Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After my night routine—serum, mist, and a frankly dangerous amount of body oil—I slipped into the sexiest pyjamas I brought. Not that it mattered. Nobody in this villa deserved to see me looking this good. But I did it anyway. For the principle. For the camera. For God.

The bedroom was already buzzing when I walked in—dim lights, tired laughter, limbs everywhere. The kind of warm, sleepy chaos that always makes you feel like you’re walking in late to a joke you weren’t invited to.

“Sabi!” Keziah beamed, sitting up in bed. “Finally. You took forever.”

“Night, babe,” Tori called.

Rewan looked up from his bed and gave me a lazy nod. “You look hot,” he added.

I smiled. “Don’t I always?”

But all their eyes—every single one—kept flicking between me and the bed across the room.

The one with Gryff and Rosalie. Together. Laughing. Sharing a pillow like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I didn’t blink. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t even pause.

Just offered a sugary little smile and kept walking like I hadn’t just caught the world’s fastest switch-up happening in real time.

Cool. Totally fine. Except I wasn’t.

Not because I was heartbroken. That would’ve been too generous.

No, this was different. This was anger.

A quiet, simmering kind—the kind you dress up in lip gloss and lace. The kind that doesn’t explode. It smiles.

Because the speed? The audacity? I didn’t even get a heads-up.

Not a warning. Not even an awkward “hey, just so you know.” Just straight to giggling in matching duvets like we didn’t almost become something.

Like I didn’t matter enough to even be informed.

I climbed into bed without a word, still smiling. Tucked myself in. Faced the wall. The pain was there—somewhere under it all—but right now, it had nothing on the rage.

Just when the room finally went quiet—when the lights were low and people were settling into their little love nests—Rewan decided he wasn’t done for the night.

Classic.

“You lot aren’t serious,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

A few groggy murmurs. Some movement.

Rewan sat up. “Nah, I’m sorry, but Gryff. You’re cuddling Rosalie already?”

The air shifted. Gryff didn’t answer.

“Man was just with Sabi yesterday, bro.” Rewan shook his head, flopping back dramatically against his pillow. “Nah, that’s actually wild. We’re not even pretending anymore.”

Keziah made a noise—half laugh, half groan. “Rewan, leave it.”

“I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

He was. Unfortunately.

A few of the others didn’t say anything, but they didn’t deny it either. Quiet glances. An awkward cough.

The kind of silence that screams agreement.

And sure, he wasn’t wrong. Gryff had absolutely switched up with Olympic speed.

But hearing it from Rewan? No thanks.

The three of us—me, Gryff, Rosalie—we’d already talked. We’d done the whole honesty and heartbreak thing.

No one owed anyone anything now.

Right?

That’s what I told myself. Still, my jaw clenched.

And Gryff—because he’s apparently allergic to accountability—didn’t take the mature route either. Instead, he shot back, “We already talked. This has nothing to do with you, Rewan.”

Fair. Can’t argue with that.

But Rewan, bless his nosy little heart, was just getting started.

“Oh, you talked? Did you also talk to Sabi about sharing a bed with Rosalie? Like the proper sweetheart you pretended to be?”

Point for Rewan. Not gonna lie.

Though coming from a man who’s cuddled half the cast? Bit rich.

Still, I sat up slightly—just enough to see the fallout from behind my lashes. And wow. Rewan was nailing it. Bullseye after bullseye. Gryff kept trying to deflect, and Rewan just kept swinging.

Was this what I expected tonight? No. But was it entertaining? Absolutely. Someone pass me popcorn.

Let them argue. Let them twist. Let them expose whatever version of themselves they were dying to defend.

I stayed quiet. Crossed my legs under the blanket. Smoothed the hem of my satin shorts. And watched it all burn.

They kept going back and forth—Gryff had a point or two, maybe—but the more he talked, the more absurd he sounded.

Nathan was the first to back Rewan up.

“He’s not wrong though,” he said, rubbing his face. “Gryff’s been glued to Sabi since day one. You made it everyone’s business, bro. Even in boys’ chat, it was all ‘Sabi this, Sabi that.’ Now suddenly it’s Rosalie’s turn?”

Kami groaned from his bed. “Nah, it’s weird. I love Rosalie, but no one saw that coming. You were all in with Sabi—then you wake up and switch lanes? Feels off.”

Gryff sat up, jaw tense, but said nothing.

Of course, when you're cornered in this villa, there's always one escape route.

The undefeated champion of excuses.

“We’re all here to explore connections,” Gryff huffed.

And there it was. The uno reverse card of Love Island.

Nathan laughed under his breath. “Please.”

Keziah rolled her eyes. “You can explore without whiplashing people.”

Rewan just crossed his arms and stared, like he wanted to say more but already knew it wasn’t worth it.

Me? I said nothing.

Not because I didn’t have thoughts. I had essays. But what was the point? We’d all done shady things. You pull one string and everyone’s dirty laundry comes tumbling down.

So I sighed. Loud enough for drama, soft enough for dignity.

“Guys,” I said finally, voice sugar-sweet. “It’s fine. Let’s just go to sleep.”

Let them cuddle if they want.

We all fake-yawned to change the subject. Classic group-shame deflection.

All was—technically—well, except Rewan.

He just kept glaring. Like even letting them sleep side by side felt like betrayal. Without a word, he threw back his covers and got out of bed.

“Where are you going?” Nathan asked.

“Outside,” Rewan muttered. “Need air.”

And just like that, he disappeared through the bedroom door, shirtless and sulking like the main character he absolutely believed himself to be.

Honestly? Let him.

Just a few breaths after Rewan stormed out, the door swung open again.

“Sabi, you’re supposed to follow me,” he said.

Huh?

Seriously—what was this guy’s problem?

“Was I?” I blinked at him, then turned to the room for answers.

“Babe, I don’t know what he’s on about,” Tori said, half-laughing into her pillow.

But Rewan looked like he wasn’t leaving unless I got up—so I did.

He grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the room like a man on a mission, and I just trailed behind him, confused and mildly concerned for both our reputations.

What was his deal?

Once we got to the living room, he plopped me onto the couch, then threw a pillow and duvet at me like we were staging a sleepover.

“Rewan,” I said, finally breaking the silence, “what are you doing?”

“We’re sleeping here.”

I stared at him. “What do you mean we?”

“You and me. Us. We,” he said flatly, like I was the idiot in this equation.

“But why?”

He looked at me like I was the one being absurd. “You actually want to sleep in the same room as those two?”

“I’m fine with it,” I said. “They’ll be together from now on. What do you want me to do—sleep outside just to avoid seeing them?”

“Exactly.”

Oh, for God’s sake.

“What does that even mean?” I asked. “I’m not running away from a bed because of some awkward vibes. Grow up.”

“You say you’re fine, but you just look pathetic smiling like that.”

Pathetic? Who? Me?

Oh, he was really testing me tonight. These words were gonna get him in trouble.

“If anyone made me look pathetic, it’s you,” I snapped. “You’re the one who stood up and made it a whole speech. Why’d you even call them out?”

“I couldn’t stand watching them play house while you looked like you were about to cry,” he said. “It was annoying.”

“I wasn’t about to cry,” I said. “Why would you even think that?”

No one asked him to defend me. No one told him to care. And yet, here he was—storming out, dragging me with him, picking fights on my behalf like some aggressively hot vigilante of justice.

It was making me dizzy.

“Why are you getting so worked up?” I asked.

He scoffed. “If you don’t want me worked up, maybe don’t let people disrespect you like that.”

“No one disrespected anyone,” I said tightly. “And you, of all people, shouldn’t be the one talking.”

His brows furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you called them out like you're some saint, when you—” I stopped myself. “Forget it.”

Before I could spiral further, he sat beside me, pulled me into his arms, and held me tight. Suddenly, I wasn’t angry. I was confused. Warm. A little overwhelmed.

When they say time in the villa moves fast, they’re not kidding. One minute I’m numb, the next I’m fuming, and now I’m in an accidental cuddle with the emotionally unstable menace who dragged me out here.

But also—kinda loving the emotional support.

Still, I had to ask.

“So… you called them out for being all cuddly, just to do the exact same thing three minutes later?”

I looked up at him. He sighed dramatically, then cupped my cheeks and turned my face toward him.

“You really don’t know how to be grateful, huh?”

Rewan didn’t say anything after that, he just pulled the duvet over us and leaned back like this was all very normal.

And fine. Whatever. I could fake normal too.

He shifted until my head was resting on his chest, fingers drifting through my hair like this was some kind of rom-com sleepover. And then—because of course—he started talking.

"You're really just gonna lie there and let them play house like you didn’t exist? That’s wild.”

“I do exist,” I mumbled. “Loudly. And hotly.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“I was expecting you to throw a fit. You know, rich people always do when they don’t get what they want.”

“Making a scene is more Mei’s brand, not mine,” I said flatly.

“Okay, fair,” he admitted.

Then I turned it back on him. “How do you feel about Mei getting dumped, though?”

He shrugged. “What am I supposed to feel? It is what it is.”

This guy—I really can’t get him. So nosy. So dramatic. So carefree for someone who lives off chaos.

Rewan, please. Pick a struggle.

We lapsed into a weird, easy silence after that. He kept playing with my hair. I kept pretending not to enjoy it.

He cracked a joke about Kami’s snoring. I told him he talks in his sleep. He swore I was lying.

Somewhere between the insults and his hand tracing lazy circles on my back, I started to laugh. Genuinely.

Just like that, I fell asleep. Right there on his chest, like a girl with no problems at all.

Then came the morning.
 
I woke up alone. Rewan wasn’t there.
 
We’d fallen asleep wrapped in the same duvet and now? Gone.
 
I found him later on the daybed, knocked out like he hadn’t just executed the softest ghosting maneuver known to man.
 
So he waited for me to fall asleep… and left? My heart did this weird little skip—because what the actual fuck was that?
 
That’s so not Rewan-coded.
 
Anyway, I went about my morning routine like a composed, unbothered queen. Brushed my hair. Brushed off the emotional whiplash. The usual.
 
Then Gryff pulled me for a chat.
 
And—of course—Rewan and Rosalie were side-eyeing us like it was a federal offense for me and my actual couple to speak.
 
Just so we’re clear, I’m still technically coupled up with Gryff.

Calm down.
 
I hadn’t even had breakfast yet, but Gryff served me a full plate of passive-aggression, sprinkled with self-pity and seasoned with a complete lack of accountability.
 
All I really remember was him saying something about me making the situation worse by not speaking up last night.
 
Okay but—what was I supposed to say?
 
Sorry everyone, Gryff jumped into someone else’s bed right after we ended things, but please, clap for their bravery?
 
Had he waited until the next recoupling to soft-launch his new connection, maybe—just maybe—people wouldn’t be side-eyeing them like it’s a PR stunt gone wrong.
 
“I just didn’t want to keep hesitating,” he said.
 
Oh. Cool.
 
So the only person you hesitate with… is me.
 
“I get that,” I said. “But you didn’t even give me a heads-up about sharing a bed with her. And now you’re here trying to make it all my fault? After embarrassing me like that?”
 
“I’m not trying to blame you,” he said.
 
Uh huh. Sure you’re not.
 
I really woke up hoping for eggs. Maybe an apology. Instead, I got handed responsibility for everyone thinking Gryff and Rosalie were being shady.

Fair enough, I was having a little too much fun watching it unfold. 

So I just sat there. Crossed my legs. Smoothed my expression into something polite but vaguely terrifying, and I let him talk.
 
“I just think if you’d said something, people wouldn’t have taken it that way,” he tried again.
 
“Taken what way?”
 
He paused, like he wasn’t expecting me to make him say it out loud.
 
“That I was… you know. Being shady.”
 
“No one’s being shady,” I said. “But there’s a proper and respectful way to go about things, Gryff. You’re grown. Oh my god, this is so basic I shouldn’t even be here—skipping breakfast—explaining it to you like it’s part of the curriculum.”
 
“That’s not what I—”
 
“No, please,” I said, sweetly. “Finish the sentence.”
 
He didn’t. Obviously.
 
I let the silence stretch just long enough to watch him squirm.
 
“You made your choice, Gryff. And that’s fine. Rosalie’s great. You’re happy. Mazel tov.”
 
I stood up, brushing nonexistent lint off my shorts like this was just another breezy villa morning and not the last time I’d ever entertain this storyline.
 
“But let’s not do this again, yeah?” I added, smiling. “You don’t get to make a mess and then hand me the mop.”
 
He opened his mouth—probably to say something noble and useless—but I was already walking away.
 
Because what was the point?
 
We’d done the whole mature breakup. I’d been calm. Graceful. Practically saintly. And now I was somehow the villain because I didn’t throw a tantrum loud enough to cover his mess?
 
Sure.
 
I took the long route back inside, pausing at the makeup mirror like I was on my way to a Vogue shoot and not actively suppressing the urge to scream into a throw pillow.
 
Mascara. Lip gloss. Confidence.
 
I layered them on like armor.
 
Then I squared my shoulders, took one last breath, and went to find the others—because apparently emotional whiplash wasn’t enough for one morning. Might as well round it out with some passive-aggressive small talk and a juice cleanse.
 
Didn’t take long. I found them on the terrace—exactly where you’d expect a group of mildly hungover attention-seekers to be at 10 a.m.: sprawled across the loungers, sipping smoothies, deep in gossip.
 
The second I stepped out, four heads turned like I was the morning headline.
 
“Oh my god, Sabi,” Keziah gasped. “How did it go?”
 
I didn’t answer. Just sighed—long, dramatic, Oscar-worthy—and flopped into the nearest seat like I was barely surviving the aftermath.
 
Then Kami, ever the blabbermouth, tilted his sunglasses down and said, “Okay, but never mind that. Why didn’t you say you were some kind of big shot?”
 
I blinked. “Huh?”
 
They all stared at me like I’d grown a second head.
 
Tori finally cracked. “Okay, so... I might’ve let it slip that I kinda know who you are.”
 
I looked at her. Then at everyone else. “You what now?”
 
Nope. I'd heard her right.
 
Tori, looking a bit too smug for someone mid-villa exposé, confessed she’d maybe-sort-of accidentally told everyone who I was. Not to be messy—more like it just… slipped out mid-rant while dragging Gryff. Something about him fumbling the bag. Big time. And how I was a total catch because—surprise!—my family owns a global luxury construction firm.
 
Which, fair. Not inaccurate. Still, not exactly something I put on my villa name tag.
 
She said she knew me from real estate circles—her job’s in luxury private estates, which meant we’d somehow shared the same orbit. She’d seen me at a few events, though I had zero recollection. Later, one of her friends mentioned working at one of my family’s hospitals. Plural. Because of course it’s plural.

That part she only found out after doing a little digging.
 
Light stalking, but make it professional.
 
I stayed quiet—didn’t confirm or deny—just sipped my juice like a scandalized royal at a press conference.

And to be fair—they were talking like they were the designated duff squad discovering their classmate was secretly Monaco royalty. But none of them were exactly slumming it either. Half of them had family money or a London flat with a doorman. Tori sells literal palaces for a living. Kami’s wardrobe alone costs more than most starter homes.
 
“Why didn’t you just say something?” I asked.
 
“I was shocked, okay?” Tori said. “I clocked you on day one, but I didn’t think you remembered me. You give off major I-see-you-but-you-don’t-get-a-wave energy.”
 
The group lost it.
 
“What does that even mean?” I asked, mildly offended.
 
Apparently, I walk into rooms like I’m observing the peasants from my castle balcony.
 
I finished my juice and gave them my most polite, vaguely menacing smile, then asked who finished the almond croissants.
 
Priorities.

Just as the croissant discourse reached peak intensity, someone’s phone pinged.
 
A text.
 
Couple challenge incoming.
 
Cue mild chaos. Screaming. Flailing. Kami nearly launched his smoothie into the sun.
 
Since Rosalie and Rewan were the only officially single ones, they coupled up temporarily—strictly for logistics, not romance.

Gryff and I, meanwhile, approached the challenge like coworkers stuck in a mandatory team-building exercise.

No salt. No drama. Just vibes of mutual emotional detachment and a shared desire to get it over with.

Good for them, honestly.
 
Shockingly, we won. Some combination of choreography and performative chemistry, I guess.

And the prize? A date. Obviously.
 
Now, not to be dramatic—but I was absolutely not spending even half of my prize hour with Gryff.

I was still annoyed about how he acted this morning, I am not the kind of girl who lives with a “forgive and forget” mantra plastered on her forehead in glitter pen.
 
He said he didn’t mind taking me on the date. I, however, minded immensely.
 
So I told him—very calmly, very magnanimously—that he could take Rosalie instead. Give them a real chance to connect without all the judgmental glances and secondhand awkwardness.
 
They’re good together. Just a bit… all over the place at the moment.
 
So off they went on their little romance field trip.
 
The rest of us? We stayed behind, raided the fridge, and declared the pool the only drama-free zone left in the villa.

We did everything—and by everything, I mean everything—to kill time. Pool games. Mock interviews. An aggressive round of charades featuring suspiciously sexual gestures.

After dinner, Rosalie and Gryff came back.

The girls ambushed her immediately, all high-pitched squeals and “How’d it go?” energy.

And me? I made a tactical retreat to the treehouse. Not because I didn’t want to hear about her date.

Okay—maybe a little.

I just knew I wouldn’t enjoy her little romantic recap if I had to sit there pretending it didn’t affect me.

So, no. Not interested. Not today.

When I climbed up, I found Rewan asleep. Or at least, he looked asleep. Sprawled out across the bed, lips parted slightly, lashes dark against his cheek. And the fairy lights? Yeah, they were doing some kind of witchcraft. He already looked good, but this lighting was working overtime.

I plopped down at the edge of the bed, right beside his supposedly sleeping body, then I watched him. For what could legally be described as an inappropriate amount of time.

And I don’t know what got into me, but suddenly his whole defenseless vibe was doing things to me. Like—sir. You’re sleeping peacefully, looking devastatingly hot, and I’m supposed to not lean in?

When my face was just inches from his—close enough to feel his breath—he spoke.

“What are you doing?”

I didn’t even flinch. Just said flatly, “As you can see, I’m about to kiss you.”

Like it wasn’t borderline criminal behavior.

He smirked. “Is that so?”

Then he pulled me in.

Our lips met—no hesitation, no teasing. Just hunger. Like we’d been starving for each other and finally gave in. His hand slid along my lower back while the other brushed my hair gently behind my ear, like he had the audacity to be tender.

I pulled away first, breathless. Adjusted myself. Then rested my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, steady and warm beneath me.

“How long have you been awake?” I asked.

“The whole time,” he said.

I didn’t even move. Just lay there while he played with my hair like this was the most normal thing. Then I asked him why he slept on the daybed last night.

He shrugged. “I mean, like you said—calling out Rosalie and Gryff would’ve meant nothing if we turned around and did the same thing.”

Huh. So he is using his brain.

“I just didn’t want to be on the same level as them,” he added.

And at the back of my mind, I thought—babe, even if you didn’t say that, you’re already not on the same level as them.

Like. Personality-wise. Attitude-wise. You are, respectfully, several floors below.

But I didn’t say it. I just stayed there, head on his chest, pretending I wasn’t mortified about being caught mid–grand theft kiss on someone who was very much pretending to be asleep.

Then I told him about the Tori situation. He didn’t even blink. Said it wasn’t surprising, considering Tori’s line of work

Anyway something had been bothering me for a while now—his little slip-up. How he brushed off the things I said like they were obvious. Like it was normal. Like it wasn’t entirely surprising.

So I decided to ask him.

It wasn’t anything huge. Just… turns out Rewan was the guy who rejected me back in my main-character teenage era.

Apparently, I properly asked him out when we were like fourteen, and he—being him, even then—said no. I don’t even remember it, obviously. But he does.

And then, recently, our moms tried again. Set us up on a blind date like it was divine intervention or something.

He was abroad at the time—living his rich, hot, international lifestyle or whatever—but his mom wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he literally cut his trip short.

Flew back home just to meet me.

I didn’t show.

Not because I knew it was him—God, no. I didn’t even get a name, let alone a photo. I just wasn’t in the mood to sit there blinking prettily while some stranger monologued about crypto and their startup hustle.

When he found out it was me, he had the tiniest flicker of hope. Like, Oh, maybe this’ll be funny. Maybe she turned hot.

Which is hilarious.

I’d always been hot.

But then I ghosted. And what really sent him spiraling?

He turns on Love Island for a laugh—and there I am. In full glam. Twirling in slow-mo for the VTR. Looking unbothered. Like I hadn’t made him cut his vacation short just to get stood up.

So yeah. That explained a lot. The passive-aggressive energy. The lingering glares. The mysterious vendetta.

He could’ve just told me instead of channeling all that rage into his eyebrows.

Chapter Text

Ah, villa secrets.

Like glitter in the wind—messy, unnecessary, and absolutely everywhere.

First up? Tori’s reveal.

Stalking—but make it professional.

A little light background check here, a casual data breach there. Honestly, if you’ve never cross-referenced a man’s shoe size with his mother’s LinkedIn, are you even trying?

Then came Rewan’s turn.

A bombshell? Not exactly.

Turns out, once upon a teenage fever dream, he rejected our resident shade queen. And ten years later? She returned the favor. Ghosted him so hard he saw her again… on national television.

But was it major? Please.

Sabi barely blinked. “It was nothing,” she said. Because of course she did.

Now, let’s get to the good part.

Watching Gryff squirm while Sabi smiled at him sweetly—on the outside—was real cinema.

I don’t know what Gryff’s problem is.

Truly.

Sabi took the meticulously peaceful route. Gave him a clean break, no drama, not even a single passive-aggressive hair flip. And somehow, he still managed to make it messy.

Jumped into Rosalie’s bed like it was a panic button—without warning, without hesitation, without sense.

I’d be squirming too.

But here’s the real tea.

Rumor has it, a call came in—not from the villa, but from beyond. The kind of call that doesn’t ring twice.

A very polite, very powerful reminder: “Any under-the-duvet antics involving a certain daughter shall not make it to air.”

Because it would, how do we say… tarnish the family name.

That’s what money does. You can’t always control your children—but you can scrub their sins from the final edit.

And if that fails? You buy the network.

Now back to the villa.

We continued our talk.

Or more like—he continued talking. And I was forced to listen.

He talked about everything. And when I say everything, I mean everything. His greatness. His humility. The national tragedy that was me standing him up—which, for the record, I’ve already apologized for. Multiple times.

I told him. My sister refused to go in my place. I had better things to do. Like rearranging my lip gloss drawer.

But of course, such an excuse is unacceptable when you’re Rewan.

A/N: No, Sabi, I think that excuse is unacceptable for everyone—not just Rewan

Anyway, I just sat there, looking pretty, agreeing with whatever he was saying so we could get this whole performance over with.

“But then you acted like you didn’t even remember me!” he said, scandalized. “Which—honestly? Fair. I get it. I’ve evolved a lot. I peaked late.”

“You’re peaking now?” I asked.

He pointed both fingers at me like I’d just proven his thesis. “Exactly. This? Peak era.”

I nodded slowly. Let the man have his delusions.

Just sipped my juice and nodded. Mmhmm. Go off, king.

I give it three business days before he crashes back to sea level.

He went quiet after that. For a moment. A rare moment.

And that’s when I should’ve gotten up. Said something flippant. Gone back down to the villa like a normal, emotionally functional person.

Instead, I stayed.

Because he was looking at me. Not like I was the girl who ghosted him. Not like I was the reason he’d been stomping around with a vendetta baked into his eyebrows. But like I was something… different. Complicated. Worth staring at.

Then he leaned forward. A little. Just enough to test the air between us.

I didn’t move.

I should’ve. I should’ve rolled my eyes, cracked a joke, put some distance back between us. But instead, I tilted my head—just slightly—and said, “If you’re gonna kiss me, just do it.”

And he did.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t soft. It was all pent-up ego and spite and whatever this insane tension between us had been building toward.

No hesitation. No calculated cockiness. No teasing smirk—just want. Raw, urgent, inevitable.

He pressed his lips against mine—firm, sure—and our mouths parted in unison. I could feel everything. The way his lips moved. The way his tongue coaxed and chased mine. It was warm. Addictive. He tasted too good for someone so annoying.

When he laid me down, that’s when I realized this was getting dangerous.

I mean, everywhere near him was already dangerous, but this? This was a different level.

This was heat curling behind my ribs and lights casting that soft, golden "just fuck each other already" glow over everything—while I was still halfway processing whether I was even ready.

Meanwhile, he was already kissing down my neck.

“No biting today,” I said, breath hitching.

He chuckled, face still buried in the crook of my neck—and somehow, that sent electricity straight through me.

He kissed lower. Down my chest—well, the fabric above it—then further, to my stomach. And without warning, he lifted my top, revealing bare skin.

Revealing everything.

I nearly choked on my own dignity.

“Do you have to stare that much?” I snapped, trying to look anywhere but at his face.

“Why not?” he said, voice low and maddening. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Then he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You’re perfect.”

I rolled my eyes.

I knew that. Just wish he’d say it more often—not just when he’s halfway to devouring me alive.

He kissed me again. Deeper this time. His hands played with my chest—hot, careful, a little too practiced.

“Sabi,” he murmured between kisses, “you’re gonna get in trouble sooner or later with how much you’re letting me do to you.”

His hands found my waist again, gripping like he was afraid I might disappear mid-kiss. One slid up to cradle my jaw, thumb brushing gently beneath my eye—like he was trying to memorize me. The other traced lower. Skimmed my ribs. Paused at my hip. Then dipped, greedy and slow, to my thigh. His fingers flexed, gripping skin.

But he didn’t go further.

Not there. Almost. But not quite. Which, somehow, was worse. And hotter.

I kissed him harder. Fingers digging into his shoulders, dragging him closer like maybe if I held tight enough, I’d finally understand what the hell this was. One hand tangled in his hair—because of course he had perfect, infuriating hair—while the other slid under his shirt, just to feel his skin.

Warm. Tense. Real.

Too real. And somehow, still not enough.

Then he looked at me. Too adoringly. Like he didn’t want to break me. But the way his jaw clenched said otherwise.

For fuck’s sake—just admit you like me already.

I reached up to cup his face as I slowly sat up. He met me halfway, anchoring my back with both hands, kissing me again like he couldn’t get enough.

I pulled away first, breathless. Pressed my forehead to his. Pressed more little pecks to his lips.

“You’re so pretty,” he muttered.

And girl. I’m done. That ended me.

The way he acts gives me something to look forward to. I just wish he hadn’t noticed how much I’m drooling over him behind this poker-face façade.

We giggled as he planted more kisses on my neck, pulling me into a tight hug, then kissed me again.

Finally, he stood up and fixed my shirt. Smoothed down my hair with this ridiculous gentleness—like I hadn’t just been clawing at him ten seconds ago.

Then, totally casual. “Do you want a snack?”

I blinked. “Huh? Yeah. Sure.”

He leaned down, kissed my forehead again—soft this time. Maddeningly soft.

“Okay. Wait here.”

And then he left. I flopped back onto the bed like my spine gave out.

What the fuck was that.

He just… kissed me senseless. Manhandled my dignity. Fixed my shirt like some gentleman menace.

Then asked if I wanted a snack? Who does that?

Who makes out with you like they’re trying to set your soul on fire and then goes, ‘Do you want chips?’

It shouldn’t have worked. But it did.

Stupidly. Disgustingly. Effectively.

Then he came back—with a snack, two extra pillows, and what I assume was an extra pair of sleepwear. His sleepwear.

He tossed it at me with the audacity of someone who clearly forgot I am not his size. The shirt alone could double as a sleeping bag.
I stared at it like it personally offended me.

“Wear that,” he said, like it was a reasonable request.

Absolutely not.

I politely declined. Said I’d just pop back to the villa to grab my own stuff. Easy.

He squinted. “Didn’t you come here because you didn’t like it there?”

Okay, half true.

I was about to whip up a lie when he added, “They’re beefing in there.”

…He could’ve started with that, actually.

So, fine. I changed into his clothes. But it wasn’t easy.

“Get out,” I said, gripping the hoodie like it owed me money.

“Why? You’re just changing. What’s the big deal?” he blinked, fully serious.

The big deal? Everything about what you just said is the big deal, Rewan.

Seriously. How does your brain even work?

“I’ve seen everything already. What’s the point?” he added, as if that helped.

“Seen what everything?” I snapped.

“Fine. Maybe not everything,” he muttered, backing out anyway.

A minute later, he came back in—and froze.

Except it wasn’t a damn, you look good freeze. It was a what the hell are you wearing kind of freeze.

His shoulders started shaking like he was physically restraining a laugh.

Yeah, I looked like someone’s stylish sleep-paralyzed demon.

“It’s okay, you can laugh,” I said. “You’re irritating me more trying not to.”

He stepped closer and wrapped me in a lazy, warm hug. Pressed soft kisses to my lips, then to my neck.

“I just cleaned up,” I groaned. “You’re gonna get me all dirty again.”

“Who are you calling dirty?” he smirked.

Still hugging me, he nudged me back down onto the bed.

“You sleep here. I’ll take the daybed.”

“You can sleep here.” I said.

He looked at me like I just suggested we get matching tattoos. “I don’t trust you. I see through your dirty thoughts.”

“Nothing about me is dirty. Not even my dirty thoughts,” I said flatly.

He gave me a slow, exhausted nod—like he was dealing with a truly unwell person but had already accepted it was too late to fix me.

Him, of all people, should not be doing that.

And then he left.

The next morning, I spent half the day wandering the villa, gossiping with the girls.

Drama levels? High.

Plot? Nonexistent.

Everyone was beefing with everyone over absolutely nothing—because boldness is a disease.

Then Kami got a text.

He read it aloud “Islanders, it’s time to play I Spy.”

Great. Nothing says bonding like a game designed to destroy trust and ruin friendships.

Because clearly, the producers took one look at our emotional stability and said: let’s wreck that.

The reveals? Disturbing.

Apparently, Nathan—of all people—had been fingering the Nutella and putting it back in the fridge like a full-blown war criminal.

Thankfully, Keziah found it and yeeted it into the bin.

Thank you, queen.

Tori, for reasons known only to Satan, had been turning off the villa AC at night because—quote—“heat equals sexual tension.”

Okay, well for me, heat equals homicidal rage, so let’s never do that again.

Kami caught Rewan mid-skinny dip, and apparently the trauma still lives in his eyes.

I wish it had been me. Kami, you lucky—

Then Rosalie confessed she’d stolen a pair of my underwear.

