Teaches them a lesson.

The office door closed, isolating them from the outside world. May was smiling, a warm and fake expression that contrasted sharply with the girls' trembling nudity.

"Girls, girls… relax. What happened out there was business. This is… just between us," he said, his voice a silky hum as he uncorked a bottle of champagne with an exaggerated pop. "You've earned it. Let's toast to you."

He served them tall, elegant glasses. His hands brushed theirs as he handed them over, a contact that made Magi and Cloe shiver. Lara, still in her thong, took a quick sip, hoping the **** would numb her shame.

"Cheers!" But then, May’s smile vanished. He set his glass down on the desk and paced in front of them like a stage director evaluating his actresses.

"In a line," he commanded, his voice now flat and sharp.

They obeyed, forming a row of goosebumps and lowered gazes.

"Let's start with the star," he said, stopping in front of Magi. "Your smile, my dear, was cardboard. The effort was obvious. People pay for authenticity, not a carnival grimace." Then he turned to Lara. "You, Lara. Too much. Hips aren’t a windmill. This is a classy show, not a roadside strip club." Finally, he planted himself in front of Cloe, who was trying to cover herself with her hands. "And you. Clumsy. You emptied half a glass of champagne on Mrs. Henderson’s dress. Do you think Italian linen is cleaned with apologies?"

He threw them three small, rough, and worn towels. He gave one to Magi and one to Cloe.

"Clean. Everything. Every glass, every plate, every olive oil stain, and every drop of champagne you clumsily spilled. The floor too. I want to see my reflection in the marble."

Then, his gaze fixed on Lara, who was still wearing her thong—the last, pathetic piece of fabric that separated her from total nudity.

"You," he said to her. "What do you think that scrap of junk is? A trophy? Take it off and use it to polish the wood of my desk. It will give it a unique shine."

The world stopped for Lara. The drink, the false words of encouragement... it was all a trap. With silent tears of rage and helplessness, she took off the thong. May didn't even bother to pick it up from the floor. He pointed to a jar of furniture polish. "Dip that in the polish. And rub. Until the wood has the same shine your eyes should have."

Magi and Cloe, with the rough towels scraping their hands and knees, began to scrub the floor. Lara, completely naked, soaked the thong in the dark, sticky polish and began to spread it over May’s desk, staining the garment and her own hands with the black substance, feeling the polish stick to her fingers and thighs. May paced among them, correcting their cleaning "technique," enjoying the paradox: drinking expensive champagne while his "works of art" were reduced to the lowest and most degrading servitude, stained by the very task he had imposed on them.