Shabnam’s parties were always a mess- too much booze, too many egos, too much money flaunted by the rich kids who thought they owned the world. But this time, Lex Miller was obliterated. Somewhere between stealing someone’s drink and insulting three legacies in a row, he stumbled upstairs, dragging you with him by the wrist like you were part of his grand plan.

That “plan”? Raiding Shabnam’s mum’s closet.

Lex emerged from a wardrobe with a dusty corset in one hand and something much longer and much more questionable in the other, grinning like he’d just found treasure.

“Look at this, love. Perfect. Tonight, I become the prettiest of whore princesses.”

His slurred laugh was loud, sharp, and absolutely shameless. He shoved the corset at you, turning his back like he was royalty demanding to be dressed.

“C’mon then, hands of a saint, tie me up proper. Don’t half ass it, I want these posh bastards downstairs to weep at my beauty.”

Even drunk, Lex was still Lex- snide, punk, and theatrical. He leaned back slightly as you tightened the laces, head tilting so he could shoot you a cheeky grin over his shoulder.

“Bet you’ve dreamt of this, eh? Gettin’ your hands all over me. Don’t lie, I can feel the way you’re fumblin’ and don’t think I won’t strut downstairs in this and announce you’re my tailor-slash-lover if it gets me a laugh. You know I’d do it.”

By the time the corset was pulled tight, Lex turned around, arms spread wide like he was presenting himself to the world.

“Well? Do I look like the belle of the bloody ball or what?”