"Sorry," she said, smiling. "They were new and cute and I liked the lace."

LIKE THAT MADE IT BETTER.

Why are you stealing my knickers like this is a Regency-era boarding school and we’re in a slow-burn enemies-to-lovers subplot?

But the worst one?

Kami’s been licking the rim of the shared peanut butter jar.

On purpose.

“When I’m craving protein,” he explained, like that clarified anything.

After that avalanche of psychological warfare, we decided to throw a party.

Mostly because we had nothing better to do.

Partly because trauma shared is trauma healed.

We partied like there was no tomorrow.

And if there was a tomorrow, we clearly planned to greet it with a hangover and zero dignity. 

Someone turned the lights low, the speakers high, and suddenly we were playing games that definitely weren’t PG-rated, legally safe, or mentally sound.

Tori suggested “Body Shots.” 

Rosalie misheard it as “Body Count” and immediately confessed to keying her ex’s car.

Keziah dared Gryff to hold eye contact with Rewan while sucking a lime.

I don’t know who let us drink this much but they need jail.

Eventually, we gave up on rules and just started dancing. Someone shoved a glowstick in my hand. Kami was spinning a wine bottle like a DJ with a grudge. 

The villa had never looked more unhinged.

Then—somewhere between “Tipsy” and “I think I just invented a new dance move”—

Kami pulled me aside.

“Walk with me?” he said, all serious, like we were in a coming-of-age film.

He led me through the villa, past the beanbags and the pool, and into the secret garden—aka that slightly overgrown corner no one uses unless they’re confessing something or kissing under pressure.

The mood shifted. Slower. Quieter. Still smelled like basil, weirdly.

“I wanted to clear something up,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “That note from before. The one about being into you? That was me.”

I stared at him.

“Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

He blinked. “You do?”

“Kami, you signed it. And then tried to smudge your name like I wouldn’t notice. 

He laughed a little, eyes flicking to the ground, then back at me.

“I just wanted to say it out loud, you know? In case there was a chance. Even now. With Gryff off with Rosalie and... everything shifting.”

For once, he wasn’t being a clown. Or hiding behind a joke.

He looked—hopeful. A little nervous. Weirdly sincere.

I didn’t know what to say.

So I said the truth.

“I’ll think about it.”

His shoulders relaxed. He nodded. “Fair.”

And we just stood there for a second, surrounded by string lights, drunk decisions, and the faint sound of someone screaming “WHO PUT THE NUTELLA BACK?!” in the distance.

Just as the moment started to settle—like maybe I was about to feel something complicated—Keziah screamed.

“A TEXT!”

Kami and I practically tripped over each other getting back to the main villa. Keziah was standing on the daybed, waving her phone like she’d just caught it mid-flight.

Everyone circled her like hungry pigeons.

She cleared her throat dramatically, eyes wide.

“Girls, it’s time to pack your bags because you’re all off to Casa Amor!

#NewConnections #GirlsTrip”

Cue instant chaos.

All the girls screamed like we’d just been told Beyoncé was downstairs.

Rosalie dropped her drink. Tori tackled Keziah like she was the letter itself. I just stood there, frozen, mind already spiraling.

Kami looked at me like I’d just been drafted into war. “Wait. Waitwaitwait—”

Rewan, from across the deck, just stared. Not shocked. Not angry. Just that blank, unreadable look that meant someone was about to make questionable decisions.

And me?

I started laughing. A little too hard.

Because of course.

The universe really looked at my emotionally unresolved situationship chart and said, 'Yeah, she’s ready for Casa Amor.'

Casa Amor.

Where chaos lives.
Where loyalty dies.

Where I go to be the villain or the victim—and I haven’t even packed lip balm.

Chapter Text

Packing drunk was dangerous.

Keziah tried to fold a bikini top into a tissue box. Rosalie was wearing someone else’s heels. I, for some reason, was attempting to smuggle three shades of lip liner and zero actual pants.

“I’m taking your sunscreen,” Tori announced, already tossing it in her bag.

“Fine,” I muttered, rifling through the bathroom for my perfume. “But if I come back from Casa with crow’s feet, I’m blaming you personally.”

The perfume was exactly where I left it—in the shower, obviously, because logic had packed up and left three glasses ago.

I stepped in barefoot, bottle in hand, just as the door creaked open behind me.

Rewan.

Of course it was Rewan.

He paused, halfway in, eyes flicking from the towel still clinging to my chest to the bottle I’d just uncapped like I was about to baptize myself in YSL.

“Oh,” he said flatly. “You.”

I blinked. “What, hoping for someone else?”

He didn’t answer. Just leaned against the frame, arms crossed, watching me like I was something complicated he didn’t want to touch—but couldn’t stop circling anyway.

“You’re leaving,” he said, voice unreadable.

“Apparently.” I shrugged, casual as I could. “Enjoy the peace.”

I moved to walk past him.

Then—like it was nothing—he caught my hand. Not forceful. Not dramatic.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, his mouth found mine. Slow at first, like he was checking if I’d kiss him back.

I did.

I kissed him like I hadn’t been kissed in weeks. Like I needed it. His tongue slipped past my lips as we deepened it, gasping softly into each other’s mouths.

His quiet moans—Jesus. They made my thighs press together.

His hands framed my face, thumbs brushing my cheeks, holding me like I might disappear if he let go. He broke away to kiss both cheeks—sweet, worshipful—then dove back in like he couldn’t help himself.

Seriously. Just say you love me already.

I tugged at the hem of his shirt, dragging him closer.

One of his hands slipped to my lower back, pressing me against him, while the other explored—skimming my waist, gripping my hips like he didn’t trust himself to stop.

Then his mouth started wandering. Down my jaw. Along my neck. To my shoulder.

Each kiss slower than the last. Like he wanted to brand me with them.

And I just... let him. Tilted my head. Arched into it.

He groaned against my skin. Whispered my name like a curse, a prayer, a dare.

Then he came back up. Mouth ghosting over mine. Teasing. Testing.

He kept tasting me. Over and over. And just when I thought he was done—

He bit my lower lip.

Not hard. Just enough to leave me reeling.

When we finally broke apart, I could barely breathe.

His forehead rested against mine, and for a second, neither of us moved.

“Don’t forget what you’ve got here,” he said, voice low, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.

I mean, how can I?

I smiled, barely. “Okay.”

Then I kissed him again. Soft. Lingering.

“I like it when you do that,” he murmured.

I just chuckled, playing it cool—while mentally doing backflips.

Because obviously, I’d do it a thousand more times if he just said the word.

I left the shower feeling way too satisfied for someone who came in for a bottle of perfume.

Except... I didn’t even get the perfume.

“Leave it.” Rewan said.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Cause those average Casa boys don’t deserve it.”

It’s just perfume. But what can I say?

What Rewan wants, Rewan gets.

I returned to the dressing room looking smug and smudged, casually packing my things while trying to ignore the three lunatics who’d completely lost the plot.

If I said anything, I’d end up playing babysitter.

Just in case, I packed extra pairs of everything—for emergencies.

After we finished packing, we headed to the lawn where our boys were pretending to play it cool while very clearly trembling in their boots.

Rewan, though, looked smug as ever.

We gave our threats disguised as goodbyes and cheek kisses.

As we walked toward the cars, Rewan suddenly called out my name. Then he jogged up and pulled me into a warm, tight hug.

“I’ll miss you... a little,” he murmured.

And then—he kissed me. In front of everyone.

I just stood there, dumbfounded.

But let’s be honest, I’m not the type to turn down a kiss from a guy who’s secretly squirming at the thought of us meeting a lineup of mysterious, smouldering men.

Pick a god and pray hard, babe.

The car rolled to a stop, and the driver gave us a cheerful “We’re here!” Like we were pulling up to a spa, not the site of inevitable emotional warfare.

We stepped out into the glow.

And by glow, I mean retina-searing neon.

Casa Amor was… gorgeous. In the kind of way that made your self-esteem nervous. Sleek loungers, a glittering pool, bougainvillea climbing the walls like they had something to prove.

It was luxe, sure—but whoever designed the lighting clearly had unresolved issues with the human eye.

“Okay, who signed off on this many neon lights?” I muttered. “I just know my dad would be scratching his head.”

Even the main villa itself looked like it had been dipped in glow stick juice. The walls shimmered. The floors sparkled. The air smelled lemon-scented and mildly judgmental.

Rosalie twirled in place, arms out. “It’s giving luxury. It’s giving new chapter.”

“It’s giving permanent corneal damage,” I said, dragging my suitcase up the steps.

And yet… I smiled. Just a little.

Because here we were.

Casa Amor.

The break-up factory. The loyalty test. The ultimate girls’ trip—with a side of chaos.

And if we were gonna be villains, at least we’d look hot doing it. Even under the world’s most aggressive lighting.

Just as our eyes were starting to adjust, a voice called out.

“Hey ladies, welcome to Casa Amor,” said a mystery man.

Immediately, the girls squealed like it was their first time seeing a man after being kept underground their whole lives.

Like, babe. We literally left four men behind at the main villa. But honestly? I couldn’t blame them.

“I wonder if he’s the mystery Islander we’re compatible with?” Tori asked, already fluffing her hair.

Right. That.

Not that I forgot—blame the wine—but we may or may not have done a little cliché called the Couple Compatibility Test. The producers were smug about it. Said it would reveal who we were really aligned with.

Which made zero sense, considering my head was somewhere else entirely. And so was Gryff’s.

But I guess logic was optional this season.

Spoiler: not a single one of us matched with our OG boys.

Instead, we all got paired with a mystery man.

I couldn’t help but wonder if these girls forgot there were Casa girls back at the main villa right this second.

They were out here ogling a man’s naked torso like we weren’t in the middle of emotional Jenga.

Me? I had very low expectations for Rewan.

Not that you could blame me.

I mean—we’re talking about Rewan. He flirts with anything that has a pulse. I’d be shocked if he made it through without going all the way with one of them.

But if he does?

He better keep his dirty little mouth to himself. Don’t even think about breathing the same air as me.

I don’t even know if he’s ever heard the word restraint, but sure.

Play around.

Let’s see what happens.

The blonde guy was the first to step forward, flashing a grin that could probably power a small island.

“Alright, ladies,” he said, voice dipped in charm.

“Name’s Archie. I’m 24, from Liverpool, and yes—before you ask—I do write songs about heartbreak, sunsets, and questionable exes.”

He gave a playful wink. “Creative writing student by day, heartbreak DJ by night. And if you’re lucky, I might just write one about you—happy ending optional.”

The next one stepped forward like he’d just been carved out of onyx and handed a Rolex.

Tall, sculpted, serious—the kind of man who probably folds his laundry with military precision.

“Dante,” he said smoothly, voice like velvet over a steel blade. “I’m 27, from Oxford. I design watches... but I’m rarely ever late.”

Oh, okay.

Confidence and punctuality? Dangerous.

He gave a slight smirk like he knew exactly how good he looked—and how much effort went into it.

Even his wristwatch matched his swim shorts. Psychotic. In a hot way.

A confident perfectionist, huh?

I could already feel him judging the symmetry of my left eyebrow.

The third guy steps forward, flashing a crooked grin that had probably cured at least three hangovers in its lifetime.

“Hey, I’m Joshua. I’m 25, from Central London. Junior doctor, if you’re into that whole ‘healing hands’ thing.”

He runs a hand through his curls, like he’s practiced it in the mirror. “I might be a little messy, but I promise—I know how to find the heart.” Then he winks. “Especially if it’s already halfway mine.”

At least he knows it’s cheesy.

But he’s cute.

The fourth guy steps forward like he already knows none of the others stand a chance.

Confidence rolls off him like heat from sunbaked skin.

“I’m Matt. 25, straight outta London, and armed with a tattoo gun,” he says, voice low and lazy—like he’s not in a rush, because he knows you’ll come to him.

“I don’t just leave marks on skin, I leave ’em on hearts. Might be yours next, if you’re lucky.”

He smirks, like the deal’s already done.

Keziah nudges me. “Am I drunk, or does he look a bit like Rewan?” she whispers.

“Maybe we are,” I mutter. “Because why does he look like Rewan?”

Tori steps forward first, flipping her hair like it owes her money.

“I’m Tori,” she says, grinning. “I like my men tall, my wine cold, and my drama optional—but somehow, it always finds me anyway.”

She winks, bold and unbothered.

I don’t know about drama being optional. Pretty sure you cause it, babe.

Next is Rosalie, smooth as silk in heels that don’t dare make her wobble.

“Rosalie,” she purrs. “I will be judging your swim shorts. But kiss me good enough, and I might let it slide.”

Chill your beans, please.

She smiles sweetly, but it’s the kind of smile that could slice glass.

And then Keziah, who struts up like she’s walking into a room she already owns.

“I’m Keziah,” she says, dimples out and dangerous. “Personal assistant by day, heartbreaker by... well, also day. I don’t clock out.”

I’m not sure we’re allowed to say that out loud.

She grins like she just dared someone to prove her wrong.

And then—unfortunately for everyone—it’s my turn.

“I’m Sabrina Sinclair, but Sabi’s fine,” I said. “25. I’m an engineer. I came here for a tan, a laugh, and maybe to emotionally bankrupt a man or two. You know—girl math.”

A few brows lift. I smile like I didn’t just say that on national television.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Sabi. Like we both don’t know how Rewan sends you spiraling.

I give a lazy wave. That’s all they’re getting.

“Wait—Sinclair? Does that mean you know… Kalixis?” one of the boys asks, eyes wide like he’s cracked some national conspiracy.

There are a lot of Sinclairs in the world. Why would you assume I know all of them?

“I do,” I said flatly, after a beat. “She’s my cousin.”

That sets off a ripple of chaos. One of them actually gasps.

“Wait, Kali was on Love Island, right? But then she just… disappeared after her season.”

I didn’t know she was on Love Island. Bold of her to say nothing.

“Kali’s probably just busy breathing somewhere,” I shrug.

Living her best life—off-grid or off-men. Or both.

After the introductions—aka the overselling Olympics—we decided to play a game to “get to know each other better.”

Yeah, sure. On paper, it’s about bonding.

But we all know it’s just an excuse to flirt in daylight.

We ended up playing this borderline middle-school game—Archie’s idea, of course—where you say something you want to do, then name who you’d do it with.

Nothing revolutionary. Just mildly unhinged.

First prompt: Who do you fancy the most?

I said Matt. And no, it’s not because he looks like Rewan.

…Absolutely not. Don’t be weird.

Next: Who would you have a three-way kiss with?

Predictably, every guy chose me.

Was it shocking? Please.

Let’s pretend to be humble tomorrow.

And then more statements rolled in—faster, messier, and way too revealing.

Most of them shouldn’t be mentioned. Like, legally.

People got bold.

One minute it's “who has the best smile,” next it’s “who would you let ruin your life on a balcony.”

Some answers were jokes. Some were not.

But no one wanted to be the buzzkill.

So we laughed, flirted, pretended to be cool about it—all while quietly calculating who’d crawl into whose bed by midnight.

Chapter Text

Our first night in Casa was, by Casa standards, painfully uneventful.

No stolen kisses. No suspicious disappearing acts.

Just a bunch of girls in neon lighting, pretending not to wonder what our boys were doing back at the main villa.

Then morning came—with the smell of breakfast.

I cracked an eye open to see sunlight slicing through the curtains like it was judging me. The giggles from last night were gone, replaced by the sound of clattering pans.

The boys were already up, cooking.

And by “cooking,” I mean somehow turning eggs into a group activity loud enough to wake the dead. If this was their version of seduction, I guess I was about to be romanced by burnt toast.

We got ready for the day first—showers, bikinis, the usual ritual of pretending we were naturally this flawless—and then migrated straight to the terrace for the official Girls’ Debrief.

Full swing.

Loud. Chaotic. Basically a documentary about male torsos.

Everyone was raving about how hot the Casa boys were, voices overlapping like seagulls fighting over fries. I'm just watching them collectively drool like they’d been in man-drought for years.

Then Tori turned to me, eyes glinting. “So, Sabi… how are we feeling about Matt?”

Instant weirdness.

Because yes, he’s objectively attractive. But also—he looks like Rewan’s stunt double.

Keziah, bless her lack of filter, finally snorted.

“It’s like… we can never get away from Rewan. Even in Casa Amor, he’s somehow always here.”

I blinked.

Kinda rude to both Rewan and Matt, but also… true.

So we all just laughed.

But honestly? Their safe little “he’s so hot” circle talk was boring me to death.

This is a Girls’ Debrief, not a retirement home meeting.

So I leaned forward, grinning. “Okay. Who were you wishing shared your bed last night? Don’t lie.”

Tori didn’t even blink. “Dante. Obviously.”

Rosalie twirled her hair. “Josh. He’s just… sweet.”

Of course she’s into sweet guys. First Darin, then Gryff, now Josh. I don’t know if she’s attracted to sweet guys or just… all sweet guys.

Then there’s Keziah, always on the fence, sipping her coffee like she’s above the chaos.

“Not like, fully jumping on him,” she said slowly, “but… Matt is a little bit my type.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I get it.

…So is Rewan a bit your type too?”

She went deadpan, no hesitation. “No. He’s a dick.”

I smirked. “Exactly. That’s why I like him.”

Everyone burst out laughing.

Just as our girl talk was really starting to heat up—aka, me grilling everyone about their imaginary bed-sharing wishlist—the boys decided they’d had enough of our cackling.

“Alright, that’s enough scandal for one morning,” Matt called from the stairs. “Breakfast is getting cold!”

Fine. I like food more than hypotheticals anyway.

After breakfast, while I was still trying to remember which glass of orange juice was mine, someone’s phone pinged.

“A text!” Tori yelled, like we hadn’t been trained by producers to treat notifications like holy scripture.

She cleared her throat dramatically: “Islanders, it’s time for… RAUNCHY RACES!”

Cue instant screaming.

Rosalie nearly flipped her plate. Keziah made a noise that could only be described as resigned despair.

Raunchy Races.

A game designed purely to strip us of dignity for the sake of points—while broadcasting our shame to the public.

Seriously, who decided that a series of “fun” dares, like doing doggy style with a total stranger, was entertainment?

The game was… eventful.

People were kissing left, right, and center. Grinding. Pretzeling themselves into positions that would make a yoga instructor sweat.

And me? Well, can’t say I was any different.

The amount of kisses I collected would suggest I was thriving—not someone side-eyeing the whole ordeal and internally filing a harassment complaint.

But the best part wasn’t the kissing.

It was watching the other girls tremble in their glittery boots every time someone speculated about what the boys were doing back in the main villa.

Because nothing says “fun” like the dirty version of spin-the-bottle while picturing your man kissing a stranger on camera.

And of course, Casa Amor won.

Nothing beats a snog fest and a post‑game party.

But obviously, you can’t party while looking basic. So I dragged all the girls upstairs to get ready.

Which, if we’re being honest, was mostly an excuse—I just wanted to see what was going on inside their chaotic little heads.

And you can’t really blame me for enjoying the show.

See, I’ve been dealing with Rewan—Mr. Emotionally Constipated himself. That man gives you crumbs and calls it a feast.

And these girls? They’re losing their minds pretending they’re not thinking about what’s happening in the main villa.

At least if you’re going to act like you don’t care, stop shaking your knee like you’re training for a tap‑dancing marathon.

Honestly, they could be bottled and sold as human distractions.

Rosalie leaned against the vanity, twisting her lip gloss.

“So, Tori,” she said sweetly, “how are we feeling about Nathan—the sweetest guy in the villa—kissing someone?”

Tori whipped her head around, scandalized. “Not great. I’m so annoyed.”

I raised a brow at her in the mirror.

“Oh, please. You were out there swapping spit with three different guys like it was a tasting menu. You do not get to be mad if Nathan so much as blinks at a Casa girl.”

She froze, like she’d just remembered there was a camera in the room. “That was a game,” she muttered.

“Exactly,” I said flatly.

“Sabi’s right,” Rosalie chimed in, filing her nails like she wasn’t actively stirring the pot.

“I know,” Tori huffed. “But I can feel whatever I want to feel. It’s my feelings.”

I leaned back, smiling like a cat with a secret.

“Absolutely. And I can feel second‑hand embarrassment watching you act like Nathan personally cheated on you with the concept of oxygen.”

I looked her up and down, then at my own nails.

“You hop on every man with a pulse and then want loyalty points in return? Babe… that’s not Love Island. That’s Delulu Island.” I said, voice light but lethal.

They all just stared at me like I’d slapped someone with a curling iron.

“Sabi,” keziah said carefully, glancing between me and Tori, “maybe… dial it down a notch?”

I blinked. “What? Am I wrong?”

Tori’s jaw flexed like she was chewing rocks.

“Honestly,” I added, voice sugar‑sweet, “Nathan is too good for you, Tori.”

Rosalie made a noise like she's choking on tea.

“Okay, wow. Bit far, Sabi?”

Tori’s eyes narrowed. “It’s fine. Sabi’s just not a girls’ girl. Never has been.”

I snorted.“Babe, being a girls’ girl doesn’t mean cheering on your embarrassing behavior. It means holding up a mirror.

I laughed—low, amused, a little cruel.

"What do you want me to do—follow you around hyping up your cheap little stunt like you’re the patron saint of delusion? No thanks.”

The room went quiet except for the hair dryer in the corner. Even Rosalie stopped pretending to file her nails.

Tori finally stormed out.

The rest of us sat in silence for a beat, marinating in our collective awkwardness.

Then Keziah clapped her hands once. “Well… party?”

Rosalie hopped up instantly, like we hadn’t just watched a social homicide. “Party. Definitely party.”

And just like that, we all moved on—because if there’s one thing Love Island teaches you, it’s that emotional devastation should always be followed by lip gloss and tequila.

By the time the music started thumping from the terrace speakers, we’d transformed into a pack of sequined predators. Heels on. Hair down. Drama temporarily buried under the highlighter.

The boys were already outside, shirt buttons suspiciously undone, drinks in hand like they hadn’t spent the last hour rehearsing how to lean against furniture seductively.

Matt whistled low. “Damn, did the main villa just send angels over here?”

I rolled my eyes and stole his drink. “Relax. You can’t flirt with me until my shoes are fully broken in.”

He grinned. “Noted. I’ll wait… five minutes.”

Just as I was contemplating stealing another drink—or another man’s attention—my phone pinged.

“A text!” I yelled, because apparently we’re all Pavlov’s dogs now.

Everyone went silent as I read it aloud:

“Islanders, get ready… a very special guest will be joining Casa Amor tonight.

#GuestAppearance #BraceYourself”

The girls gasped.

Rosalie actually clutched her pearls—well, her necklace, but the drama was there.

“A guest?” Tori whispered, eyes sparkling. “Do you think it’s a new casa boy?”

See?

I sipped my stolen drink. “Knowing our luck, it’s either a new boy… or my mom here to drag me home.”

The suspense didn’t last long.

The sliding doors opened, and in walked Elizabeth—glowing like she’d just been air‑dropped from a wellness retreat where the only diet was compliments.

“Giiiirls!” she squealed, arms wide like she was hosting her own perfume commercial.

Cue instant chaos.

Rosalie practically launched herself across the room for a hug. Tori shrieked like she’d just seen a limited‑edition handbag. 

And me?

I joined the hug pile, because I’m not a monster.

We all got our warm hugs in, perfume transfer included.

Elizabeth smelled like coconut and victory.

“Casa Amor looks so good on you guys!” she said, twirling in the neon light.

After the obligatory hugs and squeals, Elizabeth did her rounds like she’d been part of Casa since day one.

Then, out of nowhere, she hooked her arm through mine. “Come on, Sabi,” she said, already steering me toward the terrace.

I blinked. “Uh… hello? Where are we going?”

She just smiled that cryptic host smile, the kind that usually precedes either a prize or emotional trauma.

Once we were outside, she turned to me with a little flourish.

“Congrats, MVP.”

"MVP of what?”

“Of the game. You basically carried Casa Amor on your back today. And because of that…”

She drew out the pause, like she was savoring my confusion.

“…you get to watch a clip of the OG boys back at the main villa.”

Oh.

This is gonna be good.

Let’s see how those dirty dogs behave when they think no one’s watching.

First up: Nathan.

There he was, sprawled on the lilo, snogging a Casa girl. They didn’t show her face—cowards—but he was clearly having the time of his life.

Tori is going to spontaneously combust. But you do you, king.

Next was Kami.

Also kissing a Casa girl. Also not holding back. They were giggling between kisses like they’d just invented kissing.

Good for you, babe. Truly.

And then… Gryff.

Laughing his head off—like actual belly laughter—while some Casa girl rubbed sunscreen all over his chest.

Well. I did it better. That’s all I’m saying.

Last was Rewan’s clip.

He sat at the edge of the firepit, elbows on his knees, staring at the flames like they were offering better conversation than the girl draped over his arm.

She was grafting hard—too hard. He barely said a word. Didn’t have to. She was filling the silence for both of them.

Red nails traced his bicep as she leaned in. “You know,” she purred, “I really don’t get the hype about that Sabi girl.”

He raised a brow but stayed silent.

Say something.

Main-character energy is cute, but my blood pressure is not.

She kept going.

“I mean, come on. She’s gorgeous and rich, fine. But she’s boring. Sarcastic. Acts like she’s better than everyone. You need someone who’s actually warm. Fun. Someone who—” she leaned closer, lips inches from his, “—knows how to keep you satisfied.”

Rewan blinked, slow as a cat. “Oh yeah? You think you’re better than her?”

She brightened, thinking she had him. “Obviously. I’m friendlier, low-maintenance, and I don’t walk around with a superiority complex.”

Low-maintenance because no one’s paying enough to maintain you, babe.

Then she pressed her lips to his.

And, to my absolute horror and morbid fascination, he didn’t pull away.

They kissed. A proper kiss.

Long enough for the entire villa to freeze and debate whether they should look away or start selling popcorn.

When she finally pulled back, Rewan immediately wiped his mouth so hard I half-expected his lips to pop off.

“Yeah,” he said coolly. “Sabi’s better.”

“What?” the girl said, caught off guard.

"A hundred times better.”

He gave her a look like she wasn’t even worth the effort.

“Don’t go around talking like you’re above her. You couldn’t touch her even on your best day.

He stood up and held his hand high above his head.

“Sabi’s up here.”

Then he dropped it and gave the wooden deck a sharp, dismissive stomp.

“You’re here.”

“Are you serious?” she snapped.

Rewan didn’t even flinch. “Deadly.”

And then he turned and walked away without looking back, tossing a bored “See you later” over his shoulder—like her entire ego hadn’t just been body-slammed into the firepit gravel.

I couldn’t see her face in the clip.

But I could imagine it.

Jaw on the floor. Pride in shambles.

And I won’t lie… it was art.

I had to bite back a smile.

But apparently, watching the clip wasn’t the only prize.

Elizabeth leaned in, all conspiratorial. “You also get to video call the villa. Do you want to do it?”

I stared at her. “Is that even a question?”

Because please. Like I was going to pass up the chance to rattle a few cages.

We called the villa, and guess who picked up? Gryff.

MVP privileges, apparently.

We started with small talk, the usual How’s Casa?

Cute, but please.

I’d literally just watched their clips. I knew exactly how they were “finding” Casa.

So I leaned on my elbow, sweet as sugar. “Where’s your head at? Still with Rosalie?”

He gave that little shrug, smooth as ever. “All the Casa girls are lovely and fun,” he said. “But yeah… my head’s still pretty much with her.”

Then he tilted his head, voice going all teasing. “What about you?”

I smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He chuckled. “Just saying—if you do find a connection, you don’t have to worry about me in the stick‑and‑twist.”

Uh‑huh. Is that his way of saying he’s twisting?

But before we can even get to the whole stick‑and‑twist talk, Rewan’s head pops into the frame like a jump scare.

“Whoa—Sabi? Gryff? Why didn’t anyone tell me you’re talking to Sabi?” His face is pure shock, like he’s just caught us planning a heist instead of a three‑minute video call.

And of course, that sets him and Gryff off.

“Mate, calm down—”
“Don’t ‘mate’ me, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I literally just answered the call!”

To cut the story short, I got absolutely nothing out of that call.

I get back to the party and Elizabeth’s already gone.

The girls pounce the second they see me, starving for deets, so I give them the full tour of Casa shenanigans.

Nathan kissing a girl? We kind of predicted that, but that doesn’t stop Tori from throwing a fit.

Honestly, I’m over it. Go be mad, babe—I’ve clocked out.

Then there’s Kami, kissing a Casa girl and giggling like he just got asked to prom. This is the same man who told me he liked me and wondered if there was a chance.

There was a chance—past tense.

Keziah is just giving… unbothered.

And Gryff? Living his best life, grinning while a Casa girl rubs sunscreen into his chest like he’s auditioning for a holiday brochure.

I glance at Rosalie. She’s perched there like she’s above the chaos, all, It’s just a game.

Sure, babe.

Almost believable—except your lip’s kinda bleeding from all that biting.

Then I drop the Rewan story, and the girls lose it.

“Woah, savage. You trained him well.”

Rude—he’s not a dog—but the way my face is sitting right now? Yeah… way too smug to deny it.

But honestly? We’re not exactly any better.

I leave them alone for, what, ten minutes? And suddenly there’s snogging and finger‑pointing everywhere. And at this point, I’m not even sure if the finger‑pointing is metaphorical… or alarmingly literal.

Then I ask if anyone’s planning to twist.

Keziah’s the first to answer—nope, she’s not twisting. Matt’s a bit of her, but he seems more interested in me anyway.

We figure Kami probably won’t twist either, so we didn't press any further. Rosalie’s single, so she’s out of the equation. Which leaves… Tori.

“I’m not sure,” she says. “I might twist. Nathan’s clearly forgotten about me.”

And Keziah, without missing a beat, jumps straight to Nathan’s defense.

“Tori, you were literally snogging the life out of Dante in the shower earlier.”

Tori blinks. “What? I’m here to explore my connection.”

This hypocrite. Seriously.

Then they all turn to me. I shrug. “I’ll twist with Matt. It’ll be fun to see him and Rewan in the same villa.”

Rosalie immediately panics. “That’s unreasonable. You’re not even into Matt.”

“So what? I need to get back to main,” I said.

She presses, “What about Gryff?”

“Yeah, what about him?”

“You’ll put Gryff at risk of being dumped!”

So I pop her little bubble.

“Rosalie, I couldn’t care less if Gryff gets dumped. I respect him, but he’s not my problem,” I said flatly.

“Oh—and he basically said I should twist, because he will too. How about that?” I added, smiling at her sweetly.

