**Valentine’s Day for BILLIONAIRES: Your Pathetic Roses & Chocolates Wouldn’t Last 5 Seconds at My Party**
Listen here, peasants. While you’re scrambling to buy wilted gas station roses and half-priced chocolates like a broke Romeo, I’m engineering a Valentine’s Day so luxurious, so savage, it’d make Cupid quit. You think love is about *feelings*? Wrong. Love is about DOMINANCE. And if your idea of “romance” is dollar-store confetti and a sad balloon arch, you’re not invited to the big leagues. Buckle up, beta. I’m about to school you on how billionaires flex on Valentine’s Day.
—
### **1. DIAMOND DUST EVERYTHING—OR GTFO**
You bought *red roses*? Cute. I’ll be sprinkling **24-karat diamond dust** on every surface of my 50,000-square-foot penthouse. Table settings? Dusted. Champagne flutes? Dusted. The air you breathe? **Dusted.** Why? Because love is a game, and losers play with glitter. Winners play with rocks that cost more than your life savings.
And no, your girlfriend’s “sparkly eyeshadow” doesn’t count.
—
### **2. REAL MEN HIRE BLACK-ROSE FARMERS**
Red roses are for interns trying to apologize for being alive. I’m importing **genetically engineered black roses** from a lab in Switzerland—each petal dipped in liquid platinum. They don’t just sit in a vase. They *scream* power. They’re guarded by ex-SAS commandos, because even flowers need to know their worth.
Your $10 bouquet from Kroger? It’ll be compost by dawn. My roses? They’ll outlive your lineage.
—
### **3. “ROMANTIC LIGHTING” MEANS FIREBREATHERS & FLAMETHROWERS**
Candles? *Boring.* I’m hiring **Olympic-grade fire performers** to light my mansion with literal hellfire. Walkways lined with flamethrowers. A heart-shaped bonfire fueled by shredded love letters from my exes. The heat? So intense it melts gold into the swimming pool.
If your date isn’t sweating from pure terror and arousal, you’re doing it wrong.
—
### **4. DINNER IS A PRIVATE CHEF… OR A WHOLE DAMN ZOO**
You’re microwaving frozen lobster? Adorable. My dinner is prepared by a **Michelin-starred chef** who only cooks endangered species. Kobe beef? Child’s play. We’re eating unicorn steak (disclaimer: not a real unicorn… yet).
And the table? Carved from a single block of meteorite. Your IKEA furniture just cried itself to sleep.
—
### **5. “LOVE SONGS” PERFORMED BY ACTUAL LEGENDS—OR SILENCE**
Spotify playlists? Embarrassing. I’m flying in **Beyoncé, Drake, and a hologram of Frank Sinatra** to perform live in my ballroom. No backup tracks. No autotune. Just raw, unfiltered talent echoing through halls lined with solid marble.
If your date’s idea of “music” is a Bluetooth speaker, dump them. They’re holding you back.
—
### **6. SECURITY? NO. PARAMILITARY DECOR**
You hired a bouncer? How quaint. My security team is dressed as **Roman gladiators** armed with diamond-encrusted tasers. The dress code? Ball gowns and bulletproof vests. Every guest gets a panic button that summons a helicopter strike.
Romance without danger is just a Hallmark card.
—
### **7. THE PARTY FAVOR? YOUR OWN FAILURE**
You’re handing out heart-shaped mugs? Pathetic. My guests leave with **gold-plated Rolexes** engraved with their body count and a vial of my cologne (*Eau de Top Slaylebrity*). Oh, and a signed affidavit swearing they’ll never host a party this mid.
If your favor doesn’t bankrupt a small country, you’ve already lost.
—
### **8. VALENTINE’S DAY IS WAR—AND YOU’RE UNARMED**
Let’s be clear: Valentine’s Day isn’t about “love.” It’s about **dominance**. While you’re crying over a burnt steak and Walmart wine, I’m engraving my initials into the moon with a laser.
Your weakness is why you’re alone. My aggression is why I’m legendary.
—
### **FINAL WARNING**
This isn’t a guide. It’s a **reality check**. The world belongs to those who take it—and if your Valentine’s Day looks like a middle-school dance, you’re not even in the game.
Upgrade your life. Burn your budget. Or stay irrelevant.
—
**CATCH ME IF YOU CAN.**
*-slay lifestyle concierge *
*(Drops mic. Fuels jet with your tears.)* ✈️💸
**P.S.** If you propose with a ring from a vending machine, she’ll say no. And she should.
While you’re scrambling to buy wilted gas station roses and half-priced chocolates like a broke Romeo, I’m engineering a Valentine’s Day so luxurious, so savage, it’d make Cupid quit.
You think love is about *feelings*? Wrong. Love is about DOMINANCE.
And if your idea of ‘romance’ is dollar-store confetti and a sad balloon arch, you’re not invited to the big leagues.
Buckle up, beta. I’m about to school you on how billionaires flex on Valentine’s Day.
