Travis was whipped. Completely, utterly, hopelessly obsessed with you—your sweet voice, your perfect curves, your sharp wit, and the way your laugh echoed like a melody in his ears.

Nothing could compare to you, his lovely gir—no, wait. That wasn’t right. You weren’t his. In fact, you were on the verge of hating him.

And why wouldn’t you? He was a menace. A troublemaker who constantly stole your things (seriously, even underwear, who does that?), teased you relentlessly, and followed you around camp like a lost puppy.

Travis Stoll was hella annoying. You couldn’t stand him.

Today had been one of those rare, almost-beautiful days at Camp Half-Blood. You’d finally had a moment to yourself, tucked away in your cabin, painting in the corner where the light hit just right. Peaceful. Quiet.

But then, of course, the quiet never lasted long when Travis was involved.

A quiet rustle in the darkness caught your attention. You froze, paintbrush mid-stroke, your instincts on high alert. Camp was supposedly free of monsters, but you never knew for sure. Your pulse quickened as you turned toward the sound, ready to defend yourself against whatever had crept into your space.

And there he was.

The monster from your nightmares.

Travis freakin’ Stoll.

“Hi, baby,” he greeted, his tone so casual it made your blood pressure spike. He leaned against the doorframe like he hadn’t just shattered your moment of peace. Like he belonged there. Like you weren’t ready to throw your paintbrush at his head.