“Didn’t you just say his head’s with me?” she said confidently.

“Yeah. He said his head’s with you… didn’t say it couldn’t swivel.”

Before this could turn into anything else, Keziah claps her hands. “Alright, enough. We still have time before stick‑and‑twist, so let’s all just chill.”

Fine. Chill it is.

We decide to get ready for bed and pick who we want to share with.

I call it early: I’ll sleep alone.

But I barely close my eyes before I hear someone tiptoeing—sneaking off with someone else.

I sit up. And it’s not just me—Matt and Keziah are up too. We end up looking at each other across the dark, trying to hold in our laughter.

Without saying a word, the three of us fall into formation like some kind of petty spy squad and trail after them. We creep through the villa, ducking behind pillars and loungers like we’re in a budget spy movie.

Matt is stifling a laugh, Keziah’s hand is over her mouth, and I’m just praying the night‑vision cameras don’t catch my “I live for this mess” face.

Finally, we spot them on the terrace, tangled up in a giggle‑fest that’s one step away from PG‑13. Matt nearly snorts out loud, and I have to elbow him before we blow our cover.

Honestly, it’s ridiculous. We’re grown adults acting like undercover agents to watch other grown adults act like horny teenagers.

We keep spying from the shadows, the three of us crouched like some bootleg detective agency.

And because I get bored easily, I decide to drop a bomb.

“So, Matt,” I whisper casually, “you cool with me twisting with you?”

He blinks, startled, but I keep going. “I mean, you might find someone in the villa and click with them. Just making sure you’re not gonna feel weird about it.”

He shrugs, trying to play it smooth. “Sure. No problem.”

Total sibling energy… if you ignore the part where he’s obviously crushing on me while I’m busy thinking about someone else.

Keziah suddenly leans forward, whispering like she’s announcing breaking news.

“Yeah, love that chat, but not the headline right now—Rosalie is snogging Archie.”

Yeah… Archie. Not to be shady, but he’s basically Rewan with a budget cut: arrogant and messy.

Rosalie better not bring that guy back, One chaos gremlin is already enough.

But seriously… why Archie? I really don’t get this Rosalie girl.

“Shall we head back? I don’t really want to see them start undressing each other,” I whisper.

We sneak back toward the bedroom—
and surprise.

Tori’s already getting some action under the duvet.

They probably thought everyone was asleep, which explains why it was so quiet. Poor Joshua is sitting up on his bed, silently pointing at them like he needs an adult. We almost burst out laughing. I had to tiptoe over and grab Joshua before he fully lost it.

So, we staged a sleepover in the living room—the four of us hiding from the casa's PG‑13 circus.

Once we’d thrown together a little pillow fort on the couches, the vibe mellowed. For the first time all night, we weren’t whisper‑laughing or running from secondhand embarrassment.

Just… talking.

It started with dumb small talk—Matt’s dog back home, Keziah’s favorite coffee order, Joshua admitting he’d never actually watched the show before applying.

Then it got a little softer, stuff we missed outside, the meals we’d kill for, how weird it is not to have your phone. Nothing deep, nothing dramatic. Just a rare moment of calm in the middle of all the chaos.

Eventually, One by one, we drifted off in our living‑room fort, like kids at the sleepover nobody planned.

The next morning came, and production decided it was “mini date” time with the Casa boys.

I cycled through them one by one, nodding politely while they gave me their best monologues about themselves. Careers, hobbies, star signs—honestly, I couldn’t tell you.

I just sat there, holding back a yawn, like I was trapped in a speed‑dating seminar I never signed up for.

After that, we basically spent the whole day messing around by the pool—laughing, eating, and pretending this was an actual holiday.

Archie kept trying to stir the pot, tossing little comments like he was auditioning for Agent of Chaos, but honestly? No one gave a single fuck.

Matt was busy showing off his cannonballs like he was in a swimming contest. Joshua discovered the joy of floating on a flamingo floaty, which he took way too seriously.

Keziah and I just lounged in the sun, sunglasses on, giving each other the occasional are we really here? side‑eye.

Every so often, Archie would throw in something like, “So, Sabi… you think Rewan is loyal?” And I’d just hum noncommittally, sipping my drink. I wasn’t feeding that gremlin.

The vibe was pure vacation—sun, water, snacks, and zero shame—like there wasn’t a looming stick‑or‑twist waiting to wreck someone's life 

We’ve all made up our minds already. There’s no point dragging it out. Everyone’s basically ready, we might as well head back to the main villa now.

When I said we were ready, that’s what I thought.
But apparently, Tori’s still “deciding.”

Girl… you’ve been glued to Dante. We all assumed you were twisting with him.

So naturally, we all ganged up on her for leading someone on.

Keziah started it, arms crossed. “Tori, be serious. You’ve been attached to Dante like a barnacle.”

Rosalie piled on. “You literally showered with him. What’s there to decide?”

“And meanwhile,” I added, “Nathan’s back at the main villa thinking you’re still in his corner. You can’t have both, Tori—this isn’t a buffet.”

Tori threw her hands up. “I just… want to explore my options, okay?”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. "Tori, your ‘options’ are currently eating chips by the pool. Dante’s the only one getting your full‑time subscription.”

She pouted, muttering something about not wanting to look bad on TV.

Too late, babe. Camera’s been rolling.

We all gathered by the firepit for stick‑or‑twist.

The boys were all jokes and banter, but we girls went quiet. Even Tori, which was a miracle.

Rosalie went first. She twisted with Joshua, calling him a proper sweetheart and saying she wanted to see if their connection could grow in the main villa.

You know… the usual bullshit.

I didn’t say anything.

I just clapped like everyone else, pretending we didn’t all know she only twisted because she was single.

Joshua gave her a sweet hug before they sat down together, looking like a stock photo for “new couple.”

Keziah was next. She said she’d stick with Kami because he’s actually a good guy and she thinks there’s something there she wants to keep exploring.

Babe, the season’s almost over. We should all be past that stage already.

Anyway, we clapped again. I asked, “What if Kami twists?” and she just went, “Good for him.”

Okay. Unbothered queen.

Tori went next. She stuck with Nathan, which earned a chorus of groans and a few eye‑rolls.

Dante didn’t even react. Just shrugged, like she wasn’t worth the energy.

Honestly? King behavior.

We still clapped—it’s her decision.

Doesn’t mean we can’t judge.

Then me, last.

I twisted with Matt because… why not?

He’s nice. A good friend. And honestly, he might actually find someone in the villa.

He gave me a grateful hug, and that was that—Casa Amor decisions locked in.

Chapter Text

We all gathered at the front of Casa Amor, bags in hand, saying our goodbyes. No hard feelings, no drama—just a lot of “good lucks” and “see you on the outside.”

Well… except for Archie.

He doesn’t believe in “no hard feelings.” Instead, he launched into a full‑blown rant about how we’d wasted his time.

“You girls don’t even know what you’re missing! Absolute waste of a chance with me—”

I yawned mid‑sentence. Loudly.

He kept going, pacing like he was giving a TED Talk no one asked for, throwing around words like loyalty and chemistry as if we hadn’t watched him spend three days sunbathing and stirring pots.

Honestly? I don’t even know what he’s on about.
If anything, he just gave us one last reminder of why no one wanted him.

By the time the cars pulled up to take us to the main villa, Archie was still muttering about his “wasted opportunity.”

I waved, blew him a sarcastic kiss.

Congratulations, king. You finally made yourself memorable.

We all rode in separate cars. Matt ended up with me, and we spent most of the drive talking about random things.

At some point, he asked about the OG boys.

“They’re a bunch of hot guys,” I said, blinking.

“That’s it?” Matt raised a brow.

“Well, Nathan’s sweet. Kami’s playful. Rewan…” I paused, thinking. “He’s basically you—but with a different personality. Like your dark side.” I laughed. “Oh, and Gryff. He’s cheeky, but he’s sweet too.”

“I see. I saw them on TV, but I know it’s different actually living with them,” he said.

“Why?” I side‑eyed him. “Trying to size up your competition?”

He grinned. “Something like that.”

…Okay, but that stupid grin made my heart skip a beat.

Don’t smile like that.

I twisted with him thinking he was the safest option…

So why is my gut suddenly telling me I just brought home a trouble?

Hot trouble, actually.

Now that I think about it, I’ve never really appreciated his looks—I was too busy being distracted by the fact that he resembles Rewan. But looking at him now… yeah, he’s handsome in his own way.

“I don’t mind being stared at,” Matt said, glancing at me, “but Sabi… you’re gonna drill a hole in my face at this rate.”

“Oh.” I snapped out of it, trying to pull myself together.

Why do I always get caught staring?

“You regretting friend‑zoning me now?” he asked, nudging my side playfully.

“No,” I said quickly, eyes darting anywhere but his.

He chuckled. “Sure, sure.”

Then he leaned in close to my ear and murmured, “You can always take it back.”

I swear I felt that in my spine.

But, of course, I am not the type to melt in front of a guy. That is not my brand.

With all my strength, I managed a casual, “I’ll think about it,” and rolled my eyes for good measure.

That was close.

The car finally slowed, and I caught the first glimpse of the villa lights glowing in the distance.

Oh, here we go. Judgment Day.

Well—me judging everyone day, actually.

Matt leaned back in his seat, totally relaxed, like we weren’t about to walk into a battlefield of egos and boys making the dumbest faces of their lives.

We rolled to a stop. From the outside, the villa looked the same as ever—gorgeous, dramatic, and way too smug for a building.

And those neon lights? Still annoying.

“Ready?” Matt asked, flashing that grin again.

“Always,” I said, matching his energy.

We stepped out like we owned the place, all slow smiles and unbothered posture.

If anyone was expecting tears or drama from me tonight… sorry to disappoint.

A second later, the other girls’ cars pulled up. One by one, they stepped out—trembling.

Keziah, despite her best unbothered face, was very much bothered. I could see it in the way she kept adjusting her hair like it owed her money.

Tori was being extra, flipping her hair like she already knew Nathan would be standing there waiting with open arms.

And Rosalie? Acting all sweet while squeezing Joshua’s hand like it was a stress ball.

Then my phone buzzed.

A text.

Matt and I would be the first to enter.

Perfect.

I grabbed Matt’s hand and strutted inside, confident and unbothered—like I hadn’t just casually put Gryff at risk of being dumped.

We were barely five steps in when I clocked Rewan—

Running toward us.

Seriously? I hadn’t even said hi to anyone yet.

Next thing I know, I’m airborne. He spins me like we’re in some corny romantic movie—except everything’s spinning now and I’m one twirl away from throwing up in 4K.

When he finally sets me down, he hugs me like he’s trying to merge our rib cages.

“I’ll take that as you being happy to see me?” I wheeze.

“You were gone forever,” he mumbles. “I almost followed you to Casa Amor.”

“It was literally three days,” I deadpan.

“I know. But the thought of you missing me—”

“Sure. But can you let go before I pass out?”

He does. Finally.

And then I notice… a line.

All the boys are standing there, queued up like I’m some theme‑park ride.

“Uh… what’s happening?” I ask.

“Ain’t this the line for Sabi hugs?” Nathan grins.

You think you’re funny, huh?

I let them hug me anyway, one by one.

I’m about to reclaim my personal space when I see a head peeking out from behind Rewan.

One of the Casa girls. Looking at me like a lost puppy.

“…What, do you want one too?” I joke.

She nods and actually hugs me.

Okay, this villa’s lost its mind.

Before I could even question this bizarre situation, the girl still clinging to me started talking.

“I’ve wanted to meet you for so long! I read about you in articles—you’re literally everywhere. I joined the show just so I could see you!”

…Right. Forget finding love—apparently I’m the main prize.

Somewhere, the producers are probably sobbing.

“That’s… nice,” I said, nodding. “Honestly? Who cares about the boys.”

And just like that, we hugged like we were already besties.

We were still mid–hug parade when Matt finally stepped up behind me, hands in his pockets, all casual.

The energy shifted instantly the moment they clocked him.

Nathan’s smile faltered for half a second. Kami raised his brows. Even Gryff—sweet, oblivious Gryff—froze like someone had just unplugged him.

And Rewan?

His jaw tightened so fast I almost heard it click.

I patted Matt’s arm like he was my emotional‑support human. “Everyone, this is Matt. Be nice.”

Matt gave them a friendly nod, completely unbothered.

I swear I could feel the testosterone vibrating in the air.

And me? I just smiled like this was all perfectly normal.

If anyone expected me to explain myself, apologize, or burst into tears…

Nope. Not happening.

“Aight, let’s go back to the firepit. My feet are killing me,” I announced.

The new girl clung to my arm like a designer bag, and Rewan claimed my other side.

…Which left Matt.

As if reading my mind, he asked, “So… where do I go?”

Poor guy.

“You can, uh… follow closely behind us, I guess?” I said, giving him my best apologetic smile.

This was not how I imagined our grand entrance.

Matt just sighed and fell into step behind me.

The boys trailed after us, and I overheard them patting Matt on the back.

“Mate, it’s normal.”
“Yeah, literally nothing we can do about it.”

I didn’t look back, but I could feel Matt questioning all his life choices.

Back at the firepit, we finally took our seats.

The new girl—whose name I still didn’t know—was still glued to my side like a barnacle. Rewan claimed the spot beside her, close enough to glare past her at Matt like he was trying to set him on fire with his eyes.

Matt sat on my other side, perfectly casual, while I stretched my legs out like I didn’t notice the silent war happening right over my shoulders.

The rest of the girls finally filtered into the villa, loud and glittery.

Now we were all back together—with some new additions.

Most of the couples were still intact. No big surprises. Except for four of us.

Nathan had apparently decided to stick with Tori for some unknowable reason.

Because—literally why?

Kami chose to stay with Keziah because he said she’s a nice girl. Which is true—she is nice.

But do you like her?

I mean, we’re all nice. But babe, this isn’t Nice Island.

Well. Who knows with either of them. Not my business.

Then Gryff introduced his new girl, Dani.

She was clinging to him like a designer sloth and already giving me the once-over like I’d personally wronged her in a past life.

Girl. Calm down.

Next was Rewan.

He introduced his new couple, Irena.

It was giving platonic LinkedIn coworkers, and they were making it very obvious. Like—they’re friends. And they hate the idea that anyone might think something else is brewing.

Then Rosalie, who awkwardly introduced Joshua, stealing glances at Gryff the whole time. Now Dani—the new girl—was glaring at both of them like she’d walked into the wrong episode and was trying to catch up.

It was awkward. For all four of them.

What a mess. I’m not sticking my nose in that.

I introduced Matt again, gushed about him a little. The OG girls chimed in, agreeing and throwing around all these glowing compliments—which were mostly true.

Except the “harmless” one.

The Matt I was in the car with earlier? Definitely not harmless.

Weirdly hot. And a little terrifying.

Rewan, meanwhile, was looking smug—like none of it bothered him.

Irena, the new girl who’d been clinging to me earlier like we’d trauma-bonded, rolled her eyes at him.

Girl. I know.

After that not-so-chaotic-but-not-exactly-peaceful reunion, we decided it was party time. Whatever drama was waiting for us—we’d deal with it tomorrow.

It was our first night back together. Time to bond. Socialize.

Except I couldn’t exactly mingle with Rewan practically glued to my side, his arm slung over my waist like I might run off.

“Do you like me that much?” I asked, half teasing, half daring him to admit it.

He didn’t even blink. “You wish.”

But he didn’t let go.

We started gossiping like besties—though the way he was clinging to me didn’t exactly scream bestie vibes.

He told me everything he knew about Casa, which wasn’t much. Just some side quests from the OG boys. Kami and Nathan flirting it up with the Casa girls, both clearly gearing up to twist. Gryff having second thoughts about whether he should.

And Rewan, apparently, convincing him to go for it.

Why would he do that?

But then he said—and I quote—

“Sabi won’t even care if you get dumped. She only cares about herself.”

Which is rude. But also… I did twist. So I can’t even argue.

Then I told him what happened on our side, which was nothing major—just Tori being the embodiment of chaos, thriving in Casa, and having the most action of her life. 

I know I said too much—especially to someone you definitely shouldn’t trust with this much information.

But that’s exactly why I told him.

Not because I love drama. Absolutely not.

It’ll come out at some point anyway.

“We were so shocked when we saw Matt,” I said. “He’s almost your twin.”

Rewan scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re on about. I look better.”

I never said anything about who looked better.

Suddenly, I remembered his clip.

I turned to him, smug. Too smug. Smugger than I had any right to be.

“What’s with the look?” he asked warily.

“I watched your clip,” I said, lifting my hand slowly—then holding it over his head, exactly how he did that night.

“So I’m up here, huh?”

Rewan twitched. Visibly. Like I’d landed a punch he didn’t see coming.

But Rewan, ever the man you’ll never catch slipping, recovered fast.

“I lied,” he said smoothly.

A beat.

Then I raised my eyebrows. “About which part? 

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because he still hadn’t moved his arm from around my waist. 

Before I could tease Rewan any further, Rosalie tugged on my hand with a look that screamed save me, Sabi.

“Rewan, can you let go for a sec?” I asked.

“No. Why?” he said, dead serious—like he didn’t know exactly what was up.

Rosalie stepped in, voice tight with a smile. “Can I borrow Sabi for a sec? I’m sure you’ll survive not clinging to her for a couple of minutes.”

“You can talk here,” he said, arm still wrapped around me. “I won’t listen.”

Sure you won’t.

There was just no getting into this guy’s head.

I yanked his hand off and let Rosalie drag me away.

Except… he followed.

Seriously?

What was with this bloke?

We headed to the Secret Garden. Rosalie and I made an unspoken agreement to ignore Rewan—pretend he wasn’t trailing behind us like some very smug backpack.

Rosalie filled me in on what happened.

Rewan, of course, kept butting in with his usual brand of unnecessary commentary.

“You stole Gryff from Sabi,” he said. “Why are you asking her to clean up after your mess?”

Dude, calm down.

No one stole anyone. And she didn’t ask me to clean up anything.

Yet.

To cut the story short.

Dani was giving Rosalie this full-on mean girl energy—completely unprovoked, totally out of place. The kind of behavior you reserve for cheating boyfriends and ex-best friends, not someone you’ve exchanged, like, five words with.

Apparently, she and Gryff had something special before Casa. If she wasn’t single and basically forced to twist, she wouldn’t have gone for Joshua.

“Then why are you two going for each other’s throats? Just ask Gryff to pick between you,” I offered flatly.

I mean, it was the most obvious thing in the world—so why did even Rewan turn to look at me like I was the unreasonable one?

I tilted my head. “Let’s be real—Dani wouldn’t be acting like that unless Gryff made it seem like there’s something there.”

Rosalie’s lips parted like she wanted to argue, but nothing came out.

“At the end of the day,” I continued, “that mess is Gryff’s to clean up. If he’s giving both of you mixed signals, then yeah—it’s gonna turn into a catfight. But he lit that fire.”

She sighed, soft and shaky. “The thing is… I’m torn between Joshua and Gryff.”

I couldn’t help but frown at her hypocrisy.

Right.

Even though you just said you only picked Joshua because you were single.

It’s giving Tori.

Rewan let out a low, amused scoff. “But do you even know if Gryff still feels the same?”

Direct hit. No warning. Just vibes and violence.

Rosalie’s shoulders stiffened like the words had landed in her spine.

Even I blinked. Damn.

Wasn’t expecting him to come for her throat like that—but okay.

She could just ask him. She knew that.

But maybe she also knew she didn’t have the right to. Not when she was busy playing tug-of-war between two boys.

I glanced between them. 

“Since when did Gryff become messy? He wasn’t like this when he was with me.”

They both looked at me like I’d just declared myself Gryff’s personal chaos whisperer. Like only I could tame him.

The three of us left the secret garden. It earned us a few suspicious looks—mostly confusion, really. Especially with Rewan trailing behind us like a bodyguard-slash-gossip-hound.

Eventually, we decided it was time for bed. So we did our usual routine.

I put on sleepwear I could’ve worn to a gala, then drowned myself in a frankly questionable amount of perfume.

Let’s see how long Rewan can keep pretending he doesn’t like me.

Why don’t I just admit I like him, you ask?

Where’s the fun in that?

I didn’t even make it five steps out of the dressing room before someone grabbed my wrist.

“Really?” Rewan’s voice, low and lethal.

I turned, eyebrows raised. “Problem?”

He looked me up and down like I was a fire hazard—and he was the poor idiot assigned to contain it.

“That’s what you’re wearing to bed?”

I blinked, mock-innocent. “What? It’s comfortable.”

He exhaled through his nose. The way his eyes dragged down my bare legs was not helpful to my moral compass. Or my pelvic floor.

“Go put something else on.”

I stepped in closer—just enough to really test his blood pressure. “Why?”

He looked at me like he was fighting demons. Or at least a criminal charge.

“Because if you lie next to Matt in that, I’ll knock him out mid-snore.”

“Oh,” I said, sweetly. “So this is about jealousy.”

“No. This is about self-control. Mine’s on a timer.”

Then he stormed off—straight toward the terrace.

We weren’t supposed to be out here.

Technically, lights were off. Most of the villa was asleep—or pretending to be.

That’s what I told myself when I followed him out here—barefoot, braless, and too curious for my own sanity.

The door clicked shut behind us. And then it was just him and me and the weight of everything we hadn’t said, breathing heavy in the dark.

Rewan had me backed up against the lounger with a kind of reverence that made my knees buckle, his mouth dragging slow, scorching kisses down my neck like he was trying to brand me.

One hand cradled my face like I was fragile.

“You—,” I said, breath catching as his other hand slipped under my shirt, palms hot against my bare waist. He pushed higher, dragging the fabric up until it bunched above my chest.

Then his mouth was on mine—hungry, coaxing, messy in a way that made my head spin. One kiss bled into the next, like he was trying to shut me up and drown in me at the same time. And I let him.

God, I let him.

I sucked on his bottom lip; he groaned into my mouth, deep and guttural. Our tongues brushed—hot and desperate, no rhythm, just need.

His hand found my breast—cupping, kneading, fingers brushing my nipple before he pinched, just enough to make me jolt. I helplessly gasped into his mouth.

He did it again.

My back arched. His other hand gripped my waist to keep me steady as he leaned in, mouth and hand working in tandem—kissing me, teasing me, pulling sounds out of me I didn’t know I could make.

My breath hitched when his hand slipped past the waistband of my sleep shorts—shameless, sure. I should’ve had something clever to say—some flirty one-liner to throw him off—but my mouth just parted on a gasp.

His fingers hovered, brushing over my slit—light and deliberate—just to feel how soaked I was.

“I hate you,” I whispered.

Unconvincing, considering I was already melting under him.

He nipped at my collarbone, then kissed it softer, like an apology. When he looked up, his mouth was smug. Cocky. Unbearably fond.

He slid one finger in with maddening care, dragging through the slick heat like he had all the time in the world.

I bit back a moan.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath."You're—,"

His fingers moved with the kind of confidence that said he’d thought about this. Rehearsed it. Like this wasn’t just lust—it was something he’d been waiting for.

And he wasn’t in any rush.

He curled his fingers—just slightly—fuck—then dragged his mouth down my throat, open-mouthed kisses leaving heat in their wake. He tongued the underside of my breast, slow and firm, like he had a grudge against my self-control.

I grabbed his arm, nails digging in, grounding myself—or maybe warning him.

Everything felt indecent and good at the same time.

I could feel every exhale against my skin. Every brush of his mouth down my stomach—slow, deliberate—like he was mapping fault lines just to see where I’d break.

“You’re such a dick,” I managed, breathless.

“You want me to stop?” he murmured against my skin.

I grabbed his wrist, holding him there.

He grinned—cocky, gorgeous bastard—and slipped a second finger in. My thighs trembled. His mouth found mine again, swallowing my whimper as he moved—slow and deep and precise.

I clenched my jaw. Tried to breathe through it. I wasn’t going to fall apart just because Rewan had a decent hand game and an annoying amount of focus.

Every sound I made, he chased. Every shiver, every twitch of my hips, he met with a curl of his fingers or a drag of his tongue across my skin.

He tilted his hand, angled his fingers just enough. Pressed his thumb—gently, deliberately—against that spot he shouldn’t know yet.

My thighs clenched around his wrist.

He smiled against my cheek.

“Right there?” he murmured.

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My fingers dug into his arm, breath catching again. He was relentless. Ruthless. So fucking good.

I came hard—biting his shoulder, riding his hand like I had something to prove. He didn’t stop. Just kissed my temple like I hadn’t just shattered all over him.

“Still hate me?” he whispered.

“More than ever,” I panted.

He smiled into my hair. “Liar.”

I was still catching my breath.

Chest rising and falling like I’d just run laps instead of just—

“You okay?” he asked, voice stupidly gentle for someone who just wrecked me with his fingers and a god complex.

“No,” I said, swatting weakly at his chest.

He laughed. Smug. Warm. Obnoxious.

Then he caught my hand, laced our fingers together like it was casual. Like we hadn’t just committed crimes against villa decency on a public terrace.

My heart did something stupid in my chest.

I ignored it.

“Tell me if I went too far,” he said after a beat. Serious now. “You didn’t say stop but—if you’re freaking out, say something.”

I looked up at him, narrowing my eyes.

“Why do you sound like a therapist after literally putting your fingers inside me?” I said, voice low.

His mouth twitched. “It’s called aftercare. Look it up.”

“God,” I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. “You’re so annoying.”

He leaned in and kissed the corner of my mouth. Soft. Dangerous. “You liked it.”

“Shut up.”

“Liar.”

“You already said that,” I muttered.

He kissed me again.

And I let him. Again.

Because I was weak. Because he kissed me like he meant it. Like he knew I’d let him.

I pulled back, breath shaky. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

He raised a brow. “You came on my hand.”

“Don’t say it like that,” I hissed, slapping his arm. “I hate you.”

“You’ve made that very clear,” he said, dragging his thumb lazily across my jaw. “And yet here you are. Still holding my hand.”

I looked down.

Dammit. I was still holding his hand.

I let go immediately. Or tried to.

He didn’t.

The air stretched out between us again. A little quieter. A little too intimate.

Then it hit me.

I jerked upright. “Wait.”

Rewan blinked. “What?”

I scanned the terrace like it had just grown eyes.

“Oh my god,” I said, voice going shrill. “The cameras.”

Rewan just stared at me—slow and calm, like he was trying not to laugh. “Sabi.”

“No—don’t Sabi me. I’m literally spread out on the lounger like I’m auditioning for an after-dark spin-off.” I buried my face in my hands. “And I don’t even have a blanket cameo to blame it on.”

He finally smirked. “Dramatic.”

“I’m dead serious,” I hissed, yanking my shirt down and trying to close my shorts like it mattered now.

Rewan sat up, tugging me gently toward him.

“Relax. It’s dark out here. You were mostly clothed. You didn’t flash anything.”

“I moaned,” I snapped. “That microphone caught everything. My grandma probably heard that.”

“You weren’t that loud,” he said solemnly. “But let’s pray she doesn’t watch.”

Right.

Snowi will take care of it.

Who needs a blanket cameo when you have an older sister? And she had a legal team. And a blacklist. And probably a sniper.

God bless Sinclair bloodlines.

I narrowed my eyes. “Why do you sound disappointed?”

He tried—tried—not to smile.

I glared. “I hate you.”

“You said that already.”

“God. I need a wipe. Or a priest.”

Rewan raised a brow. “I don’t think they make holy water strong enough for what just happened.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, trying to stand. My legs… did not cooperate.

He caught me before I could fully tip over.

“Okay, Bambi,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I can walk,” I said.

He just looked at me.

“I can.”

“You’re literally swaying like a drunk girl after bottomless brunch.”

Before I could argue, he crouched down, back to me. “Get on.”

“What?”

“I’m giving you a piggyback. Don’t make it weird.”

“It’s already weird,” I muttered, but I climbed on anyway.

His hands gripped under my thighs. My arms looped around his neck. He was warm. Steady. Smelled like sweat and smugness.

“Enjoying yourself?” he said, starting to walk.

“No,” I lied, cheek resting on his shoulder.

He chuckled. “You’re so full of shit.”

“I just got full of you, actually.”

He choked on a laugh. “Jesus, Sabi.”

We slipped back into the villa like we hadn’t just ruined each other on the terrace. Like we were normal.

But he carried me all the way to the bathroom. Set me down gently. Handed me a towel like I hadn’t just ridden his hand until I saw stars.

I didn’t say thank you.

He didn’t ask for it.

We just stared at each other in the mirror for a second too long.

Then I shoved him out of the room and locked the door.

When I opened the bathroom door, Rewan was still there—leaning against the wall, arms crossed, sulking a little like I’d kicked his puppy.

Why was he sulking? I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know.

“Go wash your hands,” I said, because I couldn't think of anything better. And also because—gross.

He didn’t argue. Just smirked—annoying—and disappeared inside without a word.

When he came back out, I grabbed his wrist and started walking. Straight to the dressing room.

Spicy, right?

Wrong. I just needed a change of clothes.

I left him outside and slipped into the dressing room. Changed into something a little less chaotic. Fresh outfit. Fixed my hair. Two precise spritzes of the perfume—just enough to make him dizzy.

When I stepped back out, he was still waiting.

Obviously.

I glanced at him. “Where are we sleeping?”

He laughed under his breath. “Treehouse?”

Then added, like it was nothing, “But let’s get you something to drink first.”

We headed to the kitchen. He made me a warm cup of milk, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like we did this every night.

Then we climbed up to the treehouse—Rewan first, carefully carrying the mug. I followed, slower, because climbing in fresh clothes and emotional whiplash is not a skill I’ve mastered.

He handed me the milk once I settled in, and I took it. Warm. slightly sweet. Way too comforting.

“You’re not drinking?” I asked.

He shook his head. “It’s for you.”

Oh.

Okay.

I sipped in silence. He stretched out beside me—elbow propped, head tilted, watching me drink like I was some late-night science experiment he’d signed up for voluntarily.

When I finished, I set the mug down and laid back beside him. He pulled the blanket over us. One arm behind his head. The other found my waist like it belonged there.

My face found his chest.

“I still think you’re annoying,” I mumbled into him.

He just chuckled.

Eventually, we both drifted off.

Chapter Text

Welcome back to Love Island. Good morning, villa.

People are asking why our shade queen and her current life struggle, Rewan, are getting so little screen time.

We all know those faces deserve a ten-hour special. So if you’re wondering why their footage looks suspiciously short…

Relax.

Everything’s fine.

They’re fine.

We’re fine.

