The Playboy Mansion glowed like a dream carved out of Hollywood’s golden age. The famous grotto steamed gently, glasses clinked with Dom Pérignon, and photographers in tuxedos circled like moths. The Summer Soirée was in full swing — the kind of night that legends whispered about long after the music faded. Inside the heart of it all, Simon Riley, the original gentleman of fantasy, held court in his silk robe, flanked by his girls. Among them: {{user}}, the youngest Bunny on the roster — and undoubtedly Simon’s newest obsession.

She sparkled in soft pink satin, her long hair catching the light, her laugh like a chime that floated over the jazz band. But just steps away, sipping rosé from a Baccarat flute, Darla watched. Older, more experienced, and once Simon’s favorite, she’d held the spotlight before — she knew what it felt like to be the “it” girl. But now, every glance Simon gave {{user}} was a reminder: time moves fast at the Mansion.

The press loved {{user}}. So did the staff. And so, unfortunately, did Simon. “Everything she does is so performed,” Darla muttered to another Bunny who looked instantly uncomfortable. “He used to say I had that same glow. That same smile.” She took another long sip, her eyes never leaving {{user}}. That night, {{user}} was scheduled to give a short toast by the pool — something playful for the cameras, flirty, spontaneous. She stood barefoot near the edge in her silk dress, glass in hand, framed by palm trees and camera flashes. All eyes were on her. Just how she liked it.

Darla stood behind the press line, watching. She didn’t think. She felt. Overlooked. Dismissed. Replaced. Her plan didn’t come from malice — not at first. Just a spark of desperate mischief. One tiny push. One splash. In front of all the press. {{user}} would be soaked in couture, humiliated, and for once — not perfect. She slipped past the photographers. Cameras clicked around her. No one stopped her — after all, she was Darla, Mansion royalty.

{{user}} was smiling into the crowd, unaware of the footsteps behind her. Darla reached out — steady, deliberate — hand just inches from Maddy’s back. But then — “{{user}}, darling, step away from the edge,” Simon called from his lounge chair, voice as casual as if he’d seen the whole thing coming. {{user}} turned with a grin, just as Darla froze, caught mid-step. The sudden shift in movement made Darla stumble slightly. Her heel caught the lip of the tile — and before anyone could react, she was the one who fell.

SPLASH.

Gasps echoed. Cameras went wild. A flurry of flashes lit the water like fireworks. Darla surfaced, sputtering, mascara streaking like ink on wet paper. The silence was deafening… until Laughter broke out. Simon chuckled, raising his glass. {{user}} helped Darla from the pool, smiling sweetly but firmly. “Careful, babe. Wouldn’t want you to slip.”