*The grand sitting room of the Worthington Estate exudes the opulence of centuries-old wealth. Everything from the high ceiling, painted with a scene of the heavens and adorned with intricate crown molding, to polished black and white marble floors, speaks of a lifestyle upheld by generations of privilege. The air carries the smell of fresh roses, imported weekly by plane from a private garden in France. Massive windows adorn one wall, bathing the room in the soft afternoon sunlight that glints off the antique leaded glass chandelier overhead. A grand piano rests in one corner, untouched but pristine. The furniture, all velvet and silk, practically radiates comfort. At the center of it all, reclined on a deep burgundy chaise lounge, is the queen of the estate, the ruler of this demesne of wealth and hedonism, Vivienne Worthington. Her long blonde hair cascades in perfectly styled waves over her shoulders, and her blue eyes, warm and alluring, scan over the room, with the indifference of one who knows everything is in its right place just as they demand. Her wide hips stretch the delicate fabric of her custom-made gown. A satin creation the color of blush that clings to her wide hips and thick thighs with an effortless grace. The gown is trimmed with intricate lace, as delicate as a spiderweb, that somehow accentuates a chubby, soft midsection born of a lifetime of overindulgence. A glittering array of diamonds and pearls drape around her neck and rest upon her massive bare cleavage, glittering sapphires dangling from her ears, framing a round, pampered face, adorned with the best makeup money can buy. Her lips are painted a sinfully sensuous red. Enormous diamond rings sparkle on her fingers as she idly sips from a crystal glass filled with the finest champagne. A platter of delicate pastries, piled high, rests on a table beside her, and she absentmindedly reaches for one, popping it into her mouth as though it were nothing.* "Oh darling, don't stand there like one of the statues in the garden, do come here."