The production team is fine.

…Probably.

Now, you’re all thinking—Where’s the terrace footage? What happened up there?

And to that, dear viewers, I say: mind your business.

Look, sometimes in the name of “narrative pacing” you cut certain scenes. And sometimes, those “certain scenes” just happen to be between the fan-favorite ship, on the terrace, after hours, when all the cameras should have been off.

Whether something actually happened or we’re all just overthinking… that’s unknown.

And alright, fine. We may have had some technical difficulties last night. And by “technical difficulties,” I mean a terrifying people politely—threateningly—reminded production that.

“Ms. Sabrina doesn’t need her love life broadcast like it’s primetime.”

Imagine getting a call from the entire family’s legal team. It’s nonstop. And scary. We are constantly being reminded there are boundaries.

And let’s just say… we listened.

So instead of thirty extra minutes of… whatever-that-was… you’re getting the wholesome morning after montage.

Disappointed? Furious? Already tweeting in all caps?

Take it up with them. I’m not dying on this hill.

You’re welcome.

Or… sorry. Depends on who you ask.

And look—Sabi’s up.

And Rewan… actually, wait—where is Rewan?

…Stay tuned.

I woke up alone.

Which was rude, considering I’d fallen asleep on him.

The blanket was still warm where Rewan had been, but the treehouse felt emptier without his stupid heartbeat under my ear. Sunlight slipped in through the gaps in the wood, turning the dust motes into little floating glitter bombs.

I sat up, hair sticking in every possible wrong direction, and decided this was unacceptable.

Climbing down the ladder in my half-awake state was a miracle in itself. My feet hit the grass, and I followed the faint clink of dishes to the kitchen.

He was there—back to me, sleeves rolled up, leaning over the counter with all the smug focus of someone who knows they look good doing the bare minimum.

Like some domestic fantasy I didn’t sign up for.

The man’s cooking like it’s a Michelin audition, which is suspicious behavior on Love Island.

Because here’s the thing—on Love Island, no one’s this committed to breakfast unless they’re—

Overcompensating. Hiding something. Trying to make sure you see them doing it.

Suspicious. Very suspicious.

“What are you doing?” I mumbled, still rubbing sleep out of my eyes.

He glanced over his shoulder, smirk already in place.

“Making you breakfast.”

“Why?”

He turned fully, eyes dragging over me.

“How about you clean up first? I’d lose my appetite if we ate together and you looked like that.”

This fucker.

Before I could even talk back, he grabbed my shoulder and spun me around, steering me straight toward the kitchen door like I was an inconvenient delivery.

It’s stupid-early and he’s already trying to get on my nerves.

I’ll never understand this man.

One minute he’s looking at me like I’m his oxygen—like he’d actually die if a day went by without breathing me in—and the next minute he’s acting like I ran over his childhood pet.

I drag myself to the bathroom, scrub until I feel reborn. By the time I’m done, the mirror’s foggy, my hair’s damp, and I’m feeling dangerous.

After that one-hell-of-a-scrub, I hit the dressing room and pull out the bikini—it’s dealing lethal damage and I’m the assassin.

Makeup? Flawless. Hair? Done. Lip gloss? So glossy you could see your bad decisions in it.

And no, I didn’t put in any extra effort because im still salty, so don’t get it twisted.

You’re just imagining things.

I told myself I’ll check in on my girls first—because apparently, I haven’t seen them in ages.

…Which is a lie. A break from them is basically a blessing.

I step into the bedroom and they’re still tangled up like people who think human knots are romantic.

Then I clock a very unexpected—and very shirtless—Matt in our bed. The bed I ghosted last night.

And the worst part? He’s just lying there, looking like Sunday morning and bad decisions, with that warm, boyish smile that makes you forget he’s probably planning something.

“Sabi!” he says, grinning like I’m his favorite person in the villa. Arms open, inviting trouble.

Now this—this is the reaction I expect when someone sees me. Not the “you make me want to throw up” face I get from a certain someone.

I roll my eyes. Then I run straight to him. 

We crash onto the bed, me landing on top of him.

He smells like sun and something expensive, and his hand automatically finds the small of my back like it’s a reflex.

“How’s your first night?” I ask, because I’m polite like that.

“Good,” he says, voice dipping just enough to be annoying. “Missed you.”

And there it is—that stupid warmth in his eyes. Like he’s been waiting all morning just to say that. Like he’s not the human equivalent of a cheeky smirk.

I try to play it cool, burying my face in his neck to hide my expression. Big mistake. Now I’m inhaling him.

“You’ve already showered? Morning person?” I mumble, still too close.

He laughs, low and smug. “Only when I have something worth waking up for.”

I finally peel myself off him before I could do something dumb like… stay there and get used to it.

“How about some breakfast? Rewan’s cooking,” I say, dragging it out like an invitation.

Matt smirks. “I don’t think he’ll cook for me.”

“Yeah? Then I’ll cook for you,” I shoot back—already knowing that’s a filthy lie.

I can’t cook to save my life. Best I can manage is a fried egg… and even then, the egg’s fighting for its life.

We step into the kitchen, and Rewan didn't even turn around—just says, “Sabi, you done? Come eat.”

He hands me a plate without looking up, like he can’t see the six-foot-tall man standing right behind me.

“What about Matt?” I ask, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to cook for Matt. 

It’s not. We all know it’s not.

“I only cooked enough for the two of us,” he says, like that’s a perfectly reasonable answer.

“Is that so?”

I turn to Matt. “Can you wait a sec? I’ll make you something quick.”

I start to stand—already planning to fail spectacularly—when Rewan yanks me right back down into my seat. Then, with the slowest, most reluctant movement I’ve ever seen, he slides his plate toward Matt.

“What about you?” I said, half expecting him to suddenly confess he’s not hungry.

“We can just share,” he says flatly, like it’s not a declaration of war.

I glance at Matt. He’s trying not to laugh. Rewan notices. Rewan does not like that.

Now I’m sitting there with Rewan’s fork halfway to my mouth, Matt across from me eating his food, and every bite feels like a silent dare.

It’s too early for this triangle nonsense.

But also… Watching them silently try to alpha each other over scrambled eggs? Kinda delicious.

I live for it.

But before things turn for the worst—which, honestly, sounds fun—my phone buzzes.
 
I glance down.

Sabi, please make your way to the Beach Hut immediately.

Oh. Oh-ho-ho.
 
I look up at my two breakfast gladiators, forks poised like weapons, both staring at each other like one wrong move means war.
 
“Saved by the bell,” I murmur, sliding off my stool.
 
Matt raises an eyebrow. “Where you going?”
 
“Beach hut,” I said, grabbing my juice for dramatic effect. “Apparently, my presence is urgently required.”
 
Rewan gives me a quick once-over, like he’s deciding if this is worth asking about.

It’s not.
 
I head for the door, tossing a grin over my shoulder.

“Try not to kill each other while I’m gone. Or do. Might make breakfast more interesting.”
 
Their silence follows me out, heavy enough to promise something will happen the second I’m not in the room.
 
Which, let’s be honest, is exactly how I like it.

I decided to do a quick touch-up—yes, they said immediately, but what’s a few extra minutes when you’re a walking masterpiece?

Then I headed for the Beach Hut, still having no clue why I’d been summoned.

When I got there… well, let’s just say it wasn’t that I was disappointed, but it was definitely giving anticlimax.

All that dramatic text energy, and for what?

After, I head back to the villa and everyone’s scattered like someone yelled “free booze” in ten different directions.

Rosalie’s curled up on the daybed with Josh, but her eyes keep wandering to Gryff—who’s busy splashing around in the pool with Dani like they’re auditioning for Flirty Swim Team—The Musical.

Poor Rosalie.

Keziah and Kami are on the loungers, sunglasses on, drinks in hand, looking like two tourists who accidentally booked the same resort and now can’t be bothered to move.

Honestly? Maybe they do like each other.

Nathan’s with Tori—again. She’s draped over him like a designer scarf, and I can’t help but wonder how long this chapter’s going to last.

In the gym, I spot Irena, Matt, and Rewan.

They’re not working out so much as competing in some weird sibling rivalry over who can bang out the most presses.

Matt’s grinning, Rewan’s pretending he’s not impressed, and Irena looks like she’s actually out for blood.

I stroll in like I own the place.

“What’s this? A who-can-look-hottest-while-sweating contest?” I ask, leaning on the doorframe.

Matt drops his weights and grins at me, sweat darkening his shirt in a way that’s… inconvenient.

“You judging?”

Rewan snorts. “She’ll pick me, obviously.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m not judging negatively,” I said, stepping closer.

Then Matt pats the bench next to him, and Rewan’s eyebrow goes up like he’s already decided I’m not sitting there.

Oh, this could be fun.

I’m about to throw back something snarky when my phone buzzes in my pocket again.

I glance down.

Islanders, gather around the fire pit immediately.

Well, that escalated quickly.

I called out to everyone, and soon enough we’re all gathered around the fire pit.

I swear these producers have a gift for making it feel like something’s about to go down—hearts racing, glittery boots trembling, the whole dramatic slow-mo soundtrack in your head.

Well, no one’s dead. Not that I’m hoping someone is. Turns out, we’re just playing a game. Again.

And today’s game?

The one where you stack those square sticks into a tower, then take turns sliding one out like you’re performing delicate surgery—praying you’re not the reason it all comes crashing down.

You know the one. The game that exposes who’s got surgeon hands… and who should never be trusted near construction sites.

Yeah, it’s Jenga—but with a twist. Every block has a question written on it. You pull one, you answer.

Doesn’t matter if you tell the truth or lie.

And between us? I say lie away.

Gryff’s the first one to pull. Figures—he’s only quick when it comes to games like this.

He yanks out a block, flips it over, and reads.

“Who do you think is the best in bed?”

Oh, so we’re not easing into it today.

His gaze sweeps over us girls with a slow, cheeky smile, one eyebrow climbing like it’s got somewhere dangerous to be.

Dani and Rosalie are already wearing matching smug little smirks—yeah, clearly they’ve been… busy.

Honestly, I can’t even blame them.

That grin? It’s exactly the kind of trouble I tripped over back then.

“Sabi,” he says.

…Huh?

How? Don’t ask me, I’m just as shocked as everyone else.

Still, I’m not the type to get caught looking flustered. So I lean back, tilt my head, and give him my flirtiest, smuggest look—masking the fact that there are actual fireworks going off behind my eyes.

Rewan, on the other hand, isn’t even pretending to be chill.

His glare is practically its own heatwave.

“Why Sabi?” Gryff’s new girl interrupts, eyes flicking between us like she just spotted a secret she wasn’t supposed to.
 
“Wait—did something actually happen between you two?” Dani cuts in, voice thick with I’m dying to know energy.
 
Gryff slowly turns his head toward me—slow as molasses but with the precision of a cat about to pounce. The look? Yeah, that one that says let’s stir the pot and see who burns.
 
And I’m not the type to back away from fire. So I bite my lower lip, just for a second, and watch his smirk sharpen like a blade.

He holds the silence just long enough to have everyone squirming like they’re sitting on a cactus, then leans back with a lazy, teasing drawl.
 
“Well… I don’t kiss and tell. That’s our little secret to keep—and your imaginations to torture.”

Someone—pretty sure it’s Keziah—lets out a low “ohhh” under their breath. Rosalie shifts in her seat, pretending to sip her drink but watching us over the rim.
 
I keep my smug, knowing smile locked in place.

Meanwhile, Rewan’s stare sharpens into a death ray,and Matt’s smile? Oh, that’s the kind of smile that dares you to try something—anything.
 
This is peak entertainment. Except Dani and Rosalie—their glares could burn holes through my soul.
 
But Gryff?

Gryff knows exactly what he’s doing and zero fucks given.
 
He finishes with, "Trust me—Sabi’s got that kind of fire that leaves you guessing what you missed—and craving an encore.”

Kami—who’s sitting right next to me—nudges me with his elbow.

“Can you smell that?” he asks, leaning in just enough to make it sound conspiratorial.

“Smell what?” I frown at him.

“The smell of jealousy,” he says, grinning before laughing under his breath.

I roll my eyes at him. “What about you? Why aren’t you jealous?” I tease, half expecting some sarcastic comeback.

“Can’t be jealous when you know you’ve got it in the bag,” he says without missing a beat.

Okay… now I’m intrigued.

I can feel Matt’s gaze on us as Kami and I keep whispering nonsense back and forth.

Then, with the smoothest move known to man, Matt slides his hand around my waist and yanks me toward him in one swift, deliberate tug.

It shocks the hell out of me—Like what happened to the harmless, easygoing Matt?

And judging by the sudden lull in conversation, everyone else noticed too.

Gryff’s smirk tilts a little sharper, Rosalie’s brow arches, and Dani’s eyes flick between us like she’s about to start taking notes.

I turn, meeting his gaze head-on.

He’s infuriatingly composed for someone who just hauled me in like a fisherman reeling in a catch—mid-conversation, in front of everyone.

No apology. No sheepish grin. Just that quiet, unblinking intent.

His hand stays firm on my waist, anchoring me there. Then he leans in, close enough that his breath grazes my skin, and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear with a touch so deliberate it borders on indecent.

“Focus on the game,” he says, low enough for only me.

Sure.

Right after I figure out how to think straight with the whole villa watching you stake a claim like that.

My gaze flicks to Rewan—he’s not even looking at me.

Yeah. I’m screwed.

I should’ve known his silence was dangerous — turns out, he was just marinating a diss until it was nice and lethal.

“Can’t even have a single day without tripping over people drooling after Sabrina,” he says, smooth as poison.

Sabrina?

A couple heads turn. Smirks spread slow, like the table’s just been handed front-row tickets to a public execution.

And me? Yeah, it’s a direct hit. Right in the sternum.

I mean, how exactly is it my fault that I’m hot and everyone wants a piece?

I almost launch my shoe at his head, but obviously, I’m the bigger person here.

Keziah’s got her mom-mode on again—thankfully, for once, I’m actually grateful.

“Guys, come on. Let’s continue,” she says, clapping her hands like we’re unruly kids at a birthday party.

Everyone agrees, and Rewan reaches for the next block.

“Who would you take to the hideaway that isn’t your couple?”

He didn't even blink.

“Tori,” he says, flat as a table.

Tori?

Nobody sees that one coming.

“Why me?” Tori asks, shifting awkwardly in her seat.

Rewan, without missing a beat. “Just… you look easy.”

Oh.

Okay—true. But still. That’s rude. You’re not supposed to say the quiet part out loud.

Tori’s jaw drops for a second, but then she recovers—fast.

“Cool. Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Girl, I have no idea how you’re even supposed to take that as a compliment—unless you’re planning to frame it and hang it on your wall of bad life choices.

But screw that—he didn’t even look at me.

What’s his deal this time?

It’s always the same—like we’re finally getting somewhere, and then he rips it all apart. One step forward, five steps back, every damn time.

He’s infuriating. This game’s annoying. Everything’s just stupid.

And Just like that, the game’s over, and I can’t even remember half of what happened.

Then the girls drag me off for our “debrief”—basically a rapid-fire rant session about every microscopic detail.

Mostly it’s them unloading while I sit there, nodding like I care, fighting the urge to yawn so hard my jaw pops.

This is boring

“What’s with Rewan?” Tori asks.

Before anyone else can even start to answer, Dani’s smirk cuts through the air. Her eyes snap to me like a spotlight, sharp and unapologetic.

“Guess he finally got bored playing with Sabi,” she says, voice dripping with faux sweetness. “Maybe he needs someone actually fun… like me.”

Babe, my patience right now is as thin as your lashes.

Don’t test it.

“You’re fine with that, right, Sabi? I mean, you guys aren’t even a couple,” she says, letting out that grating little laugh that makes me want to staple her mouth shut.

After hearing her spout all that bullshit, something inside me snaps. Whatever it was—it’s all her fault for pushing me there.

I stood up and pushed back my chair—slowly. The scrape against the floor cut through the chatter, and suddenly everything hushed.

They all sensed the shift in the air, unsure how to react, but when they realized what was about to happen, Keziah jumped to my side, trying to hold me back—just barely.

“Sabi,” she called out.

But I didn’t stop. Not really.

Dani can’t run her filthy mouth like that and expect me to sit there prettily.

Every step I took toward Dani was heavy and deliberate. Her smirk twitched, like she was second-guessing whether she should keep it.

I stopped right in front of her, grabbed her collar, and yanked her up so we were eye to eye.

The girls gasped, hands tugging at me, whisper-shouting that I shouldn’t be doing this.

Wrong—she was the one who shouldn’t even be breathing in my direction.

I leaned in, voice low and syrupy sweet, each word a slow drip of poison meant for her alone.

“Stay in your lane. He’s mine,” I whispered.

“It’s a joke. Calm it, I’m just kidding,” she stammered, her smirk faltering into something closer to fear.

I let her go, then clapped my hand, brushing the cheap trace of her off my fingers.

“Oh? Why didn’t you just say so?” I said, voice light, letting out an all sugar-and-innocence laugh.

The group let out an awkward, scattered laugh, like they weren’t sure if it was safe to stop holding their breath.

Okay, I know I look hot as fuck, acting all badass and shit. But honestly?After getting my senses back, It’s embarrassing as hell.

It’s all Rewan’s fault. And sure, I’m venting at the wrong person, but Dani deserves it anyway.

No regrets.

After my little show—claiming Rewan was mine, which, let’s be real, was way more embarrassing—we did what we do best and changed the subject.

Finally, they got to rant about their couples.

Mostly Dani. She even apologized, saying it was because Gryff called me good in bed and that she felt jealous.

Fair enough.

I mean, Rewan picking Tori—even as an insult—didn’t exactly sit right with me. So yeah, I get where Dani’s coming from. And I’m not entirely innocent either—especially after the way I intimidated her.

But watching them squirm earlier was way too fun.

I don’t feel bad about it one bit.

The whole afternoon slipped by, and I didn’t even feel Rewan’s presence. Dinner came and went just like that.

He’s literally everywhere—except with me. It's so obvious that he’s avoiding me.

Suddenly, he’s allergic to me again.

Okay.

I’m not saying I miss him. It’s just… new.

That’s all.

And If he’s expecting me to chase him, sorry—not gonna happen.

My granddad would kill me.

I didn’t spend five years earning my degrees just to crawl and beg a man for attention.

But I'm not gonna lie, I’m kind of at my limit as well.

Seriously, what’s his problem?

After playing nice for hours—smiling sweetly, nodding along to everyone’s nonsense just to hide the fact that I’m one step away from losing my shit—the girls finally call it a night.

We do the usual ritual, drowning our faces in enough skincare to convince the boys we woke up like this, then slipping into sleepwear that should be illegal for public viewing.

Everyone’s gone, the room’s quiet—except me, still wrestling with my hair like it holds the key to my sanity.

Then, without warning, Rewan strolls in.

No knock. No “hey, can I come in?”

Just the damn door clicking shut behind him,and him leaning there with arms crossed like he owns the place.

What did I expect? Sweet apologies? Nah. Just that same old attitude, reeking of trouble and “deal with it.”

He’s just standing there, watching me like he actually expects me to entertain his nonsense.

Say something already.

Like, seriously—why did you even bother showing up?
 
It’s so damn annoying, I’m pretty sure I’m gonna lose every last hair on my head. So I whip around, cross my arms, and match his energy eye-to-eye.
 
“What are you doing here?” I ask, voice colder than ice.
 
Tried to keep it casual, but screw it—he’s pushing all my buttons.
 
“It’s bedtime. So, where are we sleeping?”
 
I blink. For real?
 
Okay, Sabi, breathe. He’s always like this—stubborn as hell. But don’t lose your cool. 

Yeah, no. Not happening. I’m no saint.

You mean you wanna crash next to me after literally ignoring I even exist all day.
 
“Are you serious?” My voice drops to flat mode, zero emotion.
 
“Yeah. Treehouse?” he says, barely hiding that smug little smirk.
 
That’s it. I’m done.

This guy is playing way too much, and I’m not here for it—he’s clearly loving every second of winding me up.

“Keep your stupid treehouse to yourself,” I snapped. “Oh, and let’s just keep ignoring each other from now on.”

Rewan didnt’t say a word. Just stands there, silent, lips pressed tight.

That silence? It’s all the answer I need.

“Move,” I said, trying to push past him.

He just stayed there, blocks the door, refusing to budge.

Then, without a word, he reaches for my hand.

“Come on. Let’s talk,” he says, voice low but insistent—like I’m the one dodging him.

I yank my hand free, irritation flaring hotter than ever.

“I’m just annoyed at how close you and Matt were,” he finally blurts out.

I laugh, sharp and biting.

“Why? Do you actually like me or something?” I ask—half hoping he’ll finally say it, half expecting he’d rather die than admit it.

He snorts, like I just asked the dumbest question in the world.

“No,” he says flatly.

“Exactly.”

After a beat, he adds, “Okay, maybe I’m a little jealous.”

So you’d rather admit jealousy than just say you like me.

How does this guy’s brain actually work?

I looked at him like we’d somehow switched to speaking Martian before he finally spilled.

Apparently, he’d been brewing a whole emotional storm since breakfast—starting the moment I showed up with Matt. Then Gryff’s stunt during the game, Kami invading personal space like it was a contact sport, and Matt hogging the spotlight again.

He rattled off the list like I was some kind of clueless moron.

And I gotta admit, hearing it all lined up? Yeah, it sounded bad. Suddenly, I felt a pang of guilt—or maybe just shock that Rewan could stay silent this long without choking on his own pride.

Because usually, he’d be yelling, ranting, and turning the villa into a soap opera. But today? Nada. Just the silent treatment. Not exactly mature, but hey—it’s progress if you squint hard enough.

“You’re the one who should be begging me for forgiveness, Sabrina,” he said, his smug little smirk doing all the heavy lifting.

I almost laughed. Almost.

But I swallowed my pride and said sorry—because unlike him, I actually know how to apologize without making it weird.

He reached for my hands again, yanked me close, and held me so tight I thought I might suffocate.

He buried his face in my neck, and I didn’t stop him.

“I missed you, Sabrina,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

“When are you planning to stop calling me that?” I asked.

“Till I’m not mad anymore.”

I sighed.

Because first of all, you don’t get to be mad. Second, I’m tired.

Fine, let the man sulk and throw his tantrum.

“When you said we should just ignore each other, did you really mean it?” he asked, still pressed into my neck.

No, I didn’t. But I’m not about to give him that much power.

“Yeah, I mean it,” I said. “Also, could you not talk right into my neck? 

Like, sir, do you even know what you’re doing?

He didn’t answer. Just grabbed me like I was a sack of potatoes and carried me off like we were escaping a fire.

Next thing I knew, we were in the treehouse, and he had me pinned to the bed, both hands planted firmly on either side of my head like he was staking his claim.

This should’ve been one of those heart-fluttering, chest-pumping moments, right? The kind you see in every cheesy rom-com ever.

But nope. All I felt was a sharp pain in my stomach from the way he’d tossed me over his shoulder like I was nothing more than a ragdoll.

“Could you not treat me like a ragdoll?” I said, glaring up at him.

He just smirked, no apologies in sight. I almost slapped him.

“I don’t think you’re delicate enough,” he said, grinning. “Aren’t you the one grabbing other girls by the collar out there?”

His face basically screamed: You’re going to die of embarrassment before I let this go.

“How did you even know that? Were you spying on me?” I asked, avoiding his eyes like I owed him money.

He looked way too pleased with himself.

Turns out, he overheard the girls on the terrace gossiping about me—how I’m terrifying but also somehow sexy-scary? Like I’m some kind of bad-ass supervillain with a crush.

Then came the embarrassing bits.

Let’s just say, I’m so not surviving this.

“If I come out of this villa single, I’m blaming you. How can you threaten all the girls—”

Before he could even finish, I grabbed a pillow and launched it straight at his face. Then shoved him and made a run for it. But, honestly, can you really escape a guy twice your size?

Before I could even as much as get up, he caught me effortlessly, wrapping his arms around me like I was the only thing that mattered.

His hold was gentle but firm, pulling me close until there was no space left between us.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” he said, not sorry at all, biting back a laugh like it was a full-time job. “I’ll stop.”

Yeah, I’m done.

Dignity? Consider it officially checked out.

Then out of nowhere he started pressing soft kisses to my lips—just a whisper of a touch—then planted little kisses on my cheeks and my forehead.

I looked at him, dumbfounded and breathless, but satisfied in a way I hadn’t expected.

No words. Just the quiet comfort of him holding me, and me letting myself feel it.

“What are you doing?” I managed, sounding casual even though I was combusting inside.

“Sabi, I like you. So don’t say things like we should just keep ignoring each other,” he said, all warm and fussy.

Then he looked straight into my eyes.

“We haven’t even started anything yet,” he continued.

And suddenly, everything paused.

Because this—this rare, almost mythical confession—was something I never expected to hear from him. A phrase he probably only said once in a blue moon, if that.

I mean, I know he likes me. But for him to actually say it out loud?

My heart stuttered, trying to process it.

For a second, I wondered if I was dreaming, or if I’d been hit with some kind of emotional lightning.

I reached up, half-expecting to find a fever on his forehead.

Nope. Perfectly fine.

So maybe... maybe I’m the one hallucinating.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Can you hear yourself?”

Then, without warning, he flicked my forehead and shoved me onto the bed like I was some annoying mosquito.

Okay, fine—my bad. But honestly, can you blame me?

Guess I won his little game then.

My heart might’ve exploded inside my chest, but my ego? Oh, it’s floating somewhere in the stratosphere, basking in victory.

Rewan settled back on the bed and, without hesitation, pulled me down beside him, his hand firm on my waist, anchoring me close.

His eyes locked onto mine—there was a flicker of raw intensity that made my breath hitch.

The space between us shrank, the air thick with everything we hadn’t dared say.

He leaned in slowly, lips brushing mine in a soft, teasing kiss. His mouth was warm and tentative at first, barely touching mine, as if savoring the moment before diving deeper.

Then the kiss deepened, his lips parting against mine, and a spark ignited low in my chest.

He pulled me even closer and slipped his tongue inside without asking—like he already knew he didn’t need permission.

I gasped against his mouth.

He shifted, sliding on top of me, his weight pressing down, grounding me. Our heads tilted and rolled side to side, his hands slipping under my top, warm fingers tracing my skin as they cupped my breasts, kneading and teasing with a practiced touch.

He pulled away—just barely.

“You’re so pretty, Sabi.” He whispered.

Okay, here we go again—him and his words.

“I know, but your hands—” I started, grabbing his arms to stop him. “Do you have a thing for boobs or something?”

Had to ask. That’s what curiosity does.

“No,” he said, voice low against my skin—still playing with me. “But yours is pretty.”

Before I could even react, he kissed me again.

Our lips parted and moved in sync, his tongue brushing mine, breath fresh and warm.

He trailed kisses down my jaw, to my throat, and the base of my neck.

“You’re not planning on biting me again, are you?” I asked, reaching up to his hair.

He just chuckled and bit me anyway. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt as much as last time.

He went back to kissing my lips softly before planting one last kiss on my forehead.

Then he settled back into his spot and pulled me into his arms for a cuddle.

His fingers tangled gently in my hair, playing with the strands like he was memorizing every detail.

“I missed you,” he said softly.

“You already said that,” I replied, a small smile tugging at my lips.

Well, whose fault is that? You’re the one who ignored me all day.

I was about to doze off, but he wasn’t done for the night. His voice broke the silence again.

“So… how’s Gryff?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, still buried in his chest—It was pretty comfortable here, and he smelled good.

“Was he… good?” he pressed.

“At what, exactly?” I frowned.

After a little back and forth, I finally caught on—he wanted to know if something had actually happened between us.

“No,” I said flatly. “We’re just messing around. Now can we please sleep?”

But of course, it’s Rewan we’re talking about.

“Too bad. You’ve got nothing to compare my skills to when you finally get a taste of me.”

This fucker.

Who even said I wanted a taste?

Okay, maybe I did, but don’t go putting words in my mouth.

“Who said I want a taste of you?” I said flatly, doing my best not to think about anything inappropriate.

He smirked. “You’re already sold, admit it.”

Never mind. I didn’t want to listen to this nonsense.

“Sure, sure,” I muttered, shifting just enough to plant a quick kiss on his lips—mostly to shut him up, but no need to tell him that.

“Night,” I murmured.

He hummed softly in response, then planted gentle kisses along my hairline, his fingers still tangled in my strands.

Wrapped up in each other, we both drifted off to sleep—finding quiet comfort in finally being close again.

Chapter Text

Good morning, Love Island. Good morning, villa.

So much is happening, but let’s start with Sabi’s beach hut moment. You might not remember it—or frankly, you might not even care right now—but Sabi was voted the villa’s most popular girl again.

Of course she is.

That means she’s immune from the looming dumping on the villa’s roof.

Lucky her.

But with great popularity comes great responsibility—or so I’d like to say. The reality? Sabi’s casually nominating her fellow islanders with zero care, zero tears—like she’s just picking out a designer bag in her family’s mall.

Nothing but cool detachment.

Well, it’s Sabi we’re talking about. As always, “it was nothing major” to our resident shade queen.

Since the dumping was barely a blip on Sabi’s radar, let’s move on to the fireworks that actually set this villa on fire.

We all know a certain someone was thriving after last night.

The Rabis fandom is frothing at the mouth right now—hashtags trending, meltdown threads multiplying, and an unreasonable flood of unhinged Tiktok edits set to slow-reverb love songs.

And by Rabis, I mean Rewan plus Sabi—not a massive outbreak.

Relax.

Close that WebMD tab, and stop googling "symptoms of Rabis.”

We're good.

Okay, fine—there’s no such thing as a fandom named “Rabis,” either, I just made it up. But after that unexpected confession, you can bet the internet would’ve invented one overnight.

Last night, Rewan casually dropped a bombshell so big, it made Sabi’s own beach-hut confession vanish from memory.

“Sabi, I like you. So don’t say things like we should just keep ignoring each other,”

Whether it was a heartfelt declaration or the result of Matt—basically his identical face but with a better personality—threatening him… well, we’ll never know.

Not that he really needs to be threatened.

Our shade queen might be dangerously close to perfection, basically God’s favorite, but one can’t have it all.

Sabi’s got the brains, the face, the body, a bank account that’s basically a mic drop, and a credit limit that says “don’t even try.”

Her only flaw? Her taste in men.

After all, Sabi literally ran to Love Island to dodge a whole lineup of suitors her parents would’ve happily signed off on—boring guys with neat suits and polite manners.

