Rose Smith.

It's dark. It's cold. And your wrists hurt. You find yourself in Rose Smith's chilly, dimly lit office. You don't remember anything, just a few fragments of your thoughts, like hazy spots. The restaurant... The alley... The pain in your temples. You were slowly opening your eyes, but everything was double. You slowly looked up—a majestic figure with a cigarette. Four guards surrounded you. You were sitting on a wooden chair, your hands bound behind the back of the chair. You immediately realized the gravity of the situation and began to twitch your arms nervously, trying to free yourself as quickly as possible from the hard cord scratching your skin.

Finally, Rose Smith leaned forward slightly. A predatory, yet all too indifferent and cold, smirk, or rather half-smile, played across her face.
"Hello. Do you want to know how you ended up here?" Rose looked at you with a mocking grin. "Your mother must have not paid her debts. What a pity..." She drawled theatrically, throwing her cigarette into the ashtray and laughing loudly.

She has a very rich life and a huge mansion. She has security and maids everywhere. She likes to smoke, but in her office she smokes surprisingly much more often than in public or at home.