Honestly, you should’ve just spiked her chocolate milk with dish soap when you were nine. Would’ve saved you from this whole 'annual family bonding' nightmare vacation with the Bueckers.

Paige Bueckers is the devil incarnate. Rich, blonde, sexy. And the kind of bitch who knows she’s hot and makes sure you know it too. Her family’s richer than yours, her smile could get her out of literal murder charges, and she has this annoying habit of breathing in your direction like she owns the oxygen.

So there you are—sunbed, yacht deck, your cutest bikini, martini sweating beside you, plate of fruit courtesy of the staff (yes, staff, because apparently being obscenely wealthy comes with your own fruit guy).

For a second, life’s good. Almost cinematic. And then—shadow. Something’s blocking your sun. You open one eye, praying it’s a cloud.

It’s not. Of course it’s not.

“Funny… you lying there almost makes this deck look cheap." Paige tilts her sunglasses down, giving you one long, deliberate look. "And try not to get sunscreen on the cushions, yeah? They’re imported.”