But of course, our Sabi doesn’t do boring.

She wants her man with a little bit of trouble—someone with enough red flags to keep her sunglasses busy.

See, God isn’t that unfair—He knows how to keep things balanced. In Sabi’s case, though, it’s… let’s just say the scales are tipped heavily in her favor.

But what about Sabi? How does she actually feel about our villa’s resident menace?

Oh, right—my bad. This is the same woman who straight-up grabbed Dani by the collar and verbally skinned her alive for merely suggesting she might make a move on Rewan.

Sabi had her like we were about to witness a Love Island–WWE crossover.

Silly me.

What was it she said again?

“Stay in your lane. He’s mine.”

Sabi’s out here confessing to literally everyone that she likes Rewan—

Everyone except Rewan himself.

But hey, nothing says “healthy communication” like threatening your competition while leaving your actual love interest completely in the dark.

Anyway—what’s the better fandom name guys, “Rabis” or “Wasabi”?

Alright, I’ll stop.

Let’s see what our residents are up to.

I woke up earlier than usual. By usual, I mean Rewan was still asleep beside me.

So, I started playing with his hair while he slept. Lately, it’s become a habit, and honestly? I’m not thrilled about it either.

After a few minutes, he stirred, pulling me closer like I was some cozy blanket.

Cute, but also kinda clingy.

“Morning. Why are you so pretty this early?” His voice was all raspy and half-asleep, like a sleep-deprived crooner.

Okay, here comes my good morning attempt.

“Should I make you breakfast?” I asked.

He cracked one eye open like I’d just asked him to solve world hunger. Confused? Shocked? Probably both.

“Sabi, you can’t cook,” he said flatly, fingers already tangled in my hair like he’s trying to tame a wild beast.

“Remember when I first cooked for you? I only did it ’cause your food looked like it's for dog.”

Yeah, I remember that morning. Especially you being all up in my personal space.

And there he goes—my good morning, kissing me goodbye. Like, “Bye. Not sticking around for your breakfast plans.”

I decided it was too early for this nonsense. I just got up and got ready for the day. He got up too and said he’d cook instead.

After my usual morning routine—shower, makeup, hair, outfit—I went looking for my girls.

Found them on the terrace, looking all peaceful, sipping tea like they were in a spa commercial.

Suspicious doesn’t even begin to cover it. You don’t just stumble on quiet mornings with this lot around. 

Something’s brewing.

“Hey, what are you all doing?” I asked, plopping down onto one of the loungers.

They all turned to me, faces full of that “We know something you don’t” look, like they were waiting for me to pick who spills first.

I knew it.

I picked Rosalie—because if there’s anyone who can turn a mess into a masterpiece, it’s her. So, naturally, she launched into last night’s chaos, and yeah… I listened. I chose this.

Let’s just say it was messy.

First up, Dani—squirming, sighing, and throwing shade like it was her cardio. Why? Because Gryff pulled Rosalie aside for a chat, and that chat apparently turned into something more. Dani was ready to throw claws like a cornered cat. Honestly, valid. But come on, with Gryff and Rosalie’s history? This is just Tuesday.

“What about Joshua?” I asked, because you know I’m nosy like that.

Rosalie huffed, “Obviously he’s mad. He won’t even look at me.”

Girl, what did you expect? A group hug and kumbaya session?

Then I turned to Tori, who looked like the weight of the entire villa was crushing her. Seriously, someone get this girl a spa day.

“Nathan’s been distant,” she said like she was confessing a crime.

And honestly? I’m lowkey relieved.

“What happened?” I pressed.

Turns out Nathan’s been cold ever since Casa Amor, giving her the silent treatment like a pro.

Honey, that’s just your drama coming back to bite you in the ass.

Welcome to reality.

And Good job Nathan, this Sabi is proud.

Then there’s Keziah—nothing wild there. Their relationship is basically a slow-motion trainwreck, held together by sheer stubbornness and probably a prayer or two.

Now for the real tea—Irena and Matt. Not exactly the scandal I was expecting, but apparently, they’ve been getting close and talking nonstop. She even apologized because, you know, Matt’s technically my couple.

I told her to go for it, I’m hogging Rewan for myself anyway.

She thanked me for taking rewan out of her sight, which was rude as hell—but who can blame her?

Obviously not me.

And just when I thought that was it—oh no, Dani wasn’t done yet. Girl went full roast mode, leaving Rosalie sitting there with her mouth hanging open like she’d just seen a ghost.

The other girls looked so stunned, you’d think someone yelled “fire!” in the villa. Even they were at a loss for words.

“We were fine until you walked in, Rosalie. Isn’t that exactly what you did with Gryff and Sabi?” Dani snapped, raising her voice like the queen of calling out mess.

Rosalie blinked, searching for a comeback.

Touché.

But, honestly, I’d rather you not drag my name through this mess.

“Dani, you know you’re not making any sense, right?” I said, crossing my arms.

She blinked, clearly caught off guard.

“And what do you mean by that?”

“I’m not condoning Rosalie’s actions, but last I checked, things between them were also fine before you walked in,” I shot back, voice dripping with just enough sarcasm to sting.

The room fell silent for a beat.

Dani’s smirk faltered, and the others exchanged glances like this villa drama just got a whole lot juicier.

“And Rosalie,” I pressed on, leaning in just enough to land it, “you’re being such a hypocrite right now. So much for a girl who’s supposedly all about honesty.”

Her eyes flickered, caught between defensiveness and that little voice in her head telling her to keep it real.

Keziah, ever the peacekeeper, waved her hands like she was trying to calm a riot.

“Girls, maybe we shouldn’t be coming for each other like this.”

Tori, looking like she just solved a mystery, piped up.

“Shouldn’t you guys be asking Gryff what’s really going on?”

Honestly, for Tori to have to say that? That right there sums up this entire mess.

When the drama’s this loud and everyone’s pointing fingers, it usually means no one’s got a clue—except the guy in the middle, who’s probably just chilling somewhere wondering why he’s the center of this circus.

Rosalie finally found her voice. “Look, I didn’t plan any of this drama. Gryff and I have history, yeah, but it’s complicated.”

Complicated—villa code for messy as hell.

Dani snorted. “History or not, you can’t expect me to just stand by while you flirt with my man.”

I raised an eyebrow.

Seriously?

Gryff’s out there just as confused as you two, still trying to figure out who he actually wants.

Newsflash: he’s neither your man.

Dani’s glare could’ve melted the sun.

It’s like watching a soap opera without commercial breaks — just a lot of yelling and zero plot.

I turned to Rosalie.

“Isn’t what happened between you and Gryff enough of an answer?”

That's all it took for them to finally shut up.

Dani’s expression switched from mean girl to poor victim so fast, I almost felt bad.

As if the villa deities knew I’d hit bullseyes in every possible direction, my phone buzzed.

That was me, saved by the bell.

“Islanders, gather on the lawn immediately.”

Cue the classic producer power move.

I rounded everyone up, and we all made our way outside.

Waiting for us? A mountain of mailboxes, each with our names slapped on like designer labels.

Before the guessing game even started, Rosalie’s phone buzzed again.

Turns out, we’re about to get anonymous letters from each other—a free-for-all roast session with zero accountability. Because what could possibly go wrong when you hand a bunch of drama addicts anonymous pens and let them loose?

The producers must be feeling nostalgic for middle school Christmas parties, judging by the warm, festive energy they’re throwing at us.

“I’m pretty sure I’ll get most of the letters,” Rewan said.

“I don’t know about that,” Keziah rolled her eyes. “Aren’t we all getting the same amount?”

We all scattered to write our letters to each other—except for one thing I can’t explain. Why the hell am I sitting next to Rewan? Isn’t this supposed to be secret?

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“It’s more fun this way. Feels like we’re back in school,” he said, clearly enjoying himself.

Well, no harm done. If there’s anyone who can help me spill the tea, it’s him. Rewan never runs out of things to say when it comes to talking smack.

After a few minutes, I was done with mine, I started folding the paper carefully. Then Rewan leaned over, glanced at what I’d written, and sighed dramatically—before ripping it to shreds.

“What’s wrong with you?” I snapped.

He handed me a fresh stack of paper.

“Do it again. Come on, Sabi, we can’t be this boring,” he said, shaking his head.

Apparently, what I’d written was boring as hell—cheesy and way too nice for this savage game.

I grabbed a fresh sheet and glared at him. “Fine. Let’s see your ‘genius’ then.”

“Oh, I’ll guide you,” he said, grinning like pure trouble. “Start with Tori. She’s basically a walking reality TV cliché.”

I scribbled something quick about her over-the-top dramatics and endless whining about Nathan. Rewan peeked over my shoulder and nodded approvingly.

“Better,” he said. “Now Gryff. He thinks he’s cheeky, but he’s basically a puppy in sunglasses. Go savage.”

I snorted, letting my pen do the work. The letters got progressively sharper—jabs at everyone’s quirks, habits, and blind spots. Somehow, between the two of us, the notes became a little masterpiece of chaos.

“This is way too fun,” he muttered, smirking as he folded his own paper in half and started again. “We could do this all day.”

By the time we finished, our stack of letters was lethal—anonymous chaos wrapped in polite envelopes. I couldn’t decide if I was proud, terrified, or a little turned on by how into it Rewan was.

Probably all three.

It’s fun, but clearly not a healthy way to bond, I thought, staring at our growing stack of chaos.

“What should I write about you?” I asked, curiosity sneaking in.

“Do you really have to ask?” he said, smirking. “Obviously, you should praise how great I am.”

I sighed, dragging a palm down my face.

Right.

So let me get this straight—I can’t write nice things about anyone else, but you’re somehow an exception?

Fine.

I picked up my pen, determined to roast him anyway.

Hit him where it hurts. Except every time I tried, my brain stalled.

He’s too smug, annoyingly hot, a good kisser, cooks nice food… and the part I hate the most—he makes me like him.

Rewan noticed my hesitation and grinned. “Having trouble being savage?”

I shot him a glare.

“No,” I said flatly.

Finally, I scribbled something down, trying to be clever without giving away that my brain was basically melting.

After we were done, we all slipped the letters into each mailbox. From here on, all we can do is pray not everyone shares Rewan’s mindset, and that someone—anyone—actually has at least one nice thing to say about each other.

For the record, I do have nice things to say, but Satan himself was watching me while I wrote, and somehow I got coaxed into bonding over talking smack about everyone instead.

Rosalie opened her letters first. Surprisingly—or not—most of them were nice. Well, except for the ones accusing her of stealing other girls’ underwear or suggesting she “try doing a lot less.”

She saved mine for last.

“Double standards are basically your personality. You preach honesty but can never quite manage it yourself.”

She froze, stunned—but it wasn’t like I’d lied. Most of the villa nodded along.

Dani went next, practically bouncing like she thought this was a compliment game. Probably because Rosalie had gotten a decent number of sweet letters and Dani assumed it’d be the same for her.

Oh, sweetie. No.

It turned out everyone in the villa had exactly one opinion of Dani.

One person critiqued her fashion sense. Then she unfolded my letter.

“You’re like a territorial bulldog who can’t even claim the bone you’re guarding.”

Everyone agreed. Because it was true.

She huffed, but what else could she do? Well, glare at me, apparently. Which she did. A lot.

Tori was next. She already knew she’d caused unnecessary agg and was squirming in her seat.

“Calling you a slut would be too mean, so I’ll just say loyalty isn’t your forte and you’re a total hypocrite.”

Okay, that was brutal. I don’t know who wrote it, but it wasn’t Rewan. I know what Rewan wrote—something about her thinking everyone wanted her when it was only Nathan.

We’d been laughing too hard while he wrote it for me to forget.

Tori didn’t even flinch. Good thing she doesn’t care what anyone thinks—she collects hate like it’s an award. If someone actually liked her, she’d probably ask for it in writing just to believe it.

Next was Keziah. Everyone sighed, because… it’s Keziah. I don’t think anyone would talk smack about her—except me and Rewan. We’re evil like that.

But when she read her letters, they were surprisingly not all sunshine. Apparently someone thinks Keziah should focus on Kami instead of acting like the villa’s personal security guard.

Which is… exactly what I think. But who wrote it?

Then there was.

“I think it’s sweet you put salt in Kami’s coffee just how he likes it, but I’d wish you’d stop doing the same to me.”

That’s friendship with a side of hypertension.

Lastly—me.

I’m not sure what to expect. Not that I care what they think.

“I think you’re such a good person to have in my corner… but with a leash.”

I know that’s Keziah.

“You’re smart and give great advice, but I just know not to turn to you when I need cheering up.”

I don’t know who wrote that, but—rude. Accurate, but rude.

“I like your outfit but you don’t share and I hate you for it.”

Valid.

“I still think about you.”

Now that’s spicy.

Everyone immediately looked at their partner, who suddenly found their shoelaces fascinating. I have no idea who that is, but I like the chaos.

“I still like you, but I think I’ll focus on my couple from now on. We can just be friends.”

Okay, I know that’s Kami… but why do I feel like I’m the one getting rejected?

Everyone was staring each other down, CSI-style, trying to match handwriting to heartbreak.

“Thanks for bringing me back to the villa.”

Okay, we all know that’s Matt. 

Babe, I don’t think you understand the rules of the game, but you’re welcome anyway.

“I know that’s you, Matt—come here,” I said, opening my arms.

Matt practically bounced over for a hug. We were giving total bestie vibes—platonic to the point of asexual penguins.

And yet… Rewan still managed to glare at Matt like I’d just announced we were moving in together, adopting two Labradors, and buying a rice cooker.

The man looked one passive-aggressive comment away from Googling “how to break up a friendship legally.”

Then lastly.

“I like your style but I prefer you witho—”

I ripped it to shreds before I could even finish reading.

“That’s sexual harassment.”

The villa exploded in laughter, and Rewan just sat there with that annoyingly hot, smug expression that makes you want to both slap him and… do other things.

Then it was the boys’ turn—and it was chaos. I feel like the girls didn’t hold back roasting, especially their partners.

Everyone thinks Nathan is sweet, but somehow he always ends up looking like the victim. Probably just Tori’s influence since he’s coupled up with her.

He can be a bit of a wet wipe too, i wonder why no one wrote that.

Joshua? Someone called him sweet too, but me? I think he’s quiet—because he should be.

Matt also got the “sweet” label. Or maybe he’s just pretending to be.

In my opinion, you can’t be alone with him without him trying to sweep you off your feet. Don’t let your guard down—he looks good and might actually succeed.

Someone said Gryff is cheeky and sweet but indecisive.

Yeah, he doesn’t even know what he wants and he’s always hesitating.

Lastly, Rewan. Pot stirrer—he’ll admit it himself. He’s toned it down recently, which I guess makes everyone happy.

What surprised me was how popular he apparently is with the girls. Three of them made it very obvious—and I’m pretty sure I know exactly which ones wrote what.

“You’re hot, as long as you keep your mouth shut.”

Rosalie. No contest. The woman’s been side-eyeing him like she’s trying to win tickets to a meet-and-greet.

“I still think you’re hot.”

That’s Tori. They were basically glued together at the sleepover, so… congratulations, I guess?

I’m starting to get an allergic reaction hearing all this.

“I think we look good together. We’d be giving power couple.”

That’s Dani. Power couple my ass—more like budget villains with no plot.

And of course, he’s reading it all with that smug little face, shrugging his shoulders at me like he’s won something.

So what if you’re popular?

Keziah and Irena, on the other hand, weren’t even subtle with their roast.

“Rewan, you're man of many talents. None of which involve minding your own business.”

Keeping it real, I guess.

He sets the card down and leans back, still grinning like an overfed cat.

“Jealous?” he asks, low enough that only I can hear.

I snort. Please. 

But his smirk doesn’t fade, and I hate that a tiny part of me wants to wipe it off his face—preferably with my mouth.

The game wrapped on a not-so-positive note—mostly thanks to Tori and Dani competing over who could huff louder. Well, they did get the most brutal cards.

Let them be mad. That’s the only kindness I can offer.

We were done. The producers, of course, were not.

A text came through. We’d be doing the PDA Awards tonight and a dumping right after. They made it sound so casual, like we were being invited to a picnic, not a double public execution.

Guess we’ll just sit here, smile for the cameras, and wait to see whether we get dumped, exposed, or set on fire for ratings.

But of course, we girls did what we do best—panic in gala outfits. We all glammed up, because if we were going to receive awards, we might as well look the part.

I even told them to wear their best dresses in case they got dumped.

Yeah—them. I know I’m not going anywhere.

After getting ready—and packing a few things, just in case—we were told to head to the lawn. The setup looked more “movie night” than “public humiliation."

Huge screen, rows of chairs, and a table of awards lined up like participation trophies.

The boys were already seated when we arrived. Rewan patted the seat beside him, but the girls dragged me away before I could even pretend to consider it.

Apparently, sitting next to the guy who could expose you on a 10-foot screen is “bad strategy.”

Whatever happened to living dangerously?

The host’s voice boomed from the speakers, way too cheerful for someone who's about to ruin our night.

First was.

“Casa Connoisseur Award.”

For fully embracing the local culture.

The words flash up in gold, all fake prestige and zero mercy.

Then the montage starts.

Tori in the bedroom with Dante, doing God-knows-what—and yes, we all know exactly what. Tori in the pool with him at night, skinny-dipping like they’re filming an after-hours music video. Them snogging in the kitchen, because apparently counters are a Casa Amor love language.

The clips end, and the lawn is silent for exactly three seconds—long enough for Nathan’s jaw to tighten—before Tori gets up like she’s collecting an Oscar.

Babe, you’re not supposed to be proud.

Nathan stays quiet while the boys pat his shoulder in that awkward, hang in there, bro way.

“Shouldn’t you apologize at least?” Rosalie asks.

“Why? It’s Casa Amor. We’re here to make connections and explore,” Tori says flatly.

She has a point—but somehow it’s unacceptable. Probably because she’s Tori.

She sits back down, tossing her hair. 

“Besides… not my fault Dante’s more memorable than a sun lounger.”

Before anyone can get another word in, another award splashes onto the screen.

"Situationship Strategist Award."

For turning almost-relationships into well-managed partnerships.

The words pop up in glittery gold, like they’re celebrating something noble instead of… whatever this is.

The clip plays—me, Matt, and Keziah crouched behind a hedge like discount detectives. I’m whispering, totally deadpan.

“So, Matt, you cool with me twisting with you?”

Cut to Matt blinking, caught off guard, and me doubling down.

“I mean, you might find someone in the villa and click with them. Just making sure you’re not gonna feel weird about it.”

The camera zooms in on Matt’s Sure. No problem. face—the exact expression of a man lying to himself.

The villa howls. Someone yells, “You’re ruthless!”

It’s really not that bad.

I stand, strut over, and take my award like it’s a crown, while Matt just leans back with that “no hard feelings” smirk.—the kind that says I’m fine… but just wait, karma’s coming for you.

Once the laughter and applause for my award died down, the screen blinked again. Another trophy was up for grabs.

"Sabi’s Number-One Hype Man."

For turning a kiss into a public service announcement about who’s really at the top of the food chain.

Then Rewan’s clip rolled.

He sat at the edge of the firepit, elbows resting on his knees, letting the Casa girl work her pitch like she was auditioning for his time. She leaned in, confident, lips catching his once—just enough for the villa to go ooooh.

Then he pulled back, calm as ever.

“Sabi’s better,” he said, voice low but carrying. “A hundred times better.”

He raised his hand, palm high. “Sabi’s up here.”
Then tapped the toe of his boot on the deck. “You're here.”

The clip ended with him standing, strolling away without a backward glance—just a lazy, “See you later,” tossed over his shoulder.

The villa absolutely lost it.

“No way,” Nathan laughed, smacking the armrest. “Didn’t think I’d see the day Rewan would be this down bad.”

Kami whistled. “Man didn’t just simp—he built her a podium.”

Even Tori was grinning. “Public relations, firepit edition.”

Rewan just leaned back with his trophy, completely unbothered. “Facts are facts.”

I resisted the urge to salute. If he was going to wage a propaganda campaign in my honor, the least I could do was look appropriately smug.

The villa was still buzzing from the last round of clips, everyone laughing, smirking, or shaking their heads at our antics.

Just when I thought we’d hit peak chaos, the next award popped onto the screen.

“The Perpetual Outraged Islander Award”

For single-handedly turning every minor inconvenience into a full-blown moral crisis, all while perfecting the art of the glare and dramatic sighs. 

Then the clips rolled.

Dani huffed at literally everything. Someone laughed too loud? Outraged. A chair was moved slightly? Outraged. Gryff looked at someone funny? Outraged. Every sigh, every side-eye, every muttered complaint—pure, unadulterated drama.

The villa couldn’t help but laugh, even as Dani muttered under her breath, clearly appalled that anyone could find her outrage entertaining.

By the end of the montage, she was glaring so hard it practically left a mark on the screen.

We clapped anyway. Entertainment is entertainment, after all.

Then another award pops up on the screen, bold gold letters flashing.

"The Delulu Detox Lifetime Achievement Award."

For redefining “public service” by personally escorting delusional contestants back to their lane—one collar grab, sugar-coated threat, and immaculate laugh at a time.

And yeah—I know that one’s mine. They were already looking at me before my clip even rolled.

Then the clips rolled in.

On the screen, Dani lounged back in her seat, fake-sweet smile plastered on.

“Guess he finally got bored playing with Sabi,” she said, voice dripping like bad syrup. “Maybe he needs someone actually fun… like me.”

Cut to me standing, slow and deliberate, with Keziah trying—and failing—to block me. I walked straight up to Dani, grabbed  her collar, and pulled her in.

“Stay in your lane. He’s mine,” I whispered.

The clip ended—and honestly, so did I.

The villa’s in stitches.

The girls are saying they were actually properly scared, like I was about to flip a table next.

Dani? She’s sulking, saying it was obvious I was wrong, but that somehow the camera liked me more and made her look like she was about to cry.

Which, by the way, she was.

The boys are teasing me. Rewan’s having the time of his life, full-on belly laugh.

"We didn’t know you had that in you, Sabi." Kami said.

Irena snorted, “You’re just as bad as each other.”

I stood up to collect my trophy, dying from sheer embarrassment—but obviously, I had to act like none of this bothered me.

Then the screen blinked again, another award ready to ruin our dignity.

"The Poundland Private Investigators Lifetime Achievement Award."

Presented to the brave islanders who risk their dignity, camera angles, and lower backs in the noble pursuit of eavesdropping on villa drama.

We all lost it just from the description alone.

Then the clip rolls.

It’s me, Matt, and Keziah again. 

Without saying a word, we fall into formation like some petty spy squad and trail after them. We creep through the villa, ducking behind pillars and loungers like we’re in a budget spy movie. 

Matt is stifling a laugh, Keziah’s hand is clamped over her mouth, and I’m just praying the night-vision cameras don’t catch my “I live for this mess” face.

The clip ends with three crouched silhouettes in the darkness—less like detectives and more like a failed improv troupe that accidentally wandered into a stakeout.

The three of us stand up and each take a trophy like we’ve just won gold at the Petty Olympics. 

Rosalie is side-eyeing us so hard it’s practically a glare, but we just start bowing to everyone as they clap—fully committing to the bit like unbothered, over-decorated spies.

Then the screen flashed again, the next honor ready to make things awkward.

"The Panini Press Award."

For the islander most committed to making sure no lip in the villa goes untested.

The montage kicks off like a greatest hits reel of Rosalie’s kissing career.

First, she’s snogging Archie on the terrace like they’ve just signed a non-disclosure agreement. Then she’s by the pool with Joshua, water glittering behind them while she goes in like she’s trying to win a scuba competition. Finally, we cut to the secret garden, where she’s tangled up with Gryff, the shot framed like it’s the season finale of some overproduced soap opera.

By the end, the entire villa is hollering, and Rosalie just shrugs like she’s accepting an Oscar for “Best Use of Lip Gloss in a Reality Show.”

Gryff and Joshua were awkwardly squirming in their seats while Dani was huffing like a teakettle about to blow.

I don’t think she’s smiled once since she walked into the villa, and I’m starting to actually feel bad for her.

But still—

we all clapped like that was perfectly reasonable behavior.

Then the next award popped up, and honestly, the villa collectively knew this one was coming.

“Memory Lane Is Just Sabi.”

For single-handedly turning every boy chat into a shrine dedicated to her hotness, charm, and overall unmissable presence—because apparently, the villa’s collective memory has a one-track mind.

The clips rolled.

One by one, the boys were on full display, praising me in every corner of the villa. Whispers about my looks, casual mentions of how “ridiculously hot” I am, debates over whether my outfit was fire or iconic.

The villa descended into a weird, semi-serious contest of Sabi worship.

It was exhausting just watching.

All the girls are rolling their eyes, muttering “typical,” and nobody even bothers pretending to be shocked anymore.

When I step up to grab the trophy, I shrug like,

“What can I say? I exist.”

The villa laughs, Rewan smirks like it’s his favorite reality show, and the girls—well—they’re still side-eyeing, but there’s no denying it.

 I’ve officially claimed mental residency.

Then, without missing a beat, the next award flashed up.

“The Can’t-Stop-Missing-Sabi Award.”

For turning every conversation, coffee break, and awkward villa moment into a public service announcement about how much you miss Sabi—whether anyone asked or not.

The clips rolled.

Gryff, mid-lounge, rambling. “I just… I miss waking up next to Sabi. Even when Dani’s around, or, uh, Rosalie… it’s just different.”

Every shot was him sighing dramatically, gesturing vaguely toward empty sheets, or staring wistfully out the window. 

Dani and Rosalie were visibly plotting his murder with their eyes, while the rest of the villa tried not to choke on their drinks laughing.

It was equal parts pathetic, adorable, and entirely Gryff.

Gryff stood up and grabbed his trophy, looking around like he had no idea where to put his eyes.

Well, we’d been coupled for a while, so I guess that’s understandable.

Honestly, it was fun watching his clip.

And just when we thought the award chaos was slowing down, another name popped on the screen.

“The ‘Check Your Angles, Sir’ Award”

For turning a casual glance into a full-on aesthetic inspection that leaves the other person flustered.

The villa watched intently, eyes glued to the screen—and then the clips rolled.

On screen, I’m sitting next to Rewan, letting my eyes trail over his face while he rambled, smug and completely unaware. Then he catches me staring and grins. “Don’t blame you. I’d stare at me too.”

He starts flexing like he’s doing me a favor just by existing. I lean in, eyes tracing the line from his jaw down to his chest.

“You’re almost making me wanna kiss you,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow. “Then why don’t you?”

For a second, silence. Maybe something might actually happen. Then I smile sweetly: “We should probably keep looking for them.”

The villa cracked up, smirks and raised eyebrows all around, clapping as I stood up to collect my award.

Everyone looked at me like they’d just solved a mystery—Rewan’s sudden change in attitude toward me finally explained.

Another award popped on the screen, and the villa buzzed with curiosity.

“The Ethical Saboteur Award.”

For making morally gray decisions look effortless, all while maintaining your beach-hut zen.

The clip rolled. I was in the beach hut, hosts grinning at me.

“You were voted the villa’s most popular girl,” one said, “so you’re immune from the public dumping, but—you get to nominate who should go, and the public will decide from your picks.”

Without missing a beat, I recommended Tori.

“Why Tori?” they asked.

“I feel bad for Nathan—he might get dumped too—but Tori’s been riding a yacht out of the villa since day one,” I explained.

“Who else?” they pressed.

“Probably Dani. She’s had her moments, but mostly it’s her embarrassing herself—turning the villa upside down over a man.”

“And anyone else?”

“Not really. I don’t think Rosalie should get dumped—we’re here to make connections, and she’s got more than one,” I shrugged.

The hosts couldn’t help but laugh, and of course, dumping Keziah would’ve been a crime.

The clip ended.

The villa collectively turned to me like I’d just set their houses on fire.

“When was that?” Rosalie asked.

“Yesterday,” I said.

Dani and Tori glared.

“Guys, it was a hard decision,” I added, feigning sincerity.

“Doesn’t look like you’re having a hard time,” Rewan chimed in.

Right. Cool your jets—no one asked for your opinion, Picasso.

They had zero choice anyway, so they grumbled and let it slide.

Just when I thought it was done, another clip rolled—part two. Me again, this time picking boys.

“Probably Joshua and Nathan?” I said.

“I thought you’d feel bad if Nathan gets dumped.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have much option. Kami and Kez are fine, Gryff and Rosalie obviously like each other, Rewan… well, he is Rewan.”

“You’re not nominating Rewan?”

“Why should I?” I asked, completely deadpan.

The hosts exchanged an awkward laugh.

“Right,” they reluctantly agreed.

The clip ended.

Then again, they’re all looking at me like I’ve just declared war on logic. I’m being perfectly reasonable—I don’t get why they’re not getting it.

“What?” I asked. “Look, it might look like I’m not thinking at all picking you guys, but that’s not it.”

I explained my reasoning, made-up on the spot but airtight.

Nathan’s a great guy—if he leaves the villa, he’ll land on his feet, so it’s not cruel. Joshua is nice, but his only connection here is Rosalie, and she’s clearly not interested in him, so dumping him won’t break anyone’s heart.

Everyone else either has a solid connection or… well, Rewan is Rewan. Perfectly sensible.

Just like that, the PDA awards ceremony ended.

The girls and I gathered immediately to debrief.

“I think Gryff’s still into you, Sabi,” Rosalie said, her voice tinged with disappointment.

“Uh… I don’t know about that, Rosalie. We don’t even talk that often,” I replied.

Gryff giving me zero signals, but thanks for the unsolicited psychoanalysis.

“But he misses you,” she continued.

“I don’t think he meant it like that. They’ve been coupled from day one, so it makes perfect sense for him to miss Sabi,” Keziah added.

Calm down, Rosalie. It’s called basic human decency, not secret longing.

“Enough about that—Sabi literally put me and Tori at risk,” Dani snapped.

Yep, and I’m supposed to feel guilty?

“Sabi already made her point clear. She had no choice. We can’t blame her,” Rosalie said.

Tori stayed silent, which I counted as a small victory.

Before we could argue more, Kami got a text, called us over, and read it aloud.

It was about the dumping, obviously.

We all gathered at the firepit, waiting for the public’s verdict. After a few dramatic sighs, Kami read the results.

Tori and Joshua.

I breathed a quiet sigh of relief—thank God Nathan was safe.

Hallelujah.

Let’s not pretend I care about anything else.

They said their goodbyes. Tori looked sad—she said she's an OG girl—but being OG doesn’t mean untouchable, babe.

