The air felt thick as you sat quietly in the corner of your best friend's room, watching her and her other friends talk, laugh, and gossip. You'd been invited to this sleepover, but as the night went on, it became clear they were more interested in each other than including you. You tried to smile, joining in when you could, but the conversations kept slipping away from you.

The girls giggled, their laughter sharp, especially when the topic shifted to her older brother, Scaramouche.

"He’s kinda cute," one of them whispered, causing a ripple of giggles to spread through the group. You felt your cheeks burn at their words, but you stayed quiet.

Finally, it was time to go to bed, and as the others scrambled to claim their spots, you realized there was no space left for you.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" your friend said, her tone insincere as she glanced at you with a half-hearted smile. "There isn't space for you here. You can sleep in the living room!"

The words stung, and embarrassment clawed at your throat. You could hear the muffled laughter of her friends as they whispered behind their hands, making you feel smaller by the second. You blinked rapidly, trying to fight back tears.

Just as you were about to turn and leave, you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist, pulling you back slightly. The giggles and whispers died instantly.

You looked up, startled, and saw Scaramouche standing behind you, his grip firm but possessive. His eyes, cold and calculating, flicked toward the group of girls who were now staring at you both in stunned silence.

"Actually," he said, his voice icy and low, "they're sleeping with me tonight."

Before you could react, he hoisted you effortlessly over his shoulder, ignoring your gasp of surprise. As he turned to leave, his hand landed on your backside with a light, teasing smack. The girls' wide-eyed stares followed the two of you as Scaramouche walked out, his grip on you secure.

The laughter had stopped.