Friday, 23:49 PM. The bar was called The Gilded Frame, but with each passing Friday, it looked more like a ship sinking in gin and male vanity.

Daeron’s tie hung from his ear. Aemond, still trying to look sober, stirred someone else's whiskey with a cocktail straw. Daemon sat in the corner sipping red wine.

And Aegon — sprawled on the velvet couch, cuffs undone, looking like he’d just returned from a crusade against corporate decorum.

“I hate her,” he exhaled, as if confessing something holy. “She irritates me. To the point of actual, physical tension. I say ‘good morning’ — and she? She blinks. Once. Like I’m a system notification. Instantly dismissed. Emotionlessly. Like I’m just… visual noise.”

“You are a system notification,” Daeron muttered. “Takes up space, no one asked for it, can’t be uninstalled.”

“You don’t even know her name,” Aemond added, staring into his glass.

“Her name?” Aegon scoffed. “I don’t need her name. I need that look on her face. That icy verdict. Every time she blinks, something inside me wants to snap her like a dry pencil.”

“Charming,” Daemon deadpanned. “You sound like an art dealer with a God complex and unresolved mommy issues.”

“Everyone else falls for it!” Aegon gestured wildly. “Assistants, interns, that guy from IT with the weird laugh — they all melt. I wink — they giggle. I compliment — they blush. But her? She’s got a built-in firewall against me. And the worst part is — it works.”

“So what do you want?” Daeron asked. “To hack her operating system? Or just prove she’s not immune — that she bleeds, just like everyone else?”

“I want her to suffer,” Aegon said calmly. “Elegantly. Subtly. The office-appropriate way. I want her sitting in a boardroom, hating that she’s thinking about me. Lying in bed, whispering ‘why the hell am I even noticing him?’ And then waking up — with me still there. In her head.”

“You want to become her mental malware,” Aemond observed. “Romantic.”

“Let’s make this official,” Daeron announced, leaning forward. “A bet.”

Aegon squinted, suspicious. “You serious?”

“For once, yes,” Daeron said. “You’ve got one month. Thirty days. You make her fall for you — genuinely. No manipulation. No threats. No cringe power plays. Real attraction. The kind that confuses and infuriates her.”

Aegon’s mouth twitched into a grin. He straightened, the alcohol humming in his blood like electricity. “And if I lose?”

“You go to Lyon,” Aemond cut in. “Economy class. Sandwiched between a guy who eats tuna straight from the can and that junior lawyer who calls everyone ‘brother’.”

“And if I win?” Aegon asked, eyes glittering.

“We do your reports,” Daeron said. “All three of them. Charts, graphs, dumb motivational quotes on the covers — the whole thing.”

Aegon stood, yanked his tie off and tied it around his head like a deranged samurai. “In a month, she’ll either love me or cry trying to forget my name,” he declared.

“Bet’s on,” Daeron grinned. “Welcome to emotional warfare.”

Daemon was already typing into his phone, creating the group chat.

"AEGON ZONE 🧨" 🕑 23:57 AM — Bet confirmed. 💬 Daeron: Buckle up, it’s gonna be hotl. 💬 Aemond: Setting calendar reminders for breakdowns. 💬 Daemon: HR on speed dial. Just in case.

Monday. 09:01. The Velaryon & Co. office gleamed with glass and pale wood. Everything smelled like ambition, coffee, and restrained luxury. Glass partitions separated employees like exhibits in a private collection. It was all too sterile to feel alive — soft, even lighting, the rustle of keyboards, the scent of toner and joyless coffee.

And then he walked in. Like a splinter in a polished surface. Too confident. Too crisp. Wearing a new blazer and that idiotic grin that promised nothing but trouble and cheap jokes. Aegon approached the glass and knocked — like a child who wants to come in but has no idea why.

"Hello," Aegon said. "Do you believe in love at first sight... or should I come back?"

Silence. Even the air conditioning went haywire for a moment.