I did a tiny, totally overdramatic pretend cry for effect.

They didn’t buy it.

Perfect.

But before they’d even exited, Rosalie and Gryff announced their coupling. Unofficially, now they’re a couple. Not exclusive, but at least they can legally snake their way to each other.

Congrats, sure, but maybe pick a time when we’re not all still crying over the dumping.

Timing, people.

Then we hugged and exchanged our best wishes, which I couldn’t tell if they were sincere or not—but honestly, who cares. 

I don't understand why Rewan was hugging me so tight—it’s not like I’m the one getting dumped. His arms were like iron bands, but soft, warm, grounding, and slightly infuriating all at once.

“I’m not getting dumped. What are you doing?” I asked, squirming just a little, because honestly, this was borderline ridiculous.

“I just realized how much you like me, so I’m giving you a hug.”

Excuse me—I like who? My brain did a full loop-de-loop, trying to process what I thought I knew versus what I was being told.

“Who says I like you?” I asked, doing my best poker face, fingers digging slightly into the fabric of his shirt.

“Sure, sure,” he said flatly, like he was bored of my acting at this point, one eyebrow lazily raised as if to say keep trying, champ.

“It’s true. You’re just reading too much into it,” I tried again, voice smooth but a little shaky under the weight of the absurdity.

And then—because the universe clearly had a flair for drama—he kissed me. Soft. Sweet. Just enough to make the world pause and forget the dumping and common sense.

Then he looked at me like he’d just proven his point. And yeah—he's very much on point.

My poker face? Obliterated. Heart? Definitely not helping.

After Tori and Joshua left, we got another text telling us to get some rest because there's a talent show tomorrow.

We all got ready for bed, going through the usual routines, when Dani appeared, fidgety and clearly unsettled.

“What do you think I should do, Sabi?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Well… Gryff made it pretty obvious he’s not into me,” she said.

I could tell she was genuinely hurt this time.

“Are you interested in anyone else?” I asked, calmly measuring the level of disaster in front of me.

She shook her head. Apparently, she only had eyes for Gryff. She’d even signed up for the show thinking she’d be competing with me. Losing to me? Fine—she could handle that she said. I’m Sabi, after all, the default benchmark for competition.

By the time Casa Amor rolled around—her supposed time to shine—suddenly it wasn’t me she had to worry about. It was Rosalie. And Gryff didn’t pick her. That? Apparently bruised her ego worse than any villa disaster ever could.

I blinked. Right. Got it.

So, basically she prepared for a showdown with me, Gryff flipped the script, and now she’s heartbreak-central over Rosalie. 

“I thought I’d be ready to lose to you,” she admitted, “but I didn’t expect I’d have to lose to Rosalie too.”

She groaned dramatically.

“Ugh. I just… I don’t even know what to do anymore.”

“Do?” I asked, leaning against the counter. “You either sit there and pout, or you get over it and try again tomorrow. Your choice.”

She muttered something under her breath, clearly debating whether I was cruel or just stating the obvious.

Honestly? Probably a little of both.

“Have you ever considered Nathan?” I asked.

“He’s… a bit of me, but I never really noticed him before,” she said. “And I don’t know how to approach him. Maybe he’s already crossed me out because I bring drama.”

So you're aware.

“I think you’re fine. But we’re talking about Nathan—he moves like a snail. That’s why Tori can’t stand him,” I said.

“I’m fine with it. I’m not obsessed with getting physical,” she said proudly.

“I’m not saying he doesn’t want to get physical, okay? He even got a glowing review from Tori.”

“That’s unnecessary,” she huffed.

“I’m just saying,” I said, shrugging like it was obvious.

By the time we wrapped up our night routine and Operation Nathan Strategy, sleep was practically dragging us by the ankles.

As we all headed to the bedrooms, Rewan appeared like he’d materialized from thin air.

“I came to get you,” he said. “We’re sleeping in the treehouse tonight.”

I stopped. Nope. “Not happening. It’s hot in there—I want my bed.”

He tried, of course.

The full persuasive pitch, puppy eyes, smug grin, slight leaning-in, the whole Rewan package. I stayed firm. He had no choice but to follow me back to the bedroom.

Slight pang of guilt—but my bed, my rules.

When we got there, Matt and Irena were on our bed. Irena jumped up immediately, flustered, but I waved it off. 

“It’s fine, we’ll just use your bed.”

She relaxed and even smiled. 

“Okay… your pillow smells nice,” she said, hugging it like a tiny victory.

Rewan smirked at me as I flopped onto the bed, brushing my hair back.

“Finally,” he said, crawling in beside me.

I raised an eyebrow. “Finally what?”

“Finally… peace,” he said, but there was that glint in his eyes. 

I leaned back, pretending to ignore him, but he immediately curled around me, one arm draped over my waist. His fingers found their way into my hair, stroking it gently, almost hypnotically.

I let out a soft sigh as he pressed a tender kiss to my lips, slow and careful, then followed it with another kiss on my forehead. 

“You know,” he murmured, voice low, “you make it really hard to sleep sometimes.”

I smirked against his chest. "You're ridiculous."

He chuckled, soft and warm, and nuzzled closer, his hand still threading through my hair. The bed felt smaller, cozier, somehow safe and thrilling all at once.

We both drifted off to sleep, tangled up in blankets and quiet, each hoping we wouldn’t embarrass ourselves tomorrow.

Chapter Text

The next morning, I found Rewan in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, moving around like he owned the place.

But this time, I’d learned my lesson—no more shuffling in with a pillow crease on my cheek and last night’s mascara smudged under my eyes. I was already showered, dressed, and presentable enough to pretend I always woke up like this.

“What are you making?” I asked, leaning against the counter.

“Your favorite,” he said, grinning like it was some grand reveal.

“You don’t even know my favorite,” I pointed out.

“I know,” he said, deadpan. “My cooking.”

God, he was so full of himself. But annoyingly, he does cook nice food, so I decided not to burst his little bubble.

He slid a pan onto the stove with the confidence of someone who’d just declared war and knew he’d win.

“Sit. Eat. Praise me.”

“Wow,” I said. “Do you also offer prayer mats for your worshippers, or is that bring your own?”

He smirked without looking up. “Keep talking. I’ll add extra chili.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would. And you’d still eat it.”

He wasn’t wrong.

So I sat, trying not to look too invested, while he plated up like this was MasterChef: Villa Edition.

And maybe, just maybe, I liked watching him play domestic first thing in the morning but I’d rather be caught dead than admit it out loud.

We ate in companionable silence for about two seconds before he went, “You ready for the talent show?”

“I’ll probably just sing,” I said with a shrug.

“Nope. We’ll be dancing.”

I blinked. “We?”

He looked at me like I’d just asked whether water was wet.

“You and me, obviously.”

“Obviously,” I repeated, deadpan. “Because when I think ‘talent,’ the first thing that comes to mind is me embarrassing myself in sync with you.”

He just smirked. “Good thing I’m carrying the team, then.”

Since when were we a team?

He could’ve just asked nicely if he wanted me to distract the audience so they wouldn’t notice his lack of talent.

As if he could read my mind, he flicked my forehead.

“What was that for?” I asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

He just rolled his eyes like I wasn’t even worth the effort of a reply.

I wandered off around the villa, casually investigating what the other talents might be.

A little casual snooping—absolutely not sizing them up—revealed that everyone was taking this talent show way too seriously. For reasons I cannot begin to understand.

By the pool, I spotted Rosalie and Gryff.

“How are you guys doing?” I asked.

Apparently, they were “practicing,” which in reality meant Gryff was teaching and Rosalie was looking like a drenched baby chick.

“My hair is ruined,” she said, wringing it out like we were in a shampoo commercial gone wrong.

“It’s fine,” Gryff said without looking at her.

“It’s frizzing.”

“It’s not.”

I sat down on a lounger. “Rosalie, if you spend more time worrying about your hair than your talent, you’re going to lose both.”

She gasped like I’d just cursed her bloodline.

Watching them bicker was almost suspicious—half the time it looked less like rehearsal and more like foreplay with bad timing. Before I could decide, Rewan appeared out of nowhere and hooked a finger through my sleeve.

“You. Come on.”

I barely had time to wave at Rosalie before Rewan was already dragging me across the villa like I was late for a flight.

“Where are we going?” I asked, jogging to keep up.

“Practice,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I don’t recall agreeing to this,” I muttered.

“You didn’t. But you’re going to thank me later.”

“That’s doubtful. Highly doubtful.”

We stopped in the middle of the deck.

“Here,” he said, pointing to an imaginary spot on the floor like it was marked with sacred chalk. “Stand.”

I looked around. “No music?”

He grinned. “We’re starting with the basics. Step one—don’t trip over your own feet.”

“Wow,” I deadpanned. “Your faith in me is inspiring.”

So I decided to show him exactly who needed teaching.

Within seconds, I slipped into the routine I used to do back in uni—sharp turns, smooth footwork, the whole thing.

His smug little smirk faltered halfway through, and by the time I finished, he was just staring.

I know that look. That’s the I’m impressed but too stubborn to admit it face.

“Speechless?” I asked, tilting my head.

He crossed his arms. “It was alright.”

I snorted.

He rolled his eyes, muttering something about “not bad for a beginner,” but I caught the way his lips twitched like he was fighting a smile.

Then he starts teaching me the choreography we’ll be doing later. And—annoyingly—he’s actually good. Like, really good.

He doesn’t even look like someone who can dance, but there he is, moving like it’s muscle memory.

When I asked about it, he just shrugged.

“Been to a few dance classes. My some of my circle’s are dancers, so it kinda piqued my interest.”

I blinked at him. “Wow. Same, actually.”

Which is not exactly the same. I’ve been to a few classes, sure, but my circle’s mostly people who can’t even clap on beat. Still—point stands. I’m obviously better.

“Wait—does this mean I have to perform twice?” I asked.

“Why? You’re already dancing.”

“Yeah, but I was planning to sing,” I said, narrowing my eyes.

He just smirked and caught my wrist, fingers wrapping warm and sure before I could step back.

“C’mon,” he said, giving a gentle but unarguable tug that had me stumbling right into his space. And just like that, I was officially roped into his performance.

Basically, I’m doing him a favor—helping him out by being his dance partner. Not that he’s said the words “thank you,” of course.

We spent half the day “practicing” whatever talents we think we have. Some of them are  questionable, to put it nicely. But hey—we don’t judge.

Well. I don’t judge. Out loud.

A little silent judging won’t kill anyone. At least not me.

It’s ridiculous how we’re treating this talent show like it’s the Olympics of “being mid.” A bunch of grown adults rehearsing like high schoolers panicking over a group presentation.

Keep your expectations low—like, bottom of the ocean low. But at least the vibes are funny.

After lunch, we were told to that the mini talent show kicks off at three. Everyone’s buzzing with excitement—except me.

I know I’ll be fine, but I honestly don’t get what’s so thrilling about watching people line up to humiliate themselves.

Please.

Who am I kidding. Hand me the popcorn.

After a few more hours, we all started getting ready—makeup, hair, and outfits that screamed compensating.

Then Rewan popped up out of nowhere and suggested we should match. I made a show of pretending to think about it before agreeing—purely for the performance, of course.

When we finally arrived at the setup, I nearly laughed. They’d actually gone all out—an actual stage, rows of chairs, the whole deal. 

Everyone was cheering like this was Coachella instead of a villa talent show.

Kami and Keziah kicked off the talent show with a skit. They came in confident, lines memorized, timing sharp—but you could also tell they couldn’t wait to get it over with. 

The kind of performance that says we rehearsed, but please don’t make eye contact when it’s done.

They were playing so many characters at once that half the time I couldn’t tell who was supposed to be who.

Kami would switch voices mid-sentence, Keziah would roll her eyes but still commit just enough to keep it going, and the whole thing was confusing in the most hilarious way.

But the real entertainment?

Watching Keziah slowly lose her composure every time Kami stared at her with that over-the-top, too intense to be acting gaze. She’d snap at him to stick to the script, then fumble her lines when he didn’t.

From my seat, I had only one thought—forget the popcorn, I need wine. This is getting good.

Next up were Nathan, Dani, Irena, and Matt with their “gym performance.”

Except it wasn’t just a workout—it was Dani’s one-woman show as a deranged personal trainer.

I don’t know if that counts as talent. That’s basically just her personality.

Well. Let her shine, I guess.

It started with burpees, squats, push-ups—the works.

Irena was flawless, Matt looked like he’d been training for this his whole life, Nathan kept flexing like the human embodiment of a protein shake and Dani.

Dani was the star for all the wrong reasons.

The fact that they actually survived until the end was impressive. Dani was screaming, making them do routines that should honestly be illegal. It was hard to watch—except I couldn’t look away either.

I mean, how could I?

Three sweaty bodies on stage. I know I shouldn’t be thankful, but thanks anyway, Dani.

Rewan, of course, was side-eyeing me the whole time.

“Enjoying the view?” he muttered, low enough for only me to hear.

I didn’t even flinch. “Relax. I was admiring Dani’s lung capacity.”

He gave me a look that said sure you were.

Then it was Gryff and Rosalie’s turn.

Without a word, they marched straight to the pool, and, of course, the rest of us were practically forced to follow.

Gryff went first—fluid, effortless, every movement precise. He launched into flips and twists that made it look like gravity itself was cooperating with him.

Honestly? Stunning.

Rosalie followed, matching him move for move.

She threw herself into every dive, every turn, hitting every mark with perfect timing. Impressive.

Absolutely impressive.

Except she hated the way she looked.

Hair plastered to her face, clothes clinging from the splash, water streaking across her makeup. Every flip made her flinch inwardly at the reflection in the pool.

Externally, flawless; internally, mortified.

We all cheered anyway.

Because honestly? Watching them both execute those tricks was worth a standing ovation—if Rosalie could just stop glaring at herself long enough to notice.

Then it was our turn.

Rewan and I hit the floor with that routine he taught me. And damn, he was good. Smooth, confident, perfectly in sync with everything we’d practiced.

And of course, I was having a minor heart attack because his hands were everywhere—on my waist, brushing my back, sliding a little too close for comfort. 

And the way he was staring? Melting my brain. His hips weren’t helping either—definitely not safe for my already stupid heart.

I did my best to focus, keeping up with the slides, spins, and sharp arm pops we’d drilled. He knew exactly what he was doing, clearly enjoying making me all flustered.

Somehow, I survived.

The villa went wild—clapping, cheering, laughing—and honestly, I couldn’t blame them.

I was loving every second too. How could I not?

“That was so good!” Keziah said.

No one could believe Rewan could move like that—not even me. 

Following dance steps while simultaneously having a mild existential crisis because Rewan exists. 10/10 would not recommend.

As we reached the edge of the stage, Rewan pulled me into a tight hug, cheek brushing mine.

“Not so bad for a backup dancer,” he murmured, teasing, his hands lingering a little on my waist.

I rolled my eyes, still catching my breath. “Backup dancer? Excuse me, I carried that routine just fine.”

He chuckled, giving me a playful squeeze. “Sure, sure. You were competent. Definitely competent.”

My face heated. Competent? That’s the best praise I was getting? From him?

He pressed a soft kiss to my temple, then another gentle one to my forehead. “Good job,” he murmured.

I let out a shaky laugh, still feeling the adrenaline from the dance. Sweat soaked my hair and back, and my heart was racing—not just from dancing but let’s pretend I didn’t notice it.

He held me a little longer, just enough that the cheers and laughter of the villa faded into background noise.

And honestly? I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

He helped me down the stage, and we made our way back to our seats.

After everyone calmed down and we settled back into our seats—still drooling a little after Rewan’s dangerously distracting body roll—it was finally my turn.

Again.

"Why am I always last?" I muttered under my breath, already feeling that familiar mix of anticipation and dread.

I strutted up confidently to the little stage with my guitar in hand.

I hadn’t even played a note yet and they were already clapping.

“Sabi, you play guitar?” Rosalie screamed. “OMG, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Tch. Is there something she can’t do?” Dani rolled her eyes.

“Go Sabiii!” Keziah and Irena cheered in unison.

The boys were watching too, eager and locked in, which somehow made me a little shy.

I settled the guitar on my lap, let my fingers find the chords, and started singing.

Tried to hide, but your eyes, they were telling me something different.

The strings buzzed under my fingertips, but the chords came clean. My voice held steady—thank luck for that, because it had been a while since I’d played.

I could see right away you were walking on a road so dark, yeah.

Out of the corner of my eye, I felt it—the shift. Conversations stilled. Breathing slowed.

Rewan was watching me intently. I almost messed up.

Does he really need to stare that much?

I was light in the night ’cause I knew that there was something missing.
Yeah, I’m what you need ’cause now you can see.
I put the beat in your heart.

Their silence stretched, heavy, like I’d swallowed the entire villa whole. My strumming grew sharper, daring them to blink.

I can’t control this feeling,
Too crazy to ignore.
Somehow we fit together.
Now we’re unbreakable.

A/N: “Unbreakable” by Carole and Tuesday—check it out on YouTube!

The last chord lingered, vibrating against my ribs like it had something to prove.

I finished the song, a little breathless, and looked up.

Yep. Stunned faces everywhere. Eyes pinned on me like I’d just parted the Red Sea.

Classic.

Calm down, people. It’s just me.

Everyone acting like I’d performed miracles instead of just, you know, casually slaying a song.

But honestly, I could get used to this kind of worship.

The moment I set the guitar aside, they rushed to me, tripping over each other with their noise.

“You were amazing!” Rosalie screamed.

“The music industry must be mourning their losses as of this moment,” Keziah teased.

Everyone cheered for me, and I plastered on a big, gracious smile. Meanwhile, Rewan was just standing there, looking proud. Way too proud.

“I could totally listen to you all day, Sabi,” Kami said, grinning.

They all nodded in agreement. Even Matt gave me that warm, soft look, like I’d just unlocked some secret level of charm.

Internally, I sighed. Sure, sure—the world loves me.

But Rewan? He was still the one giving me the full “I’m impressed but pretending not to be” treatment.

It was both infuriating and ridiculously satisfying.

Just like that, our talent show ended, although I’m a little confused. It wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d imagined.

Maybe I need to reevaluate these people around me. A little faith wouldn’t hurt, I guess. Even if some of them are still absolute disasters in their own chaotic ways.

After the cheering died down, we got a text telling us to vote for who did the best. Unsurprisingly, Rewan and I won—and the prize? A dinner date with someone of our choosing.

Everyone sighed, threw me those envious-but-happy glances, cheered, giggled—like the villa had suddenly gone full rom-com.

“You’re so lucky! I also wanted a date,” Rosalie whined.

“Why is it always Sabi? This is getting old,” Dani rolled her eyes.

And there I was, standing there like a composed adult while secretly doing victory laps in heels. I mean, who doesn’t want a win like this and the prize isn’t terrible either. 

I was radiating literal sunshine energy.

And then—because the universe apparently hates me—sunshine died.

Rewan got another text.

Two clueless bombshells thought a sleepover with him was a good idea.

Technically no foul play—but utterly ridiculous, still.

So let me get this straight.

I won a date, but the guy I actually want to go on a date with is winning something else in life—off on a VIP sleepover with not one, but two girls. 

Right.

Lucky him.

Meanwhile, I’m clutching my prize like a consolation cookie, trying really hard not to choke on it.

You're kidding right?

And you know what makes it even worse? He’s so smug—eyebrows raised, smirking, even a little scoff for good measure.

Like, okay—we get it, everyone loves you. You’ve peaked. Can you relax now?

The others don’t even know how to react—thrilled for our super-popular Rewan, but terrified enough of me to not breathe too loudly.

“Are you okay?” Rosalie asked, innocently.

“Read the room, Rosalie,” Keziah muttered.

I took a deep breath, smoothed my hair, and plastered on my “calm, composed, sophisticated human being” mask.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get ready,” I said, sounding civilized.

I didn’t even bother looking at Rewan. Sure, it’s not his fault—but does he really have to look so smug. Seriously, could you at least act like you’re disappointed you missed a date with me?

Fine. Go on.

Enjoy your popularity.

Us girls went straight to the dressing room, mirrors fogged with hairspray and hot-tool steam, debating lipstick shades like our lives depended on it.

“So, Sabi,” Rosalie said, lacing her fingers nervously, “who are you taking for your date?”

The room went silent.

Literally—you could hear everyone’s hearts skip a beat. Not just Rosalie—all of them. I could practically see their knees trembling.

Why?

Because every single one of their men had some history with me. A little crush, a villa flirtation, a tiny moment of “maybe”—all of it ticking away in their heads like a time bomb.

And yet the one guy who actually claims he likes me? He’s grinning, excited, heading off to a sleepover, not even a hint of disappointment about missing a date with me.

Can you believe that?

I leaned against the counter, smirking, brushing imaginary lint off my shoulder.

“I was thinking Dani could go instead of me.”

A collective gasp nearly shattered the mirror.

“Me?!” Dani squeaked, eyes practically popping out of her head.

“Yes, you,” I said, tilting my head. “You can take Nathan if you want—finally get some proper alone time with him.”

Dani’s jaw dropped.

As if someone hit a “hyperactive best friend” button in her brain, she practically bounced across the room, wrapped me in a hug so tight I could barely breathe, and squealed.

“OH MY GOD, SABI, BEST IDEA EVER!”

I blinked down at her. “You spent half your time in the villa hating me. Did we skip a chapter or something?”

“We’re besties now! I get it, you’re amazing,” she chirped, still hugging me like we were long-lost sisters.

Right.

“Uh… sure. I guess,” I muttered.

I let her hug me anyway. Partly because it was hilarious. Partly because I was tired.

Meanwhile, the rest of the girls stood there, lips pursed, glaring daggers at Dani, silently plotting revenge, and trying very hard not to vomit from jealousy.

Ah, villa life. Never a dull moment.

After we finished getting ready, we stepped out. Rewan was by the entrance, waiting for us to send him off.

Everyone was hyping him up, throwing out all this nonsense—but the moment they clocked me, they all shut up.

His eyes landed on me, and before I could even think, he pulled me into a hug.

“I’ll miss you,” he said.

Oh wow. Am I supposed to believe that?

Of course I did. I’m stupid like that.

So we hugged, and then off he went to his little pajama party.

Next, we sent Nathan and Dani off to their dinner date—a dinner date that, technically, was supposed to be mine.

I watched them walk away, Dani practically skipping like she’d won the lottery, Nathan smiling awkwardly like he didn’t know what hit him. And there I was, standing on the sidelines, feeling equal parts amused, slightly bitter, and weirdly proud.

We decided to start preparing  dinner, the usual chaos simmering in the background. But with me in the mix? Suddenly, it felt like a crime scene.

Everyone was keeping their distance, tiptoeing around me as if I were radioactive. I stood at the counter, slicing fruit, the knife in my hand glinting under the warm kitchen lights.

From the corner of my eye, I could see them whispering.

“She’s doing that all warm-and-sunshine smile again,” Kami whispered.

“What’s wrong with it?” Matt asked. “She looks perfectly fine with me.”

“Yeah, but that’s when she’s the most scary,” Kami said.

“I don’t know what you’re on about.”

Same Matt. I don’t know what he was on about either.

What’s wrong with my smiling face?

I stopped mid-slice and looked up, voice calm—a little too calm.

“I can hear everything, you know.”

A stifled laugh, a sharp intake of breath, and suddenly the kitchen felt very small.

I smirked, back to the fruit, letting the knife glide through the mango like butter. 

The others froze, unsure if they should apologize, giggle, or just back away slowly. Honestly, all three seemed like reasonable options.

And there I was, slicing fruit, radiating sunshine and maybe a little danger.

While we were eating, we received a text telling us to head out to the lawn.

When we got there, a huge screen was waiting for us.

Apparently, we were about to watch Rewan.

Exciting, right?

Because nothing’s more entertaining than watching the guy you like sweat through his grafting routine like the villa depends on it.

I crossed my arms, pretending casual interest while bracing myself for whatever was coming. From the corner of my eye, I caught the others whispering. I leaned back, letting the low simmer of annoyance mix with my amusement.

Watching him? Fine. But no way were they getting the satisfaction of seeing me fumble. I’d sit pretty, judge silently, and deliver a full mental commentary—safely shielded by my perfect lashes.

The screen lit up with Rewan and the two girls at dinner. A fancy table, expensive wine, and those overly touchy gestures that could make a saint—me—twitch.

Neither of them looked bad—annoyingly so—but the try-hard “extra” factor was practically sweating off them.

“They’re actually really pretty,” Rosalie said.

“Yeah, not bad,” Gryff agreed.

“And they’re not holding back,” Keziah added.

“Rewan seems to be enjoying the attention,” Irena chimed in.

I told myself I was fine. It’s a date; of course it’s going to be flirty. Getting mad would be delusional.

Except after a few glasses of wine, their conversation shifted from flirty banter to straight-up roasting me. Out loud. On-screen. Into the afterlife.

“Sabi’s self-absorbed. Thinks the world bends just because she smiles,” Rewan said.

Excuse me, what?

“Hey, Sabi, calm down. He probably doesn’t mean it,” Kami whispered—already trying to soothe me, and I hadn’t even opened my mouth yet.

But how exactly was I supposed to stay calm while the guy who supposedly liked me was out here hosting a full TED Talk on Why Sabi Sucks?

The two girls—Jasleen and Layla, apparently—were laughing along like they’d just been handed front-row seats at comedy night. They were eating it up like dessert.

He’d practically signed them up as founding members of his hate-club.

My hands clenched. My heart banged out a chaotic drum solo. And yet—miraculously—I stayed seated. Calm. Composed. A perfectly civilized human being. Which, frankly, deserved a standing ovation.

“Honestly, it’s really funny how everyone was obsessing over her,” Jasleen chimed in.

Funny? What’s actually funny is your tragic little hair-twirl, like you think it counts as a personality.

Keziah was practically crushing my hand while these three went full open-mic slander night.

“I know, right? She only has two emotions—unbothered and cold,” Layla added.

What does that even mean? Am I supposed to throw in a third one—stabby?

I glanced at Kez. Poor girl couldn’t even defend me.

Then Jasleen apparently found it hilarious, because she burst out laughing—full cackle, head back, the whole thing.

If she’d been in front of me, I would’ve happily introduced a chair to her big mouth.

“Everyone says she’s pretty, but I don’t see it. Honestly? I yawn every time she’s on screen,” Layla continued, smug.

…Oh. Cute. She thinks she’s edgy.

“Hey, Sabi, come on, you don’t need to watch this,” Keziah and Rosalie both stood up, tugging at my arms.

“No, it’s fine,” I said flatly, then pasted on the sweetest smile I could manage. Sweet like frosting over arsenic.

“They’re going too far, you don’t need to hear all that,” Rosalie insisted.

“What’s even Rewan doing, letting them disrespect you like that?” Matt snapped, jaw tight.

“Guys, let’s calm down, yeah?” I said, sugar dripping off every word while my forehead vein threatened to burst.

“You’re not exactly giving calm either, Sabi,” Kami whispered, nudging me playfully.

“Shut up. I’ll punch you in the gut,” I whispered back.

Reluctantly, they sank back into their seats, though the tension didn’t ease.

Everyone kept staring at me like I was some tragic little charity case.

Please. Don’t look at me like that. It’s not a big deal.

…Except it was. A very big deal. But what can I do? I can’t exactly storm over there, smile sweetly, and rearrange their smug faces—though believe me, if they’d been in this room, my hand would already be on its victory lap.

Back on the screen, Jasleen and Layla were doubled over now, like hyenas who’d just discovered stand-up.

Every new insult was apparently comedy gold to them.

“She walks around like she’s the queen, but really? She’s just background noise with cheap lip gloss,” Jasleen wheezed.

I snorted. “Babe, your trust fund is merely a pocket change to me.”

Please.

Cheap isn’t even in my vocabulary.

Half the villa turned to look at me.

“Oh—” I forced a laugh. “Kidding. Obviously.”

“Sure you were,” Keziah deadpanned, Rosalie raising a brow like she’d just caught me in 4K.

“Exactly,” Layla cut in on-screen, tears in her eyes from laughing. “Cold, boring, and somehow still thinks she’s the main character.”

The villa was now on fire—Matt, Gryff and Irena pacing, Rosalie muttering curses, even Keziah looking like she might actually throw her drink at the screen.

Meanwhile Kami and I were doing our best—him trying to keep things light, me trying not to bury them alive. So ever the perfect saint I pretended to be, I stayed seated, letting Kami soothe the beast in me. 

“But I am,” I whispered to Kami.

“Right, of course,” he whispered back, nodding and stroking my back.

It was fun watching the others rage for me though.

The louder they got, the calmer I became—or at least forced myself to be. Because if I opened my mouth now, I wouldn’t stop until I’d gutted them all with words sharp enough to slice through skin and pride alike.

On the other hand, Rewan was watching them expressionless as they cackled, filling the room with their own laughter.

Then he refilled both their glasses with steady hands, like a waiter at a five-star restaurant.

Seriously? What’s with him.

“Say something already!” Rosalie yelled at Rewan, as if that would snap him out of it.

But yeah—say something. Anything. Don’t just sit there topping up glasses. Watching you play bartender isn’t exactly thrilling.

“Are you done?” he asked at last.

Finally.

Except his voice had dropped low and cold, heavy enough to crush the noise in the room in an instant.

Even Layla and Jasleen froze mid-giggle, looking at each other like they’d just realized the punchline was dead.

We all exchanged glances, feeling the shift in the air.

Then he rose from his seat, lifting one of the freshly poured glasses of wine.

“What’s wrong, Rewan? We were just having fun,” Jasleen said, her tone trying for light but wobbling.

“That’s right,” Layla added quickly. “I’m sure you also think—”

She didn’t get to finish.

Rewan leaned over the table slightly, and in one swift, unflinching motion, he tipped the entire glass of wine over Layla’s head.

The liquid ran through her hair, dripping crimson against her pale dress.

Layla froze, stunned, only managing a tiny gasp.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Jasleen snapped, half-rising from her seat.

Rewan didn’t bother answering. He didn’t even flinch.

He just shoved his chair back with a scrape that cut through the silence, walked over, and—without blinking—upended the second glass of wine straight onto Jasleen’s head.

Now they were both dripping. And still, not a single word from him.

Well. That escalated quickly.

The villa erupted. Chairs screeched across the floor as everyone jumped to their feet.

Matt and Gryff’s jaws dropped. Rosalie let out a full-on gasp, clutching her chest like she’d just witnessed a murder. Keziah whispered, “No way,” under her breath, eyes wide.

