Sunday, 7:19 PM
West Wing Room – Valentino Estate
It was faint at first—music, a bass-heavy pulse tangled with distant cheers. Ethan stirred in the darkness of the room, the glow of dusk leaking through the high arched windows.
His limbs were sore. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep.
The silence of solitude ended with rhythm.
He rose, bare-chested, and made his way to the marble-tiled bathroom. Cold water thundered over his body, tracing muscle lines shaped by years of violent routine. Steam curled against glass as he closed his eyes.
Then—
A knock.
Three times. Measured.
"John," Ethan muttered, wrapping a towel around his waist and stepping out.
But when the door creaked open—
It wasn't John.
It was Leona.
Drenched in scarlet velvet. Backless. Side-slit. Wet streaks from the hallway caught in her hair and traced the curve of her hips as droplets from the steam caught her dress.
Before Ethan could say a word—
She pressed into him. Her arms coiled around his bare back like silk ropes. He didn't flinch. Didn't question.
His towel shifted slightly as her cheek rested on his shoulder.
"I've been thinking about you since you walked away," she whispered, lips brushing his skin. "You really thought I'd let this night go to waste?"
She tilted her head, eyes daring, lips parting for the inevitable kiss—
And then—
"Bro, you won't believe this! Leona Joey came all the way to—" John froze in the hallway, holding two sodas and wearing cargo shorts with no coordination. "Oh... my... holy—!?"
Silence.
John's jaw dropped as he took in the sultry scene: Ethan damp and half-dressed, Leona wrapped around him like sin incarnate.
John blinked. "Why do I always walk into divine-level situations?!"
Leona, without missing a beat, leaned into Ethan's ear and whispered with a smirk, "Relax. The night is very, very long."
She strutted past John, brushing his shoulder like an older sister teasing her little brother. "Try not to trip over yourself again, Johnny."
John coughed awkwardly and stepped in.
"Man," he muttered. "I think I just lost five years off my life. She was literally the crush of three departments."
Ethan chuckled slightly, walking back to change. "You're not dying. Just dramatic."
"No, seriously," John said, flopping onto the couch. "If I lose my virginity tonight, it's because of the shock therapy I just got. I can't die being a virgin!"
---
The Estate Courtyard – 08:11PM
Main Lawn & Beachfront
The night had turned electric.
Flashing lights. Barefoot girls with gemstone anklets. Topless dancers and influencers twirling in perfume-scented air. Escort models with bodies sculpted by wealth and wine laughed between rich men's whispers. The rhythm was ancient, seductive, laced with youth and danger.
Ethan and John stepped in. John whistled. "This place is basically sin dressed in Versace."
In the center, Marco was shirtless again—ripped, grinning, and surrounded by two teenage girls who clearly had no interest in decorum. They were holding his hands like he is a god of charm .
Near the far bench under palm shadow, Jonathan Barrett sat with his arm around Amilia. She was curled like a goddess fresh from a sea ritual—lips glossed, skin still warm from oil.
Vivienne stood nearby. Alone. Her eyes didn't blink as she watched Marco dance like a wolf in a field of sheep.
Leona appeared again, waving to Ethan.
But Ethan declined subtly, nodding with a brief gesture. Too many lenses. Too many players.
"I'll sit this one," he whispered.
"Suit yourself," she smirked, then turned to John, grabbing his arm. "You're on deck."
John nearly fainted. "Y-you mean… you choose me? Tonight?"
Leona laughed. "Only because he's too serious to dance."
They vanished into the crowd.
Ethan walked past the fountain. Avoiding noise. Avoiding all the velvet-cloaked intentions.
He reached the bench beside Barrett.
Jonathan glanced at him. "So… you don't like too much noise either, huh?"
Ethan smiled faintly, settling beside him. "Noise isn't the problem. It's what hides behind it."
Barrett chuckled. "Smart boy."
Twenty minutes passed in shared silence.
A butler appeared with a bow. He leaned to Jonathan's ear and said something inaudible.
Barrett rose. "Confidential. Don't wait."
Amilia didn't follow. She remained there, reclining slightly. White fabric hugging her in a way that stole breath from any man with a working soul.
She looked over at Ethan.
"You don't party," she said softly. "Yet you watch like you've seen everything already."
"I prefer clarity," he said.
"Isn't that lonely?"
"Not as lonely as pretending," Ethan replied.
She studied him for a second longer.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-one."
"Commerce major?"
"Commerce and tech."
"You fight?"
He nodded once.
"Where do you live?"
"Downtown Brooklyn."
She leaned back. "I lived near there for long time when struggling from succes. Before Jonathan found me."
There was something wistful in her voice.
"Do you have a handle?" she asked. "Instagram? Something?"
He hesitated. Then gave it.
As she typed it in, her fingers were slow. She was measuring something.
The world had shifted in this timeline.
Too many variables.
Too much heat under calm waters.
"I'll remember," she said quietly, before standing. "Good night, Ethan."
He watched her disappear toward the southern wings—draped in white, damp hair trailing like seafoam.
---
Courtyard Bench – 9:05 PM
The noise returned. Dancers. Laughter. Neon liquor and laughter.
Ethan stayed still, until footsteps neared again.
Vivienne.
She hadn't seen him.
Her breath caught.
"You look upset," he said without warning.
She flinched. "Didn't see you there."
"Still thinking about Marco?"
She shook her head. "It's not my place to think."
"You say that," Ethan said. "But your eyes keep proving otherwise."
Vivienne looked away.
Then, trying to change the subject: "So… you fight?"
"I manage."
"I saw the video. Saturday night. Brutal."
"Sometimes," he said, standing slowly, "you don't get to choose how clean you stay."
Vivienne nodded. But her eyes were saying something else entirely.
She didn't want to be here.
But she couldn't leave yet.
Neither could he.