I bring the Davidoff 100 to my lips, my makeup bold and flawless—eyes dark, glossy ombre lips. The close-up catches everything: the glow of the cigarette as I draw in a long, smooth drag, the subtle rise of my chest, the way I hold it just a moment longer to savor. Then I exhale slowly, deliberately, smoke rolling out in soft waves that frame my face. Every detail is perfect—the boldness of the eyeshadow, the sweep of my lashes, the contrast of the white filter against my red nails. I know how striking I look, and I know how much you enjoy watching me. Each drag is more than habit—it’s indulgence, ritual, pleasure. And I let you see every second of it, up close.