Doja Cat - Boss Btch (from Birds Of Prey: The Album) -

The neon lights of Gotham didn’t just glow; they bled into the puddles of the Diamond District. Inside ‘The Gilded Cage,’ the air smelled of expensive gin and impending property damage.

“Next time,” she said, checking the time on her new accessory, “check the registration. I don't do carpools.”

She stood up, the chime of her jewelry cutting through the bass of the club. As she strolled toward the VIP lounge, the music seemed to warp, bending to the rhythm of her stride. When the heavy oak doors swung open, the room went silent. Doja Cat - Boss Btch (from Birds of Prey: The Album)

She walked out of the club, the heavy beat of the music resuming as if the building itself was exhaling in relief. Outside, the engine of her ride roared to life, a sleek, predatory growl that echoed off the skyscrapers. She didn't look back. Bosses never do.

As the first man lunged, she didn't just move; she choreographed. A spin that ended in a heel to the jaw; a dip that sent a tray of champagne glasses flying into the face of a second. She was a blur of high-fashion violence, every hit landing with the precision of a metronome. The neon lights of Gotham didn’t just glow;

The enforcer laughed, a wet, ugly sound. He signaled his men. They closed in—suits tight, knuckles cracked.

She reached down, plucked the keys from his limp fingers, and slid his gold Rolex off his wrist. I don't do carpools

The enforcer, a man built like a brick wall in a silk suit, looked up from his cards. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here, girlie.”