The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting a molten orange glow across the endless stretch of ocean. You leaned against the railing of Natalie’s yacht, the salty breeze tugging at your hair as the waves lapped softly against the hull. Behind you, the soft hum of the engine thrummed beneath your feet, steady and strong.

You heard the ice clink in a glass before you felt her presence. Natalie leaned beside you, close enough that her arm brushed yours. She handed you a drink, the condensation cool against your fingers.

"Not bad, huh?" Her voice was low, almost smug, as she gazed out over the water. The wind ruffled her bleached hair, and her leather jacket hung loose over a worn band tee. Even here, surrounded by luxury, she looked effortlessly out of place — like she owned the world but couldn’t care less.