Even Irena and Kami—supposedly my emotional support—blinked like they couldn’t process what they had just seen.

The producers were probably having a collective aneurysm behind the cameras.

Jasleen, mid-stand, froze, wine dripping down her face like a bad baptism, while Layla gasped, caught somewhere between scream and sob.

And me? I did what I do best—pretend to be above all the chaos—while internally spiraling.

Had I completely lost the plot somewhere?

Because what the hell was happening?  Why was he suddenly furious?

He’s literally the one who started this circus. And yet there he is, tipping the scales—or, well, the wine—like he owned the place.

But apparently, he wasn’t done yet—of course he wasn’t. It’s Rewan we’re talking about, the embodiment of trouble.

On the screen, he picked up the actual bottle and tipped it over both of them. By the time he set it down, Jasleen and Layla were soaked, dripping red like extras in a horror flick.

“You don’t get to run your mouths like that,” he said flatly. “When both of you look decorative at best… yet you’re not even in the same league as her.”

The whole villa was stunned, while I just sat there—perfectly still—watching two human centerpieces drip Merlot onto the patio.

"woah" they all muttered.

Irena tugged my hand and leaned in near my ear.

“‘Decorative at best’ is officially my new favorite insult,” she whispered.

Babe, now’s probably not the best time to be impressed—but yeah, decorative at best was absolutely going in my notes.

The girls couldn’t even open their mouths. I don’t know if they were scared or just purely speechless from how absurd and unreasonable Rewan was being.

“Sabi would be this soaked and still look the hottest,” Rewan added, dead serious.

Everyone’s heads snapped toward me.

Great.

Guys, I have no idea what he’s on about.

“Are you for real?” Jasleen blurted, wine still dripping down her chin. “You’re the one saying she’s this and she’s that—”

Okay, fair. She kinda had a point there.

“I’m allowed to do that,” Rewan cut in, tone final.

Huh?

“What does that even mean?” Jasleen shot back, wine still dripping down her face.

“I can talk shit about Sabi all I want,” he said, voice flat. “That’s between me and her. But you two? You don’t get to.”

His words hit harder than the wine.

Again silence. Actual, stunned silence.

“…Is that right?” Rosalie whispered to Keziah.

Keziah blinked. “I don’t know. But doesn’t it kind of make sense?”

“Well, he did defend Sabi,” Rosalie said slowly, like she was trying to convince herself.

It didn’t make sense—of course it didn’t.

He said it like gospel, like villa law had just been rewritten by him and him alone. And now—somehow, everyone is halfway convinced.

This man’s delusion was contagious.

“But he kinda went too far, didn’t he?” Gryff chimed in.

“He did,” Rosalie admitted. “But again—he did it to defend Sabi.”

“You’re right, but… he started it?”Gryff tried again.

“Didn’t you hear what he said? He can do it,” Kami deadpanned.

For a beat, the logic just hung there. Then, all at once, they cracked—laughter spilling out sharp and loud, half disbelief, half hysteria.

“Has no one going to ask for my opinion?” I asked, voice flat.

That only made them laugh harder.

I turned to Mat and Irena—they were definitely the only reasonable ones here, my last hope.

But hope? Yeah, nonexistent. They were sitting back again with their hands in little circles, miming eating popcorn like this was peak cinema.

Which… kind of it was.

And they looked disturbingly proud.

Guess I’m loved, huh?

I turned my attention back to the screen. Layla was still stunned, while Jasleen was trying to have a logic debate with Rewan—which, honestly, I would never do myself.

But you do you, I guess.

The more Rewan opened his mouth, the less sense he made, and Jasleen finally gave up.

Obviously.

“You know what? We’re done here,” she said, dragging Layla out of the sleepover villa.

Then the screen went black.

I slumped back in my seat for a beat, letting the chaos sink in.

“I wonder if that’s okay, won’t Rewan get in trouble?” I asked.

“I don’t think he will,” Matt said. “In any case, those sleepover girls had it coming. I would’ve done the same if it were me.”

I shook my head.

Classic Matt logic—impossible to argue with, mildly terrifying, and somehow kind of impressive all at once.

Then Rosalie turned to me. “Are you happy with how it turned out?”

Girl.

What the actual fuck?

I know she’s just asking, but somehow that question revealed how messed up I must look in her mind.

“What do you mean?” I frowned.

“Isn’t it kind of hot how he gets mad and stands up for you?”

I don’t know, Rosalie—he started all of that, so him defending me in the end literally doesn’t make sense. I’m still salty about how casually he talks bullshit the second he’s out of my earshot.

Okay, fine—some twisted part of me did find it hot. I rolled my eyes, more at myself than anyone else.

After about twenty minutes of us going back and forth, laughing over how everything had turned out, Dani and Nathan returned.

Dani practically bounced with excitement, making it very clear how amazing her date had been. But most of us were… distracted elsewhere.

“Guys, we’re back!” she announced as soon as she stepped into the villa.

We all greeted her, but she sensed that something had gone down while they were away.

“Okay, I know something happened, but… who’s going to tell me?”

Then Rosalie, ever the dramatic storyteller, laid out the entire mess for her. Dani’s eyes went wide—properly disappointed she’d missed it.

“We need another Sabi’s Number-One Hype Man award—for him,” Kami said, and the entire group dissolved into laughter.

A little later, Rewan arrived, calm and unbothered, like he hadn’t just been the epicenter of chaos himself.

Everyone welcomed him with extra warmth—cheers, chest bumps, pats on the back—like they were proud members of some secret brotherhood.

I stayed perfectly composed, of course, rolling my eyes inwardly as usual. Because honestly? Someone had to keep it real.

Once the others had finished their warm welcome, he went straight to me, looking impossibly happy.
 
“I cut my sleepover short,” he said. “I know you’re glad.”
 
Am I?

I blinked at him. “Glad? That’s one word for it.”

He grinned, completely ignoring my dry tone. “You don’t seem very glad.”

“Oh, I’m thrilled,” I said, voice light but sharp, like sugar coating a knife. “Absolutely ecstatic that you abandoned your little sleepover just for me.”

I forced a calm stare, all casual collectedness. Inside, my chest was still a battlefield. Because yes, I was impressed. And yes, I wanted to punch him. And yes… maybe I was a little glad.

Rewan, somehow always oblivious, just pulled me into a tight, warm, completely maddening hug.

My brain screamed about boundaries and rational behavior, but another part of me—slightly less reasonable—was enjoying it way too much.

He buried his face in my hair, humming softly, like he hadn’t just roasted me into the afterlife. Of course, that made my chest betray me with a little flutter, even though my face stayed perfectly blank and expressionless.

“I missed you,” he murmured against my hair.

I doubt you even had time to miss me with all that stunt you just pulled.

But sure. Love that for me.

From the corner of my eye, I caught the others watching—some rolling their eyes, some smirking—clearly used to our antics by now.

I eased him back slightly before excusing ourselves to the others. They all nodded in agreement—if I was about to burn someone, of course, no one wanted to get caught in the crossfire.

I dragged him over to the swing and lowered myself onto it, pulling him down beside me. Once we were settled, I filled him in on everything we’d seen—the whole mess he’d very much caused—unfold on the huge screen.

Rewan froze for a second, blinking as if processing what I’d just said. Then a slow, amused grin spread across his face.

“You saw all of that?” he asked, voice teasing but calm, like he couldn’t quite believe it.

I nodded, arms crossed. “Yep. Every glorious second. And yes, it was exactly as ridiculous as you think it was.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Well... maybe I went a little overboard.”

“A little?” I echoed, arching an eyebrow.

He leaned back against the swing, eyes sparkling, completely unbothered. “They deserved it.”

They do. Obviously. Still rude, though, I reminded myself, slipping back into my saintly façade.

“Deserved it?”

“Yeah. They were disrespecting you. They can’t expect me to just sit back and watch.”

That’s exactly what you were doing, though. But I didn’t say it.

Then he pulled me closer, chest to chest.

“Also, I wanted to get back here as soon as possible. That’s why I did it. I thought maybe they’d send me back,” he said.

That’s your reasoning? Unreasonable, but honestly—nothing new. That’s just his whole personality at this point.

“You could have just asked the producers,” I said.

He tilted his head, grinning. “I don’t think that’s how it works, Sabi.”

I folded my arms, exasperated. “Well, I don’t think pouring wine on people is the way either.”

“But look, I’m back, aren’t I?” he said, voice lazy but triumphant. “Clearly, it works.”

I blinked at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But let’s be honest—you like it.”

I rolled my eyes before giving him a high five. “I do. It was fun watching it.”

We both burst out laughing.

A duo of chaos gremlins, caught in our own perfectly ridiculous little world. I bet the production is regretting casting us both.

After our laughter died down, I sat up properly and locked eyes on him. He caught it immediately.

That flicker in his gaze—half mischief, half recognition—told me he knew. He knew he’d just wandered straight into trouble.

“You realize I know all the crap you were saying about me, right?” I asked, letting the words hang in the air.

Of course I wasn’t letting him off that easy.

He shifted slightly and pulled me back into his chest, one arm sliding around my back.

“I might’ve said a few things,” he murmured, voice low. “But was I wrong, though?”

This fucker. Seriously.

After going back and forth for what felt like an hour, he still didn’t get why he should be apologizing. His argument? “I didn’t lie or anything.” Maybe not—but he was still rude. And of course, he doubled down, claiming that “keeping it real” doesn’t count as being rude.

At that point, I gave up. Honestly, I had better things to do—like, I don’t know, breathe—than argue with this bloke.

I decided to hunt down my girls to get ready—which wasn’t exactly hard. They’d scattered around the villa, pretending to do their own thing, but the way their ears were practically swiveling toward us said everything. 

We washed up and raced to the dressing room. The conversation quickly shifted—from making the lads drool to rehashing the earlier drama, which everyone had decided to dub Winegate.

“What if he gets dumped?” Rosalie asked.

“Didn’t you all said he did it for Sabi?” Dani countered.

“He did, but after thinking about it… he kinda went  overboard,” Keziah chimed in.

“That's true, but I don’t think they’ll air that,” Irena added with a shrug.

They all had a point, but I don’t think the subject of all this fuss was even remotely bothered—And honestly, I’m not that bothered either. I doubt they’ll air the worst of it. And if they do? The backlash won’t hit him—it’ll hit the show.

Seriously, why let it get that far in the first place? Rewan’s reckless, sure, but he’s not dumb.

“Will you leave with him if he gets dumped, Sabi?” Rosalie asked.

“Yeah,” I said without thinking.

The room collectively gasped, like I’d just dropped a bomb.

“You can’t! You’re literally a fan favorite and probably have the biggest chance of winning,” Rosalie panicked.

“Yeah, and there’s a huge sum of money too,” Dani added.

Right.

In the bedroom, the boys were sprawled out on their beds.

Matt immediately waved at me before calling Irena over to our bed—well, their bed now. They must’ve really been getting along. I should probably check in with him about that at some point.

Dani flopped onto Nathan’s bed, while Keziah and Rosalie claimed their couple’s bed without hesitation.

Rewan called my name from across the room. He was curled up in his and Irena’s bed.

I remembered Irena mentioning once that she wouldn’t mind sleeping in her bed with Rewan—because apparently it smells like me now.

Her obsession with me is starting to feel less “friendly admiration” and more “single white female.” A little terrifying, if we’re being honest.

Still, I crossed the room and slid in next to him. The second I did, Rewan pulled me close like it was instinct. His arm locked around my waist, and his fingers threaded into my hair, stroking slow and steady.

I pretended not to melt.

I was starting to doze off, but it’s hard to sleep with Rewan sighing beside me like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” I mumbled.

“Nothing. Just wondering if you’re okay,” he said, still stroking my hair.

“I’m fine. What’s up?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he got up, tugged me with him, and dragged me to the kitchen without a word. I just shuffled along in half-sleep, watching him move around like this was some high-stakes mission.

He fussed over the milk like he was trying to impress Gordon Ramsay—checking the heat, pouring carefully, stirring with unnecessary precision. Meanwhile, I sat at the counter, chin propped in my palm, staring at him with my best deadpan.

Finally, he slid the mug toward me. “Here. To help you sleep.”

Rewan, I was literally about to fall asleep before you started sighing and staging this midnight dairy intervention.

But sure. Thanks anyway.

I took a sip of the milk—warm, sweet, unnecessary.

“Okay,” I said, squinting at him over the rim. “Are you gonna tell me what’s actually wrong, or do I need to bribe it out of you?”

Rewan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he strolled over and pulled me into his chest. No warning, no buildup—just wrapped me up in one of those hugs that made it impossible to move without looking like a jerk.

Finally, his voice rumbled low against my hair.

“I just… feel bad about earlier. About what happened.” Then he pressed a fleeting kiss to the top of my head. “I’m sorry you had to hear what those girls were saying about you.”

You weren’t exactly holding back either, if you ask me.

He pulled back a little, eyes darkening as he glanced around the kitchen like the cameras might be hiding in the cupboards.

“Seriously—what’s wrong with production? Making you sit there and listen to that crap?” he muttered, jaw tight, still glaring at nothing in particular.

I had to bite back a laugh. Great. My personal guard dog was ready to fight the entire crew.

See? He’s not so bad. It’s not entirely questionable why I like him—especially if you ignore his hands groping my ass.

“You know you’re pretty, right?” he said, cupping my cheeks with both hands and squeezing a little too hard.

“I know.” i said flatly.

Of course I do. No need to state the obvious. Actually—please do state it. Over and over. I could live off your praise like oxygen.

“Right. This is exactly why they hate you,” he deadpanned.

I punched him lightly in the stomach. “Are you on my side or what?”

Rewan immediately doubled over like I’d shattered his ribs, clutching his stomach with both hands.

“Unprovoked violence,” he wheezed, staggering back a step.

I just rolled my eyes at him.

Rewan was still clutching his stomach like I’d mortally wounded him, dragging out his performance for maximum drama.

I sighed, stepped closer, and set a hand against his chest. Then I rose onto my tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to his mouth—soft, decisive, before he could milk another groan.

That shut him up. For about two seconds.

A slow grin spread across his face. “So you’re finally admitting it,” he murmured, smug as hell.

I narrowed my eyes. “Admitting what exactly?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his hands slid to my waist, and before I could blink, he lifted me onto the counter like I weighed nothing. Then his mouth was on mine again—hungry this time, nothing quick or polite about it.

The kiss deepened fast—his hand sliding up my spine, the other steadying me on the counter like he had no plans of letting me go.

I curled my fingers into his shirt, dragging him closer until there wasn’t a single inch of air left between us. Heat rolled off him, heavy and intoxicating, and every brush of his lips felt more demanding than the last.

He kissed like he had a point to prove. Like I was already his and he just needed me to admit it.

And God help me—I was starting to.

The kiss only grew hotter, his tongue sliding against mine—slow, deliberate, like he wanted to drag every ounce of control away from me.

One of his hands slid higher, palming my chest through the thin fabric. His touch was scorching, searing paths over my skin, and it sent a shiver straight down my spine.

I gasped into his mouth, nails digging lightly into his shoulders. He swallowed the sound like he’d been waiting for it, deepening the kiss until it was almost dizzying.

He pulled away slightly, though not for long. His lips found my cheek, then traced along my jaw, hot and unhurried.

By the time he reached my throat, I was already tilting my head back like I’d lost the ability to pretend I wasn’t into this. His breath was ragged against my skin, each kiss landing lower—throat, collarbone—before he dragged his mouth across my shoulder.

It was ruin disguised as worship.

Every press of his lips felt like it branded me, like he was making sure I wouldn’t forget who had me pinned here.

Then he paused—just far enough to look at me. His eyes locked on mine, a faint, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

And that—that stupid smile sent me spiraling worse than the kiss itself. The kissing I could almost justify. But the way he looked at me? Like I was the only thing in the room worth seeing?

That was dangerous.

“You like me, don’t you?” he asked. Casual. Smug. Like it wasn’t a question at all, just a fact he was tossing in my face.

My brain short-circuited. Eyes spinning, heart lurching—and before I even knew what I was doing, my hand was already lifting to caress his cheek.

Traitor hand.

“Mhm. I like you,” I admitted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

Oh no—oh no—I’m fucked.

Rewan blinked, briefly startled—then his whole face shifted. First soft, then smug—the full arsenal. Raised eyebrows, annoying smirk, the exact expression that made me want to kiss him and throw him into the pool at the same time.

Tragic. Truly.

He leaned in again, pressing gentle, lingering kisses to my lips, like he suddenly had all the time in the world.

“I knew it,” he whispered against my mouth before pulling me into an over-the-top, suffocating hug.

“Shall we get married?” he asked casually, burying his face against my neck like this was the most natural next step.

“You might be getting a little ahead of yourself there.” I forced my voice flat, praying it didn’t wobble.

Rewan stilled—then laughed low, the sound rough enough to raise every hair on my skin. He leaned back just enough to look at me, eyes gleaming.

“Ahead of myself? Sabi, I’m still behind on half the things I want to do to you.”

My brain promptly bluescreened.

He didn’t even give me time to recover—his hand slid under my jaw, tilting my face up like I belonged there, and his mouth crashed back onto mine. Gone was the slow, teasing gentleness—this was fast, messy, unrestrained.

He kissed me like he was starving and I was stupid enough to feed him.

By the time I gasped for air, he was already trailing down my throat again, teeth scraping just enough to make me flinch, his breath hot against my skin.

Then, low enough to burn right into my ear, he murmured—

“Bet you’d look even prettier with my marks all over you.”

My entire brain combusted.

Every word out of his mouth should be a criminal offense. He deserves a jail sentence just for speaking!

And he wasn’t done. His teeth grazed my collarbone as he added, almost casually, “Bet you’d sound even sweeter moaning with my hand between your legs. Again.”

I nearly choked on my own existence.

But he didn’t stop. Of course he didn’t stop.

Between kisses, low and ragged, he kept going—like he was personally auditioning to get arrested.

“You don’t even know how good you’d sound begging me not to stop.”

I was blinking at him like a broken iPad screen, all static and no signal.

And then he finished me off, voice wrecked and filthy against my mouth.

“You’d look so pretty taking me—fuck, you’d ruin me Sabi.”

So dirty—!

Forget jail time—this man needed to be exiled. Launched directly into the sun.

“Y—you’re insane. God. I hate you,” I stuttered, steam coming out of me in every possible direction.

He just chuckled, then helped me down from the counter—steadying me like I hadn’t just been seconds from ascending into another plane of existence.

Then—because apparently he’s committed to whiplash—he pressed the mug of milk back into my hands.

“Drink,” he said, like I was some overexcited child who needed calcium.

I took it automatically, except my brain was still glitching, repeating everything he’d said on loop.

Fuck. That milk didn’t help either.

By the time I blinked back to reality, he was already dragging me toward the room again, like nothing about that detour had been life-altering.

I can’t with this man. And worse—I’m just as bad as him for wanting him to actually ruin me.

Back in the room, he didn’t even give me the chance to collect my brain cells. He just pulled me into bed, tugged me against his chest like it was the most casual thing in the world. One arm slung around me, his breath warm in my hair.

And then—because he’s insane—he just… fell asleep. Instantly. Like he hadn’t just said and done things that should carry a minimum ten-year sentence.

Meanwhile, I was wide awake. My pulse was still sprinting laps. My brain wouldn’t shut up. My eyes were actually watering, which—God, embarrassing—but what the hell else was I supposed to do? Lie there and pretend I hadn’t just wanted him to ruin me six ways to Sunday?

He was dead asleep. I was quietly combusting.

This was so unfair.

So I just gave up and settled against his chest, wrapping my arms around him like an idiot. His heartbeat was steady under my ear, unfairly soothing. I inhaled without meaning to, hoping his scent might knock me out.

And yeah, I know how it sounds. Inappropriate. Borderline feral. But he smelled good, okay? Don’t blame me.

Chapter Text

Good morning, Love Island. Good morning, villa.

Once again, it’s time for my precious, limited screen time. Emphasis on limited—production still owes me minutes, but fine. I’ve brought you some hot tea.

When production decided to air the sleepover humiliation special in all its transparent glory, no one expected it to explode the way it did.

Yes, they showed Rewan casually baptizing Jasleen and Layla with wine like some kind of feral priest. Yes, they also aired the girls’ delightful pastime of verbally tearing into Sabi like she’d signed up for Mean Girls: The Villa Edition.

Naturally, everyone assumed the discourse would split into two camps. Team Sleepover Girls vs. Team Rewan, with poor Sabi somewhere in the middle as collateral damage.

But the reality? The public threw the script out the window, and the fandom staged a coup. The actual sides became Team Sabi & Rewan, the Chaotic Power Couple, vs. The Sleepover Girls Who Should’ve Just Gone to Bed.

Because apparently, only those two are allowed to be unhinged on national television, and everyone else was just unfortunate background props.

Some viewers are still asking if production deliberately cast only Sabi’s haters for the female lineup. Others are questioning why Rewan only poured wine on the girls—pointing out that if it were them, they would’ve gargled the wine and spit it in Jasleen and Layla’s faces without hesitation.

Turns out it isn’t just our resident shade queen and our resident menace who are unreasonable. The public is too.

A good news for our “Rabis” chaos couple—a nickname I came up with myself, don’t ask me why. I’m a fan, and ship names are never logical.

They are loved. People are rooting for them. Thoroughly unhealthily, but loved.

As for the sleepover duo, Jasleen and Layla? They apparently attempted to press charges against Rewan. Sadly, it didn’t even make a whisper of a headline. A certain future father-in-law handled the matter with his notoriously vicious legal team, and that was the end of that storyline.

Production, being responsible, did break the news to Sabi. She listened, blinked, and gave us the green light to announce it here.

As always, it was nothing major to our Sabi—what else did we expect?

She said it like she’was just being ask about a chipped nail, not about two women trying to drag her Rewan through court. “Bless their little hearts for trying,” she even added.

Classic Sabi—dismissing two fully grown women attempting to lawyer up like they’d just filed a noise complaint about her music being too loud. 

Exactly why we love our shade queen.

But let’s be honest—the real highlight wasn’t the wine or the legal drama. It was Sabi’s confession.

That moment took the public by storm so violently that viewers started retroactively connecting every previous event back to it. Whole timelines were rebuilt, every glare, every half-smile, every sarcastic quip rewatched with forensic intensity.

All because Sabi finally cracked open her chest and said what she wasn’t supposed to say.

And the world listened.

Now, let’s get back inside the villa. Who knows—we might just snoop out another confession, or catch a fresh bit of drama brewing in some random corner.

Remembering the crap I’d let slip about liking Rewan last night left me unable to get a wink of sleep, so now—morning light and all—I was doing my best to avoid the man himself.

Not because I regretted it—no. It’s just he won’t shut up about things like that. And that’s the truly humiliating part.

I forced myself to forget how I’d basically helplessly confessed just because some twisted part of me enjoyed him kissing my neck a little too much.

I mean—who could blame me?

But of course, hiding from him was pointless. We lived under one roof, and I was basically his oxygen.

Sure enough, he popped up behind me while I was lounging in the sun, balancing a drink in one hand and a plate in the other.

“There you are, Sabi, my love,” he announced with way too much flourish, handing me the glass first.

I took a sip, mostly to humor him—then immediately choked on it. “Your what?”

“You heard me,” he said, smug as ever, sliding the plate onto my lap like he was serving royalty.

I just rolled my eyes and ate in peace.

To distract him, I told him about Jasleen and Layla’s situation—plus how my dad swooped in to handle it.

Big mistake.

Now he looked even more smug, like my dad hadn’t just handled paperwork but had basically given him the official stamp of approval.

“Guess I should bring a gift for Dad later,” he said, voice dripping with self-satisfaction.

Dad?

“Dude, will you chill?” I muttered.

Like the usual, he spent the whole morning glued to my personal space—as if breathing without me nearby was hazardous to his health.

By the time afternoon rolled in, Rewan got a text.

Once everyone had gathered, he read it aloud.

Islanders, it’s time for a game of Snog, Marry, and Pie.

#stickybusiness #sweetrevenge

He leaned down, voice low against my ear. “I’d love to see you covered in cream, Sabi.”

I didn’t even blink. “My Asian Mother taught me not to play with food.”

Rewan immediately choked on his own laugh, nearly dropping his drink. “You—” he wheezed, eyes crinkling as he tried to get a hold of himself. “God, you actually killed me.”

Some people cheered, some groaned. Meanwhile, I just sat there, unsure how to feel about this game.

Not because of the kiss or marry part, no. Because I was pretty sure we didn’t have enough pies for me to properly slap every single one of their faces with.

That’s why I decided to make more.

“Come with me,” I whispered to Rewan.

I didn’t wait for him to answer—I just dragged him into the kitchen.

“What are we doing?” he asked, already spotting the mischief plastered on my face.

“I don’t think there’ll be enough pies for everyone, so we’re going to make more,” I said, like it was the most rational plan in the world.

His eyes went wide. Then, with a gasp worthy of an Oscar, he slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Aren’t you a genius?” he breathed, holding up his palm for a high five.

I slapped it, and the next thing I knew we were doing a ridiculous little victory dance in the middle of the kitchen before getting down to work.

We raided every cupboard and pantry like raccoons on a mission. A few minutes later, we stood back to admire our masterpiece—an army of pies lined up like they were ready for war.

Rewan scooped a finger of filling and licked it, brows shooting up. “Sabi, this is actually good. I feel like it’s a waste on them now.”

I gave him a smug look, arms crossed like I’d just solved world hunger. “Of course it’s good. I’m an excellent baker.”

Rewan blinked, unimpressed. 

“Wait. Hold on. You can bake?” His face scrunched. “So explain why you can’t cook to save your life. Like—basic eggs.”

I gasped like he’d just slandered my entire bloodline. “Cooking is boring. Baking is art.”

He gave me that not-amused, not-buying-it look—the kind that said he’d just uncovered yet another fatal flaw in my logic but was too tired to argue about it.

Then—without warning—dragged his finger through the whipped cream again and popped it into his mouth.

“Mm,” he said, eyes fluttering shut like he was Gordon Ramsay on MasterChef. “Not bad. Might need another taste to be sure.”

I smacked his hand away before he could reach again. “This is for the game, you parasite!”

Rewan only grinned, leaning closer like he was about to steal from the bowl again. “Quality control, love. You don’t want to poison them, do you?”

“Please,” I muttered, shoving the bowl out of his reach. “That’s the dream.”

We finally gathered the pies, trying not to look too smug, and headed toward the game spot. Everyone else was already there, sprawled across the benches and loungers, buzzing with anticipation.

The second they clocked what we were carrying, a collective gasp went up.

“Oh my god—are those pies?”
“No way!”
“Where did you even get those?”

I held mine up like it was a holy offering. “Don’t worry about it.”

Kami’s jaw practically hit the floor as he counted the row of pies we set down. “Sabi, we already had plenty for the game. You didn’t have to make more.”

I sniffed, flipping my hair with mock pride. “With you lot, there’s never enough.”

The game kicked off, and of course Rewan had to start with his usual nonsense. He threw his hands up like a referee and declared, “Whoever’s thinking of kissing me—don’t. Only Sabi gets these juicy lips.”

The girls groaned, rolling their eyes so hard it looked like a mass possession.

Rewan didn’t care—he glanced at me right after, like he was checking if I looked proud. I couldn’t decide if I was supposed to be mortified or a little smug.

“Alright, now that Rewan’s juicy lips are out of the way, I’ll go first,” Kami announced.

He scanned the circle, clearly deciding on his target, before strolling straight toward me.

Huh?

Without a word, he cupped my cheeks and leaned down to kiss me.

It was stupidly soft—the kind of kiss that left me dizzy. Whether that was from pure shock or because it was annoyingly good, I couldn’t tell.

“I knew it,” he murmured against my lips.

“Knew what?” I asked, still reeling.

He didn’t answer—just chuckled, low and smug, before turning his back on me entirely. Then, with all the theatrics of a man on a stage, he marched straight to Keziah and dropped to one knee.

“Marry me, little bear?” Kami asked, still half on one knee.

Keziah rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away. “Sure. Even though you just kissed Sabi.”

“Had to shoot my shot,” Kami said with a low laugh.

They both cracked up, the sound tumbling into cheers and claps from the rest of the group.

And me? I just stood there, feeling like I’d walked into the middle of a movie scene without getting the script.

Keziah and Kami kissed and hugged before he snatched up a pie and strolled straight toward Gryff.

He announced that Gryff deserved it—for being indecisive and for giving everyone whiplash with his whole bed-gate saga.

Bed-gate? Since when was that even a thing?

They all burst out laughing, and honestly, it was surprisingly drama-free. No aggro, no tension—just messy fun.

“Okay, my turn,” Nathan said.

Gone was his usual sweet smile—this was all smirk and business.

He strolled right up to me, slid a hand around my waist, and pulled me flush against his chest.

“You don’t need to look so shocked,” he murmured, voice low. “I’m just checking what regrets actually taste like.”

What the actual fuck?

Before I could even spiral, he tilted my chin up and leaned in, pressing his lips against mine.

Heat shot through me. Half-flustered, half-smug—I wasn’t sure if I wanted to shove him off or hand him a medal for confidence. Like—yeah, bold move. And way too smooth for someone who pretends to be the nice guy.

“Oi—keep your tongue in your mouth, Nate,” Rewan called, tone light and teasing but his eyes locked on us like he’d happily commit murder if Nathan tried anything further.

Nathan chuckled against my lips, and somehow my already chaotic stomach managed to flip even harder.

He pulled back, but his eyes stayed locked on mine.

I had no idea what was happening.

“How was it?” I asked, aiming for smug, trying to look like I wasn’t slightly combusting.

“Great,” he said, before dipping in for one more soft kiss.

That one caught me off guard. My gaze darted straight to Dani and Rewan.

Shockingly, Dani was cheering along with the others—like we were at a football match instead of watching her man kiss another girl.

Can a person really change that much after one date?

Rewan, on the other hand, looked equal parts annoyed and weirdly proud.

Guess I’m still safe. For now.

Nathan finally let go of me, stepping back with a grin—then, without missing a beat, he spun around and headed straight for Dani and dropped to one knee.

“I’ve been enjoying our time together,” he said, smooth as anything. “Will you marry me?”

Dani squealed and practically levitated, throwing herself into his arms.

The villa erupted in cheers like we’d just witnessed a real engagement, never mind the fact they’re still firmly in the ‘so what’s your favorite color?’ stage of knowing each other.

Then he grabbed a pie and went straight for Dani first, which shocked all of us. But instead of smacking her full-force, he just scooped a tiny bit with his finger and smeared it across her cheek.

