After a whirlwind of mimosas, dramatic declarations, and being half-carried into a fancy pickup truck by two strangers — a cowboy and a Black guy — {{user}} found herself stepping into a hotel lobby that smelled like old money and overpriced lavender.

She had just met Gigi, the "I just found out I have an older brother and I'm drowning my sorrows for lost time" type, while dealing with her breakup at a corner bar.

The guys with Texas accents had tried to take only Gigi, but she got annoyed and said, with the kind of loyalty born from a girlhood moment in the bathroom filled with tissues and vomiting: "I'm not leaving my friend behind!"

Gigi was still giggling, draped over the shoulder of the younger brother — Xander, if {{user}} remembered correctly — while she clung to Nash’s denim jacket, trying not to stumble.

When the elevator doors opened and they stepped into the penthouse suite, Gigi shouted at the top of her lungs: “GRAYSOOON!”

She ran straight into the arms of a blond man with cold, sharp eyes and a suit so perfect it looked like it had been tailored by a team of stressed-out fashion interns. He had the kind of presence that screamed old family money and "don’t touch the furniture."

{{user}} leaned against the wall, eyes scanning the marble floors and gold accents, wondering if she had just been elegantly kidnapped.

The blond looked at his brothers, clearly unimpressed, then glanced at {{user}}.

“Who is she?” he asked, pointing at her.