least three people, and *probably* stab my husband with a letter opener. Go home. Rest. I’ll come by your place in the morning, preferably before seven." Her tail flicked toward the door impatiently. "You’ll enjoy what I’ve got in store *much* more if you get plenty of sleep."

As you turned to leave, her claws caught your sleeve. "Oh—and Matthew?" She leaned in, her breath warm against your ear. "I love you. You better get used to hearing that." Before you could respond, she shoved you gently toward the door with a wolfish grin. "Now *scram*. Before I decide to keep you overnight."

The office air felt colder as you stepped into the hallway, your mind still reeling from the whirlwind of the past few hours. Interns scattered like startled birds when Luna's voice bellowed after you: "I’ll be over soon—don’t forget lube!" A chorus of muffled gasps followed as you practically sprinted for the elevator, your face burning.

Outside, the limo was already idling—the same wolfish valet held the door open with a knowing smirk. "Good first day, sir?" he rumbled as you slid into the plush interior. You groaned, rubbing your temples. "Is she always like that?" The valet’s chuckle was low as he shut the door. "Shockingly, no… I haven’t seen her this happy in years."

The whiskey decanter gleamed temptingly from the limo’s bar, but you resisted—barely. "What do you think about her?" you asked the partition separating you from the driver. There was a pause before the intercom crackled to life. "Mrs. Nightingale," the driver said carefully, "pays triple overtime and never yells. That’s all I think about her." You snorted. "Fair enough."

Your phone buzzed—Luna’s name flashed with a single text: *Forgot to ask. But how big is your—* The message cut off abruptly, replaced by three bouncing dots. Then: *—I’m just asking for a friend.* You choked on air, thumb hovering over the keyboard as the limo slowed outside your apartment. The driver cleared his throat. "Sir, if I may—just tell her the truth. She’ll know if you’re lying."

You looked back down at your phone and quickly replied: *Eight inches long with a four inch girth—I know what you’re thinking, but you can trust me, I measured.* The reply was instantaneous: *Oh sweetheart… I do believe you.* Then: *But I’ll bring a measuring tape tonight just to be sure.* You groaned, rubbing your forehead as the valet opened the door with a smirk. "Let me guess… she doesn’t fully believe you?"

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill, handing it to the driver. "A tip—for your kindness." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Sir, Mrs. Nightingale pays me well enough to *not* take bribes." He nodded toward your apartment building. "But I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that."

As you trudged up the steps, your phone buzzed again—this time with a photo attachment. You hesitated before opening it, only to find Luna, completely naked in the shower, groping her own breasts while biting her lip. The caption read: *This was an old photo. I’m much bigger now.* You swallowed hard, typing back: *If I didn’t know better, I’d assume that was a picture of your daughter.*

The reply came before you could unlock your apartment door: *Sweetheart, I’m flattered—but don’t push your luck. Be thankful I don’t have daughters.* You chuckled, tossing your coat onto the couch. The apartment felt strangely quiet after the day’s chaos. "What the hell am I even doing?" you muttered, rubbing your face.