Page 55

Ambrose, naturally, hasn’t flinched. He’s not bound, not affected by the pull, but he still moves—methodical, unhurried, removing his jacket like this is just another strategic move. He folds it over the armrest before undoing the buttons on his shirt, every movement a quiet insult to our collective panic.Calculated indifference is a weapon for him, and he wields it with infuriating ease.

Caspian mutters something under his breath about “consensual thirst traps” as he peels off his shirt like he’s undressing for a funeral. He moves slowly, almost mournfully, folding the fabric over his lap like it’s the only dignity he has left.

I, of course, am already shirtless—always prepared for spontaneous nudity—and sprawled across the center of the couch like a centerfold reject. I stretch out, arms behind my head, bare chest on full, obnoxious display. “Does this lighting bring out the tragic loss in my eyes?” I ask the ceiling, smirking at the groans around me.

Elias wedges himself beside me, limbs stiff with discomfort, and elbows me sharply in the ribs. “Move over. You’re radiating heat like a hormonal furnace.”

I sniff him with exaggerated suspicion, then recoil. “Why areyouso clammy? Are you nervous? Are you pre-sweating for the photo?”

He swats at me. “Shut. Up.”

Riven drops onto the far end like the couch insulted his family lineage, arms crossed, jaw locked, eyes daring anyone to speak to him. Luna’s holding the phone up now, grinning like a fox with a camera full of prey.

“No one look hot,” Elias says through gritted teeth, voice full of doom. “If anyone flexes, I swear—”

I flex.

Caspian groans like he’s dying.

Ambrose, just to be contrary, tilts his head and casually adjusts the angle of his discarded shirt like he’s posing for a magazine cover.

Riven doesn’t move, but the fury radiating off him is enough to shake tectonic plates.

Luna lifts her phone and the shutter clicks.

“Perfect,” she says sweetly. “Now one smiling.”

“Absolutely not,” Riven snaps, low and lethal.

“Too late,” I sing, grabbing the edge of Elias’s mouth and yanking it into a Joker-smile. He slaps me away, but it’s already done—she’s laughing, clicking away while the five of us are crammed together like a shirtless boyband no one asked for.

I lean into Elias. “You smell like regret and bad decisions.”

“You smell like permanent virginity.”

“I am a virgin. In the biblical sense,” I shoot back, and wiggle my eyebrows at Luna. “Until she decided to baptize me in sin.”

She chokes, laughing so hard she nearly drops the phone. Ambrose sighs like he’s ten seconds from leaving the realm.

And me?

I just beam.

Because chaos is love. And I’m fucking smothered in it.

I think the moment Luna’s phone clicks again, something inside me breaks free—something dangerous. Something deeply unhinged.

She's standing there like a goddess-turned-photographer, pleased with her chaos, and I'm already plotting how to make it worse in the most beautiful way. The first picture was just the warm-up. The icebreaker. The shirtless therapy session none of us asked for. Now that the initial horror’s faded, they’re shifting, rearranging themselves like they're about to be featured on the centerfold ofSinful Quarterly.

Ambrose leans forward, forearms braced on his knees like he’s about to sell us a very exclusive brand of whiskey. Elias is trying—and failing—not to pout, one hand dragging through his already-messy hair like he’s been caught mid-wake-up. Caspian's doing that sultry thing with his eyes, which he doesn'tmeanto do, but dear gods, does he know it works. And Riven? He’s still glaring, but he'sin frame, which means he’s participating under duress. That’s a win.

“Okay, now serious,” Luna says, holding the phone steady. “Look like you’re about to kill someone.”

I immediately grab Elias and pull him into my lap.

“What the—Silas!” he sputters, trying to untangle himself. “That’s not serious!”

“It is if the murder’s passion-based,” I say solemnly, and dip my chin like I’m about to whisper something obscene into his ear. The camera clicks. “We’re selling fantasy here, Elias. Let go. Be the art.”