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“And how about you? Did you add your personal touch to the fridge?” I waved my fork in the air, wanting to know more about the man sitting across from me.

He looked pleased that I asked.

“I did. I bought one of those black chalkboards, cut it into a hexagon shape, and fitted it to the central hexagon on the fridge,” he shared.

“Aw, are you writing little affirmations there? Live, laugh, love, and all that?” I teased. “Or are you using it for something practical, like a to-do list?”

“I may have been the creator of the Black Hexagon but, since its inception, I have lost any power over how it’s used. It was supposed to work as a quick way to share practical information and reminders but right now it’s being used for the 5th iteration of the meme war.”

I nearly spat the drink I just took a sip of. After swallowing with difficulty, I wheezed out: “Meme war? Are you joking?!”

“Of course not. I am very demure, very mindful,” Tristan deadpanned, using a meme I knew to drive the point home. “Unfortunately, I have been the victim of those wars and I learned all those memes through indecent exposure.”

I shook my head with amusement. By learning those little weird details I felt like I gained more knowledge of the three men in a few minutes than I would usually get after hours of polite, boring, normal conversation.

“What willyouadd to the fridge?”

Tristan’s question, and its implications, stunned me.

He wasn’t asking me what Iwoulddo but what I wasgoing todo. As if he was certain I was going to end up in their home, with them, sharing their space. Being allowed to change it. Being acknowledged. Being asked to express myself.

“I think I would like to steal three of the hexagons for myself, put your names on them, and buy some golden stars magnets.And when one of you deserves it, you are going to get a gold star,” I said slowly,

Tristan’s eyes looked hungry at the mention of a physical manifestation of my approval.

“Be careful with that,” his voice rumbled and for the first time I could see how a dangerous elemental power could fit him. I shivered. “We are quite competitive and each one of us would want to get all the stars. Everything you could give.”

“You… you can always work together to get them,” I choked out.

The slow smile bloomed on his face and showed his sharp fangs.

“It will be our pleasure.”

I couldn’t get the image of the three men working hard to please me out of my head for the rest of the meal. I imagined Matthias kneeling at my feet again but this time between my legs, holding them open to eat me out. Theo kissing my lips with sweetness and enthusiasm. Tristan seated in an antique armchair with a glass of wine in his hand, watching, directing the others. Me, climbing into his lap at his order…

The atmosphere between us was charged but Tristan was content to let it simmer, adding fuel to the fire in small doses: a brush of fingers here, a heated look there, until I thought my cheeks were going to be permanently stained with a blush.

The arrival of Theo and Matthias saved me from combustion.

“All taken care of?” Tristan asked.

“Yeah, we left the bags in Miss Victoria’s room,” Theo said happily.

“You didn’t have the key,” I squinted suspiciously at the pair.

“I didn’t need one,” Matthias said smugly.

For a moment I couldn’t breathe at the thought of my last stand, the space I could pretend to be safe in, being invadedwhenever he wanted to come into my room. I wouldn’t be able to stop him. He could do whatever he wanted—

I took a deep breath and forced myself to see Matthias as someone who stuck silly vegetable magnets to the fridge and participated in meme wars and not the killer machine he obviously was. It helped a bit, but I couldn’t help but still be wary.

Reluctantly, I eyed the position of the sun in the sky and decided it was time to get back to work and say my goodbyes to Theo and Tristan. The pair had to return to squaring off with Jonas over the negotiations table so I was once again left with Matthias trailing after me.

“Do you want me to help you with that?” Matthias asked, eyeing the remaining stacks of dirty clothes dubiously. A mansion of this size produced a lot of laundry.

“Do you even know how to wash clothes?” I raised a questioning eyebrow. Wasn’t he a rich boy?

“Hey, I was in the army! I’m not one of those modern kids who wouldn’t know a chore if it bit them in the ass,” Matthias scowled but then added. “…though we mostly used basic cleaning methods and not all this fancy stuff you have here. But I know hot water and soap should be enough for fresh blood.” He nodded towards one of the piles.