Max crawled out from under a pile of smoking rubble, brushing dust off his ruined suit. "Well," he coughed, "that went according to plan."
The dragon tenant stomped forward, waving a charred contract. "Plan? My balcony just collapsed before I could even sit on it! Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to find a balcony that holds two tons of dragon?"
The ghost floated closer, glaring. "And your so-called penthouse? Drafty. Very drafty. Do you know how insulting it is for a ghost to catch a cold?"
Meanwhile, the thicc MILFs gathered in a glamorous huddle, sipping enchanted cocktails. One raised a finger. "Darling, we have a small issue."
Max brightened. "Ah! Finally, constructive feedback!"
She leaned in. "My laundry exploded."
"…Your what?"
Another MILF flipped her hair. "Yes, I was washing my robes in the enchanted washer you installed, and now my entire closet is alive. One of my dresses is currently terrorizing the neighborhood."
Right on cue, a rogue ball gown stormed down the street outside, hissing sparks and tackling a goblin child.
The floating book snapped shut. "I told you not to mix necromantic enchantments with rinse cycles!"
Max wiped sweat from his forehead. "It's fine! Just a minor… magical… hiccup." He smiled weakly. "Every new property has… bugs."
The dragon growled, smoke curling out of its nostrils. "If you don't fix this, I'll burn your office to the ground."
The ghost folded her arms. "I'm considering suing you for emotional damages."
The MILFs clinked their glasses and grinned. "Oh relax, darling. He's adorable when he's panicking."
Max slammed his fist into his palm. "ENOUGH! I will personally handle every complaint, and by tomorrow, this building will be the most luxurious, dragon-friendly, ghost-proof, MILF-approved property in the entire kingdom!"
The tenants stared. The floating book sighed. The rogue dress smashed through a window behind them.
Somewhere far away, Silvarion Crestfall was probably sipping champagne in his perfectly stable skyscraper.
But Max Brickwell clenched his teeth. He wouldn't be beaten. Not today. Not by laundry.