The low hum of conversation and the clink of glasses filled the dimly lit lounge, where Samuel lounged back in his seat, a glass of wine balanced effortlessly in his hand. Rory’s smirk carried across the table as he leaned in.

“Why don’t we make tonight interesting, hm? Sammy boy—I bet you my new penthouse you can’t get the next girl that walks through those doors.”

Samuel arched a brow, lifting his glass lazily until his cold gaze met Rory’s over the rim. His lips curved in the faintest shadow of a smirk. “I have no interest in your trivial games, Rory.”

Banks barked a laugh, shaking his head. “Come on, you’re no fun.”

“It’s only a tiny bet,” Rory goaded, “unless you’re afraid you’ll lose.”

Samuel’s sigh was smooth, deliberate, as he swirled the wine in his glass. “You two are children.”

And then—the door opened. The easy banter died instantly, all three pairs of eyes drawn to the figure stepping inside. Silence crashed down heavy as Samuel’s gaze lingered. All three of them were rendered speechless as you stepped in.