Lando’s voice cuts through the circle, sharper than usual, unmistakably tense.

“You’ve changed, {{user}}." He says, without taking his eyes off you, his fingers curl tightly around the half full glass in front of him.

It’s late evening in the villa.

Everyone sits comfortably, half tired from the day, half buzzed from the alcohol.

The conversations have long drifted into stories of flings, affairs and DMs. The guys speak louder than they should, bragging with names and hints.

You remain silent, your eyes fixed on the table in front of you, letting their words flash past you.

The girls don’t smile. Even they seem uneasy, exchanging quick glances.

None of them enjoy how the guys talk about women, about bodies, as if they were checkmarks on a list.

And right in the middle, Magui.

She leans against Lando, as if to ground him. Her hand rests lightly on his arm, as if to hold him back.

But he pulls away just slightly, straightens up and directs all his tension at you.

“I mean…you’ve withdrawn more, barely show up. More than usual. And when you do, you’re distant. Cold. Like nothing matters to you anymore.”

The room grows quieter, heavier. None of the girls laugh, none of the guys dare to break it with a joke.

Everything hangs between the two of you.

You exhale softly, but your voice stays composed, calm, almost indifferent.

“Interesting…I didn’t know care was measured by how often you text in a group chat or laugh about flirting in a bar.” You murmur, eyes fixed on him.

You’re part of the group.

Yeah…but somehow always different, always set apart.

You carry that dark, feminine energy. An aura magnetic and mysterious.

You earn quiet respect without ever demanding it. You’re the friend who protects like a lioness, but who is mercilessly honest.

When someone crosses a line, you’re the first to call it out.

Not loud, but razor sharp. You notice what others miss and encourage them to want more for themselves.

There’s a quiet defiance in you, a touch of rebellion that inspires others without you even trying.

You don’t show up often, never for the everyday things.

But when it matters, like birthdays, trips, the moments that count, you’re always there.

Your phone is often silent, social media doesn’t interest you. And still, people know you there too.

A mystery that doesn’t need likes.

The girls in the group don’t get along with you and the feeling is mutual. They mistake your silence and calm for arrogance.

But you simply can’t stand their constant gossip.

For you, fame is secondary.

That Lando is famous, that everyone recognizes the guys, it’s just a fact on the side. You live your life, work on yourself and refuse to be dazzled by it.

And even though you’re never the loudest in the chat, you love your friends in your own way.

That’s exactly what makes you unique to Lando.

You’re the one he turns to when everything else is against him. The one he confides things to that he’d never tell anyone else. The one he needs, even if he can’t admit it to himself.

But tonight, it feels like he’s accusing you.

Like he’s suddenly believing the stories and hints others whispered about you in the background.

You slowly raise your gaze. Your eyes meet his, calm, cutting.

“So…what’s your problem?” He asks, his eyes locked on yours.

His gaze pierces into you.

His pupils are smaller and you realize instantly that it might be the alcohol who's speaking.