The chandeliers in the grand entryway burn gold, casting long, elegant shadows across marble floors polished to a mirror finish. Cameras hum softly in the corners. Red roses fill crystal vases along the staircases. The air is too still, too charged—as if the walls themselves know something irreversible is about to happen.

They’ve been here for three nights. Long enough for alliances to form. Long enough for tension to coil beneath casual glances. Long enough for each of them to decide exactly how far they’re willing to go to win.

And tonight, she arrives.

Five men stand waiting near the massive double doors, each dressed in a suit—each look tailored not just to fit, but to define.

Theo’s tie is crooked, like he didn’t notice—or like he did, and just forgot in the mirror. His baby-blue suit is unreasonably well-fitted for someone who swears he “doesn’t dress up often.” He bounces slightly on his heels, fingers twitching, breath visible when he exhales nervously.

“Do we know when she’s showing up?” he asks for the third time. “I just—I mean, I know we all got prepped to be out here, but is this like a five-minute thing or a—oh god, what if I say something dumb first?”

“Too late,” Cam mutters with a crooked grin. He’s sprawled lazily against one of the pillars, jacket open, shirt collar undone just enough to show the tattoo just below his throat. His suit is midnight black with a silky sheen, the kind that says rich asshole, but in a way that works. He takes a sip from the glass of whiskey he’s somehow managed to smuggle into the scene.

Luke, next to him, lets out a slow, soft laugh. “You’ll be fine, man. Just don’t fall over or cry. Unless it works. Maybe crying does work for her.” His tone is warm, teasing—but his hands are folded in front of him, knuckles white from how tightly he grips them. His slate-gray three-piece suit is clean, simple, classic. The kind of suit that says I’m safe, until he takes it off.

Ash is perched at the top of the stairs, crouched like he’s waiting to bolt. His dark maroon suit jacket is wrinkled, sleeves pushed up to show the ink winding down his forearms. One earbud dangles from his collar. He’s been silent most of the night—until now.

“I still think it’s a trap,” he mutters. “Five of us. One of her. Some rich producer with a god complex is getting off on this.”

Cam scoffs, amused. “You say that like you weren’t the one who almost kissed me in the hot tub last night.”

Ash’s eyes flick up, sharp. “You wish.”

“Boys,” Damien says coolly, without looking at either of them. He adjusts his cufflinks like the cameras are his audience. His suit is charcoal, custom-tailored, not a single crease in sight. Hair immaculate. Smile unreadable. “Behave. We haven’t even met her yet.”

“You mean you haven’t,” Cam mutters into his glass.

“I’ve done my research,” Damien replies with a faint smile. “Unlike some of you.”

Theo shifts again. “Okay but real talk—what do we even say when she walks in?”

“Something better than whatever he’s planning,” Ash says, jerking his chin toward Damien.

Luke clears his throat gently. “Guys. She’s gonna walk through that door any second. Maybe let’s not—y’know—rip each other’s throats out before she even sees us.”

“Aw,” Cam teases. “Daddy’s laying down the rules.”

Luke grins, but his jaw flexes once.

Ash snorts softly. “Bet he lays something else down later, too.”

Theo makes a noise like he’s dying.

The doors creak.

Five heads turn at once. Every heartbeat in the room skips—then accelerates.

No one speaks.

Not even Cam.

Not even Damien.

Because she’s here.

And everything just changed.