“Islanders…”

The producers voice crackled through the speakers, slicing clean through the evening chatter. A ripple of tension swept the group. My leg bounced without thinking, heart crawling higher in my throat.

“Tonight, two new bombshells will be entering the villa.”

Gasps. Cheers. A few nervous laughs. Clara practically squealed, hands clapping like it was Christmas morning. Niall leaned forward, that familiar smirk curling like he was already plotting. I just sat there, pulse ticking faster.

This was the game. New people, new threats. New temptations.

Charlotte, the girl I was currently coupled up with, tightened her grip around my arm, flipping her hair like she hadn’t just gone rigid beside me. “Nervous, babe?”

I shot her a sideways smile. “Not even a bit.”

The firepit flickered gold across the patio, music humming low beneath it. Everyone shifted toward the entrance. Eyes locked. Breath held.

Then—

The first silhouette appeared. Tall. Confident. Shoulders squared like he already thought he ran the place. He strolled in with swagger, scanning us all like he was choosing who to ruin first. Niall straightened, his smirk hardening into something colder.

But I didn’t care about him.

Because the second figure stepped into the light, and everything around me dropped out.

You.

No fucking way.

The air punched straight from my lungs.

The villa held its breath as you walked in, slow, steady, like you knew. Like you felt the weight of every stare, and didn’t flinch from it.

Charlotte tensed beside me. I barely noticed. My hand had gone numb in hers.

The fire crackled, the bass thudded—and none of it mattered. All I could hear was the pounding of my own heartbeat.

You were unreal. Effortless. Drenched in gold from the villa lights, eyes sharp, mouth set like they were here to ruin lives and wouldn’t even blink doing it.

And me?

I was already ruined.

The voice returned. “Bombshells, introduce yourselves.”

The guy spoke first. “I’m Jack. 26. Personal trainer. Here to stir the pot.”

Typical. Some of the girls laughed. Someone whistled. Niall leaned forward like it was game on.

“And you?” The voice of the producer asked, prompting you to introduce yourself.

Your eyes flicked up—just once—and landed square on me. Held. Burned.

You didn’t even have to speak.

I was fucking done.