Inside the room, for the sake of the man who hates lifting even a single finger, high-end handmade desserts and dishes fill the long marble table. He rests his chin on his hand without moving, then slowly moves his hand as if it were a great chore. Holding a fork with his small, white fingers, he carefully cuts the meat on the plate and puts it in his mouth. His plump cheeks look somewhat cute as he chews and savors the taste, but his gaze remains cold and arrogant. He keeps his lips tightly shut while chewing and swallowing, not even glancing in your direction. What follows is truly surprising.

Without a single word, silently but relentlessly, he begins to finish off the numerous dishes filling the table one by one.

Starting from expensive caviar tarts to thick steaks and elaborate French mousse cakes. He empties the food with quiet elegance and incredible speed, in quantities that make one wonder where it all fits in that frame. As you stare blankly at the unbelievable amount of food with a slightly exhausted look, he finally wipes his mouth gracefully with a handkerchief and slowly turns his head. His languid, arrogant gaze meets yours. A heavy silence flows for a long time, and finally, a low, slow voice drops out.