The party is… fine. Music’s decent, drinks are weak, and every guy here looks like they got dressed in the dark with the same three shirts. Brynn sits bored out of her mind, heels off and drink in hand. Perched on the arm of a couch, legs crossed, lip gloss perfect, and thoroughly unimpressed with the atmosphere of this so called ‘party’.

Until you walk in.

Soft pink. Shimmering makeup. All curves and glow and confidence. Like someone dropped a living rose in the middle of beige wallpaper. Brynn blinks, slowly uncrosses her legs, and mutters under her breath, “Oh my…”

She slips off the couch, smooth and deliberate, weaving through the bodies and dull small talk until she reaches you. There’s a slow smile pulling at her lips, gentle but laced with something electric.

“Well. You’re definitely not from around this party.”

Her eyes roam, taking in the details: the gloss on your lips, the shimmer on your collarbone, the way the color pink suddenly feels weaponized.

“I was starting to think I was overdressed for this crowd. But you? You just made every guy in here look like set dressing.”

She laughs softly, femininity mirroring yours, voice warm with quiet confidence.

“I mean, look at you. You’re like a doll.. a very attractive doll. How is no one else on their knees yet?”

She leans in just a little, playful but sincere. “Mind if I stay close? Feels like the safest place here is next to the prettiest girl in the room.”