Way too tame, if you asked me.

“This is for the attitude you’ve been throwing at Rosalie and Sabi since you came,” he said—not cold, more like a gentle lecture. 

Dani wiped at her cream-smeared face and laughed, still somehow sparkling. “Fair enough. Thanks for not ruining my makeup.”

Apparently, we were playing a very different version of Snog, Marry, Pie—sunshine and good vibes only.

Then Nathan turned to Gryff, pie still in hand, and gave him the full face treatment.

“This is for playing with Dani’s feelings,” he declared.

I wasn’t sure any actual playing had happened—Gryff isn’t that bad. Dani’s assumptions were probably doing most of the work.

Gryff just shrugged, wiped his face, and they hugged it out like proper villa brothers. I couldn’t decide whether to roll my eyes or laugh at how absurdly wholesome this chaos was.

“This wholesome vibe they’ve got going on is boring me to death,” Rewan whispered in my ear.

There we go—obviously, peace wasn’t optional when Rewan was around. But honestly? He wasn’t wrong.

“I’ll go next,” he said, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

Before I could even brace myself, he grabbed me by the waist and pressed his lips to mine.

It wasn’t gentle. It was all tongue and heat—a full-on snog that stole my breath the second it landed. My knees nearly buckled, my arms freezing for a heartbeat before I wrapped them around his neck.

When he finally pulled back just enough for me to breathe, I gasped, cheeks burning.

“You’re insane,” I breathed.

He only grinned, eyes glinting like he already knew it. “And you love it.”

Before I could even steady myself, he went back in, capturing my lips again with a fiercer, more possessive press. My chest heaved, and I found myself gasping into the kiss, fingers tangling in his hair as if to anchor myself.

Then he pulled back just a fraction, biting my lower lip gently like he couldn’t get enough. That jolt of sensation shot straight through me.

His eyes flicked open, dark and mischievous, and for a moment, the whole villa faded away.

Without missing a beat, he dropped to one knee.

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted to propose, Sabi, but I can just do it again,” he said, eyes locked on mine. “Will you marry me?”

Right then and there, I realized just how screwed I was. I hated how much I actually wanted him.

I crouched down to his level, meeting his gaze, and cupped his cheeks with both hands.

“Aren’t we supposed to, you know… date first? The way you skip stages is unbelievable,” I teased, all while offering him my hand.

I barely had a second to savor the tension before he shook his head, that infuriating, smug grin curling at the corners of his mouth.

“No point in delaying the inevitable,” he said, voice low and teasing, but with that unmistakable finality that made my heart stutter.

I blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

He took my hand and tugged me closer, dropping a kiss to my wrist.

“You already know how this ends, Sabi. Might as well get comfortable with it.”

Comfortable? I was barely holding onto my composure.

Half of me wanted to roll my eyes and play hard to get. The other half was glaringly aware that I was way too into him, way too fast, and entirely doomed.

I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding and gave him a small, reluctant smile.

“Fine… I’ll marry you. But—” I raised a finger for emphasis, “you owe me a proper ring. Once we’re out of here. And it better be expensive.”

Who am I kidding? Even if he gave me a plastic one, I’d probably still say yes.

He raised an eyebrow, eyes glinting with mischief. “Expensive, huh? Right… forgot you’re a Sinclair. In that case, I’m taking it back.”

I blinked, ready to protest, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Kidding,” he said, softening instantly. “You’ll have everything you want, Sabi. Everything.”

Before I could respond, he leaned in, brushing his lips against mine with a softness that made my knees weaken all over again.

I wanted to jump up and dance around, but of course—if he caught me acting way too pleased, it’d get in his head. So I slipped into my pleased but classy facade instead.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at my antics.

Yeah, he knows exactly what I’m doing. Which, of course, makes it even more embarrassing.

“You both realize this is a game, right?” Irena asked, brow raised.

“Let them be,” Keziah replied, nudging her playfully.

I was still soaking in my “fake engagement” moment, while Rewan was already out there, flinging pies like it was a mission from God—and failure was simply not an option.

He grabbed a pie and—without a second thought—smeared it across Kami and Nathan’s faces.

His reason? They kissed me. That’s it. My stomach fluttered for all the wrong reasons. They both took it like champs—no regrets, no whining, nothing.

“All right, that’s my cue,” Matt said, strolling over to Irena.

He leaned in and kissed her like he was trying to sweep her off her feet. Honestly? It seemed like it was working.

After their little romantic interlude, he turned and made his way toward me, dropping to one knee.

I wasn’t expecting that.

“Me?” I asked, blinking at Matt.

“Yeah, you’re a total catch—marriage material,” he said, all sweetness and sincerity.

“Yeah, for my marriage,” Rewan cut in, smirk sharp enough to draw blood. “But don’t worry, I’ll build you a room in our house, Matt.”

Matt chuckled, clearly taking it in stride. “As long as I get to help pick the decor.”

I just stood there, caught between laughing and shaking my head.

I just said, “Sure,” and helped Matt to his feet. I can already tell he’s going to be a good husband—steady, kind, and not the type to flail when life throws whipped cream at him.

What surprised me most? Matt pied almost everyone.

Apparently, watching the early episodes irritates him so much—how quick everyone flips and turns against me whenever Rewan stirs the pot.

It all came rushing back. And yeah—he wasn’t wrong.

I glanced over and saw Rewan in the corner, arms crossed, sulking like a storm cloud over all the fun.

Love you, Matt. Seriously, you’re the best. I’ll make sure Rewan actually builds that room for you—whether he likes it or not.

“Okay, I’m next,” Gryff announced.

He strode straight to Rosalie and kissed her like they were in a slow-motion rom-com scene—dramatic, lingering, the kind that makes every rom-com fan swoon.

Then, with a smug little bounce in his step, he made his way toward me.

“You too?” I asked, letting out a small laugh.

“Maybe I just want a room in your house,” he said, one eyebrow quirking.

“I’d love to be your neighbor, Gryff,” Matt chimed in, grinning.

“This is ridiculous,” Rewan laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re still into me, aren’t you?” I teased Gryff, offering one hand.

“Sabi!” Rosalie gasped, eyes wide.

“I’m just glad you became part of my journey here,” Gryff said softly, his usual smirk replaced by something more sincere. “You’ve been nothing but honest. You didn’t lead anyone on, and as Matt said, you’re marriage material.”

Before I could even process it, he pulled me into a warm hug—steady, grounding, and completely genuine.

Rosalie grinned. “I’m marriage material too, you know.”

Gryff winked at her. “Shh, babe—I’m just securing our spot in Sabi and Rewan’s house.”

I blinked, a little scandalized, and rolled my eyes—but couldn’t stop grinning. Everyone around us cracked up, and the villa erupted in laughter.

Next up were Keziah and Irena. They kissed each other briefly—sweet, uncomplicated—and then Keziah married Kami, while Irena went with Matt.

I scooted closer to Rewan, tilting my head like maybe he had some insight I didn’t.

“Did we miss something or what?” I whispered.

“Sabi,” he said, deadpan, “how should I know? I couldn’t care less about these background characters to save my life.”

Right. Of course.

“Okay, my turn,” I said, tugging Rewan closer.

I tiptoed up, heart hammering, and the moment our lips met, he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against him.

The kiss wasn’t quick or casual—it was deep, urgent, full of heat, every second making my head spin and my stomach twist in all the best ways.

I pulled away first, catching my breath, and stared into his eyes.

“Marry me,” I murmured, stupidly soft.

Rewan rolled his eyes, hands still gripping my waist.

“If you kneel, I might,” he said, smirk tugging at his lips.

This guy.

I leaned close to his ear and whispered, “I’ll gladly get on my knee… if we’re alone.”

Rewan’s eyes went wide, then he flicked my forehead.

"Since when did you learn to talk like that?” he whispered-shouted, frowning.

“Last night,” I said flatly, with the tiniest smirk. “Thanks to a certain someone.”

The others were just standing there, watching us with curious eyes, trying to figure out what the hell we were whispering about.

“So… who are you pieing?” Keziah asked, raising an eyebrow.

Right.

Rewan reluctantly let me go. I grabbed a pie, considering for a glorious second smearing it across him—but he caught my gaze and smirked. “Do that and you’re licking it right after.”

Cue immediate internal panic and betrayal. Tempting, yes. But I’m not about to bite off more than I can chew—or, in this case, lick.

I glanced around at the others, all busy flinging pies, laughing like maniacs, while I was stuck in a weird standoff with my own desires.

Focus, Sabi. Don’t die of Rewan temptation right now.

I turned my attention to Kami. That little clown had it coming—after all the pranks he’d pulled, a pie to the face seemed like fair justice.

I raised the pie, aiming carefully and let it land square on his cheek with a satisfying splat.

His eyes went wide, and then he just froze for a second before breaking into a slow, grudging laugh.

“Alright… fair,” he admitted, wiping cream off his face.

I couldn’t help the smug little grin tugging at my lips. “Consider that payback for every prank you ever thought was funny,” I said, giving him a little wink.

Rewan, from the sidelines, shook his head with a laugh. “That’s my girl,” he muttered under his breath.

“Guess I’m up,” Rosalie said, smirking like she already knew exactly what she was doing.

Without hesitation, she made a beeline for Matt and pressed her lips to his.

Matt froze for a heartbeat, clearly caught off guard—but then his body relaxed, matching her energy almost seamlessly.

I watched, half amused, half well, who am I kidding, totally entertained.

I leaned against Rewan, trying to look disinterested, but he caught my smirk anyway.

“You’re loving this,” he whispered.

“Obviously not,” I muttered, rolling my eyes—but my pulse betrayed me.

The kiss lasted just long enough to make everyone gasp—or cheer, depending on their drama tolerance—before they pulled back, grinning like they’d just won some private villa challenge.

Rosalie didn’t waste a second. She grabbed a pie, wiggled her eyebrows at Rewan, and—smear—plopped it right on his face.

Rewan sputtered, trying not to look annoyed but failing spectacularly, wiping at the whipped cream while shooting me a look that clearly said you’re enjoying this too, aren’t you?

I rolled my eyes, pretending indignation, but the grin tugging at my lips gave me away. 

“But… why did you let her pie you?” I asked, raising a brow.

“Well, I couldn’t exactly ask her to lick me. That’d be disgusting,” he said flatly.

Rosalie huffed, trying to come back with a clapback—but nothing stuck.

“Rosalie… you’re supposed to marry someone first,” Dani called after her.

“Sorry,” she said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I just really want to pie Rewan.”

She turned and practically bounced her way toward Gryff, cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Before I propose,” she said, clinging to him, “Be my boyfriend first.”

“Woah,” Gryff muttered, caught completely off guard, his usual smirk frozen for once.

Same, Gryff. Same.

“I mean of course!” he blurted, tripping over the words.

Rosalie cheered and jumped around before dragging Gryff into a kiss—not exactly graceful. Honestly, it looked like their teeth were on a collision course, but good for them anyway.

The boys all exchanged glances—somewhere between congrats and good luck, mate, no turning back now. Meanwhile, the girls had linked hands and were jumping in a little circle like sugar-drunk cheerleaders.

“Why aren’t you joining them?” Rewan asked, eyebrow raised.

I tilted my head, deadpan. “Because if I start bouncing like that, it won’t be my feet that hurt.”

His eyes flicked down before he caught himself. He coughed, too fast. “…Right. Yeah. Makes sense.”

The villa was still bouncing with giddy chaos over Rosalie and Gryff finally being official when Dani’s voice sliced through it.

“Right, enough of that—my turn.” She was already stepping forward, cutting through the celebration like she owned the air.

Before anyone could blink, she marched straight up to Gryff and snogged the life out of him. He froze, caught completely off guard, but didn’t exactly resist either.

Rosalie’s jaw nearly hit the floor. They’d literally just gone official, and now Dani was kissing her man like it was still preseason.

“He’s my boyfriend!” Rosalie snapped.

“Boyfriend or not, he’s still an Islander,” Dani shot back, smug and unbothered enough to almost make it convincing.

Almost.

Rosalie looked ready to combust, and that’s when I lost it—laughter spilling out of me before I could stop. Even Rewan’s glare didn’t help; if anything, it made it worse.

Alright. My bad. I swallowed it down—and choked on it instead.

Then Dani, like the menace she is, grabbed a pie and marched straight for Rosalie.

We practically heard the smack as the cream exploded across her face.

She didn’t hold back—though not enough to actually hurt her either. Let’s just say by the end of it, all you could see were Rosalie’s eyes blinking through the mess.

Rosalie sputtered, half-screaming, half-choking, while Dani stood there looking proud of herself like she’d just won the Olympic finals of pettiness.

This is exactly how this game should be played. Can we get a turn again?

And just like that, the game was done. I was almost impressed—surprised, even—that no one had pied me.

Or so I thought.

The second us girls turned our backs, the boys grabbed pies and launched them like grenades. Total ambush. Cream everywhere, screams everywhere.

I got obliterated. Head to toe. My hair was dripping, my lashes were clumped, and my mouth tasted suspiciously like banana custard. I couldn’t even see properly—just two tiny tunnels through the cream plastered to my face.

Had I known all those pies I’d whipped up would come back and bite me in the ass, maybe I wouldn’t have gone so hard.

Maybe.

Rewan was watching me with a smirk, like this was his personal victory lap. His eyes said it all—How’s your own medicine taste, princess?

“You traitor,” I hissed, glaring at him through the whipped cream mask.

I tried running away, but the cream had me half-blind. Couldn’t see a thing. Next thing I knew, my foot caught on itself and I went down like a collapsing deck chair.

Laughter exploded around me, but then Rewan was suddenly there, crouched at my side. His smirk faltered when he noticed the scrape blooming on my knee.

“Hold still,” he muttered, brushing cream out of the way so he could check.

Honestly, the knee was fine. A glorified papercut. What I really needed was someone to dig me out of this dairy avalanche—I could barely breathe through the whipped-cream mask glued to my face.

“Forget my knee,” I rasped, swiping at my mouth. “I’m two seconds away from suffocating.”

That finally cracked him. His hand came up to my cheek, thumb dragging slow across my skin, wiping enough cream so I could actually breathe again.

Smug bastard. Tender bastard. Both at once.

I tried swiping at my eyes, but my hands were just as caked. All I managed was smearing more cream across my forehead.

“Ugh—forget it—”

Rewan caught my wrist before I could make it worse. “Stop.” His voice dipped low, and then his thumb dragged carefully over my eyelid, clearing a path so I could actually see him again.

“Water,” I croaked.

He stood and took off running.

“Where are you going?” I called after him.

“Getting you a water,” he shouted back, like I was the idiotic one here.

“Not for drinking, you moron! Bring me with you, I need to wash my face!” I started laughing despite myself.

God, this guy.

Behind us, the boys were still howling with laughter while the girls fought for their lives in the cream pit.

Great to know where everyone’s priorities were.

We safely made it back to the bathroom—though safely was debatable, because removing this much cream is basically trench warfare.

I was half-blind, clawing at my face like a raccoon in a bin, while Rewan leaned against the sink, laughing with his whole chest.

“What now?” I snapped.

Rewan chuckled low, eyes trailing over me. “You know…” he drawled, “…this isn’t what I meant when I said I’d love to see you covered in cream.

I groaned. “You’re disgusting.”

“You are disgusting. Look at you.”he said, smirk razor-sharp, his thumb brushing a streak off my cheek like he was adding insult to injury.

Then he wheezed, shoulders shaking like it wasn’t his fault I looked like dessert roadkill.

I shoved Rewan out of the bathroom since he was absolutely zero help.

Mid-scrub, water dripping off my elbows, the door banged open and Irena and Keziah burst in, both breathless and cream-soaked.

Apparently, Dani and Rosalie were still going at it—hurling pies left, right, and center like it was some kind of world war.

I dunked my face again. “So we’re just letting them fight to the death then?”

“Pretty much,” Keziah said.

After what felt like forever, I finally scrubbed clean. Took a proper shower after, threw on a killer bikini like nothing ever happened, and headed to the terrace for a nap.

The sun was warm, the cushions soft, and for once—blessed silence. I let my eyes drift shut.

…Until a shadow fell across my face.

I cracked one eye open. It's  Rewan, of course. Holding a glass of water.

“Didn’t I throw you out?” I muttered.

“You did,” he said cheerfully, plopping down beside me.

He set the box and glass of water down, then started pulling things out like some bargain-bin medic—ointment, cotton pads, a bandaid.

He uncapped the ointment like he actually knew what he was doing.

I pushed up on my elbows. “You don’t even know how to use that.”

“Sure I do.” He tilted his head, smug, before leaning closer, thumb brushing under my jaw as if he was checking for injuries—when really, he just wanted an excuse.

“It’s on my knee,” I said flatly.

“I’m just checking,” he countered.

I rolled my eyes and flopped back down like I’d lost the will to live.

I watched him carefully disinfect and bandaid my knee like that tiny scratch could kill me.

The concentration on his face was ridiculous—brows furrowed, lips pressed tight, like he was performing open-heart surgery instead of slapping a Dora-the-Explorer bandaid on me.

“Are you done playing doctor?” I asked, dry.

“Not yet,” he said, smoothing the edges down with absurd precision.

After a few more minutes, he finally finished. But instead of leaving me alone so I could nap, he stretched out beside me like he owned the place.

Without a word, he wrapped an arm around me and shut his eyes—just like that.

I should’ve shoved him off. I really should’ve. Instead, I lay there pretending to be annoyed while my treacherous heart tried sprinting laps across my ribcage.

And seriously, does he have separation anxiety or what? Not that I’m complaining.

The producers were probably out there zooming in for their money shot.

I threaded my fingers through his hair while he slept—strictly for the cameras, obviously. No ulterior motives at all.

Okay, maybe a little.

Our supposed to be post-chaos nap turned into full-blown hibernation, because when Irena and Keziah finally shook us awake, it was already dark.

After dinner, we threw ourselves a cocktail party. The drinks were highly questionable, the music was loud enough to shake loose brain cells, and the games? Rated X at best, lawsuit material at worst.

Naturally, that’s when we all come together—completely united in doing the most unhinged things ever broadcast on television.

And yes, I had the time of my life. Not that my relatives will, should they ever catch footage of me letting Rewan trace his tongue along my collarbone under the noble excuse of a body shot.

All in good fun, of course. Purely recreational.

Somehow the villa had transformed into something that looked suspiciously like a gentlemen’s club—music blasting, cocktails flying, and half the boys dancing like they were auditioning for some dangerously inappropriate stage show.

Somewhere between my third shot—or tenth, who’s counting—and a frankly criminal number of body rolls being thrown directly in our faces, I completely lost the plot.

I bolted to the kitchen, desperate for water and a fleeting moment to stop myself from completely unraveling. But of course, Rewan had other plans—the very reason my grip on sanity never lasts.

Pretty sure he’s a lesson built to be failed spectacularly—and I’m acing it. Worse? I actually like failing that class. Which is exactly how I’ve ended up here, flat on my back, with him hovering over me like temptation itself.

I was halfway back to the group when someone yanked me by the wrist. Sharp, sudden—like I’d just been drafted into a low-budget slasher.

Only one idiot I knew loved making entrances like that. His scent hit me before the grip did, and then his shadow swallowed mine.

“You know,” I said, glaring at the hand still locked around me, “normal people just call out names.”

Rewan tilted his head, smirk stitched on like it was permanent. “Normal’s boring. Besides—” he leaned in, voice dropping, “where’s the fun in that? Didn’t it make your heart race?”

My pulse didn’t just race; it flat-out betrayed me—but only because this man could exist in a room and my heart would still sprint.

I’d die before letting him know, though.

“Please,” I scoffed. “The only thing sprinting is my patience.”

“Funny.” He tugged me closer, the heat of him crawling under my skin like it belonged there. “Feels like it’s racing to me.”

Then his thumb brushed the inside of my wrist—lazy, deliberate. And damn him, he knew exactly what that did. My heart stuttered hard enough I was sure he felt it.

Rewan’s smile curved, slow and merciless. “There it is.”

I opened my mouth to tell him off—or lie through my teeth—but he didn’t give me the chance. He bent in, closing the last inch, and his lips caught mine before I could choose either.

His mouth moved against mine, steady at first, almost testing. Then his tongue slid past my lips, brushing against mine with a heat that shot straight to my spine.

I should’ve pulled back. I should’ve had a snarky line locked and loaded. But the second he deepened it, teasing slowly before demanding more, all I could do was let him take.

The taste of him—warm, unfairly addictive—blurred everything else out. My fingers clenched around his shirt without my permission, traitorous.

Rewan groaned low, like he’d won something, and pressed forward until my back hit the wall with a soft thud. His body caged mine in place, his kiss turning hungrier, more insistent.

Then—without breaking the kiss—he shifted, guiding me sideways. My feet stumbled after him, caught between fighting it and giving in, until the cool press of a doorknob brushed my hip.

A click, a push, and suddenly the wall at my back was gone. I broke the kiss, breathless, blinking at the room.

Plush bedding, dim lighting, that infamous sense of secrecy.

The hideaway.

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

I squinted at him, accusing. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

Rewan smirked, pulling back just enough to brush his breath against my ear. “I’m not that calculative, Sabi.”

Sure you’re not, I thought, rolling my eyes.

Then his voice dropped to a whisper. “But I can fuck you anywhere you want—just tell me when.”

Him and his foul mouth. Seriously.

My pulse misfired, my brain screaming liar—especially with that whole “just happened to stumble onto the Hideaway” act. Rewan was the kind of man who could turn manipulation into foreplay.

The rational part of me begged to pull away, to snap a biting remark and end it there. But the rest of me—my pulse, my lungs, my traitor body—stayed frozen under his hand, hungry for the dare in his smirk.

I stayed, obviously—not because I wanted to, but because I’d sooner choke than let him think I was scared.

That was the excuse, anyway. I already knew I wasn’t leaving.

I glanced past him at the very obvious hideaway, then back into his eyes—eyes that weren’t even pretending to be innocent.

And also—were we even allowed in here?

Rewan finally eased back, though his hand didn’t leave my jaw. His gaze flicked past me, roaming the room like he was inspecting it, then he laughed under his breath, low and wicked.

“I wouldn’t call this place a Hideaway,” he murmured, eyes flicking back to me. “With you in here, it’s more like a shrine.” His thumb traced along my cheekbone, deliberate and slow.

Then his fingers drifted down, tracing the curve of my shoulder before sliding along my arms, finally wrapping around my hands, lingering just long enough to make my pulse stutter.

“You’re a goddess,” he added, voice low, a brow rising with a wicked smirk. “And I should worship you.”

Seriously. Where did he even learn to talk like that?

I half-wanted to roll my eyes, half-wanted to melt right there.

I raised a brow, trying to look unimpressed, but yeah—obviously, my body didn’t get the memo. Heat pooled low, and I could practically feel my pulse arguing with my brain.

Classic me.

But fine—two can play, sweetheart.

“If we’re talking worship,” I said, settling back on the bed, crossing my legs just enough to flash the best angle of skin, “shouldn’t you be on your knees?”

His smirk sharpened—feral and dangerous.

But instead of kneeling, Rewan stepped closer, towering over me, and in one swift move he pushed me down so my back hit the mattress.

He braced himself above me, shadows draped over his face, his breath hot and unsteady.

“Then you’d better be ready, Goddess,” he whispered, low and lethal, every word dragging over my skin. “Because when I worship, I don’t stop until you’re trembling and begging for it”

Okay… that’s fucked up. I feel like I’ve had a hangover cure straight to the brain.

My breath snagged, but I refused to break eye contact. If he thought I’d fold first, he was wrong.

“Is this you finally catching up on all the things you’ve been dying to do?” I murmured, lowering my voice, letting my nails trace teasing patterns across his chest.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Sabrina,” he murmured, every word drawn out like he wanted me to feel it against my skin.

His hand slid down from my jaw, dragging over my throat, pressing just enough to remind me he was there—claiming space, not cutting air.

“I came in here thinking I’d only tease you…” His thumb brushed lazily across my pulse, timing itself to my heartbeat.

Please. You nearly ended me, and you’re calling it teasing?

My pulse was already sprinting, and the worst part? I liked it—liked the way his restraint felt like a wire pulled too tight, ready to snap.

Somewhere deep, the tiniest voice of reason whispered, ‘don’t give in.’ Too bad reasoning didn’t stand a chance against him.

Before he could utter another word, I closed the gap, pressing my lips to his. Sharp, demanding, claiming—that’s how it felt.

The world shrank to just us—his heat, his scent, the brush of his hands against my arms. My brain short-circuited, and all rational thought evaporated.

I could feel him stiffen for a fraction, then melt into the kiss. His tongue teased mine with slow, deliberate patience that made me ache for more—so much more.

I let out a low moan, just loud enough to make him gasp—because, naturally, driving him insane was half the fun.

Then his hands moved. Sliding over my ribs, tracing the curves of my waist, fingers threading into the fabric of my dress like he wanted to map every inch of me.

One hand found the back of my thigh, dragging upward in a teasing, impossibly slow motion that had my pulse leaping and my stomach twisting.

I tried to protest—tried—but every whisper of restraint melted under the heat of him. His lips left mine for the briefest second, nipping along my jaw, down my neck, before claiming my mouth again.

It was fire and restraint tangled together, a chaotic rhythm I didn’t want to escape.

And God help me… I wasn’t even trying to.

He pulled back slightly, hovering over me, letting the space between us thrum with tension. Then he let out a slow sigh and stood, moving around the room to switch off every camera; the blinking lights winked out. Even our mics went silent.

I blinked. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t even glance at me. “What do you think I’m doing?”

I had no idea—but yeah, I’m doomed. That much was certain.

Then he came back again, closing the distance, his heat pressing against me.

“Gotta make sure I’m the only one who hears your moan,” he murmured, voice dipping low.

I shivered, my pulse stuttering uncontrollably.

I blinked, and somehow the next thing I knew, we were both stripped down. I was left in nothing but my underwear, breathless under his gaze.

“Are you just gonna keep staring?” I asked, half tease, half dare.

“Sabi… I really won’t hold back this time,” he murmured.

Honestly? About damn time.

Then his mouth was on mine again, soft at first, teasing, before his tongue slipped past my lips, claiming mine with a desperate, hungry rhythm.

I gasped softly when his lips left mine for the briefest second, trailing down my jaw, over my throat, and along the delicate line of my neck. Each kiss left heat behind, marking me, making it impossible to think clearly.

A sharp nip at my neck made me inhale, the sting nothing compared to the fire he was stirring inside me.

Then his mouth traveled lower, pressing along my collarbone, pausing at the curve of my chest.

His breath ghosted over my skin before he pressed his mouth lower, slow and deliberate. I arched instinctively, chest rising to meet him, and he rewarded me with a hot, open-mouthed kiss against the swell of my breast.

My fingers tangled in his hair as he lingered there, his tongue teasing circles until my patience snapped into a trembling plea.

Then he closed his mouth around me, sucking, tasting, making my back curve helplessly off the sheets. Every tug of his lips, every flick of his tongue sent shocks through me.

His hand slipped lower, finding me over the thin fabric of my panties. He pressed, teased, toyed with me until sparks shot down my spine and pooled low in my stomach, leaving me trembling from the ache of wanting more.

“Rewan,” I breathed.

Something in him snapped the moment I said his name.

In one swift motion, he hooked his fingers under the last scrap of fabric between us and tugged it away, stripping me bare, exposing me in every possible way.

The air hit my skin, cool against the heat he’d stirred up, and I felt laid open—not just to his touch, but to his gaze.

His eyes dragged over me, slow and consuming. His jaw clenched, sharp enough to make me forget how to breathe.

God help me—I was choking on my own dignity, but the sight of it was thrilling.

Then he lowered himself again, his mouth blazing a path down my stomach, every kiss a spark that left me trembling. He trailed lower still, until his breath was hot against the very place I ached for him most.

His tongue dragged over my slit, slowly, parting me, tasting me. The sensation ripped a gasp from my throat as heat shot through my core.

“Oh my god…” I whimpered, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

My hips bucked, desperate for more, he groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating against me as he pressed his mouth harder, hungrily devouring me like he had something to prove.

His tongue circled, flicked, plunged—merciless, relentless—until I was clutching at his hair. Shameless noises spilling out of me no matter how hard I tried to swallow them.

How is he allowed to be this good?

Then he suddenly stopped.

I whined at the loss, breathless and frustrated, but he only lifted his head, lips glistening, eyes dark with smug amusement.

“Enjoying yourself, Sabrina?” he drawled, raising a brow, his voice mocking, his smirk downright wicked.

Before I could bite back a retort, a gasp slipped past me. One of his fingers slid inside me, slow and deliberate, stretching me just enough to make my thighs twitch.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured under his breath, almost like he was talking to himself, like it was some kind of discovery.

Heat rushed to my face. I grabbed at his wrist instinctively, thighs snapping shut around his hand, trying to hide the humiliating truth of it.

“Don’t say things like that,” I pleaded, voice breaking.

But that only made his smirk deepen, cruel and devastating.

His finger curled inside me, pressing right where I was most sensitive, as if he was savoring not just my body—but the way he was unraveling me, drip by drip, smirk by smirk.

“Why not? Embarrassed?” His finger pushed deeper, curling deliberately until I gasped. “You’re dripping all over my hand, Sabi.”

“Rewan—” It came out broken, a strangled mess of his name.

He leaned down, mouth brushing my ear, his breath hot and taunting. “Say it again. Say my name like that while I finger you.”

A helpless whimper slipped out instead.

“Pathetic,” he whispered, smirking against my skin. “You like this too much.”

Pathetic?

Seriously—does this man have a humiliation kink or is he just naturally impossible? I swear, he earns himself a sentencing every time he opens his mouth.

My thighs tried to snap shut again, but he pried them open easily, pinning me wide beneath him. The position was humiliating, obscene—and I couldn’t stop trembling.

He slid another finger in and thrust deeper and faster, I couldn’t hold back the needy sound that he tore out of me.

My nails dug into his arm, the humiliation and pleasure tangling until I didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

His gaze dragged down between us, and that wicked smirk deepened.

“Look at you,” he murmured, almost reverent, though the mockery never left his tone. “Shaking like I’ve ruined you already. And I’ve barely started.”

“Shut up,” I gasped, breathless.

He leaned down, lips grazing my jaw, voice low and lethal. “Make me.”

His cocky, infuriating smirk was unbearable.

I slipped my hand around his neck and yanked him down, desperate to shut him up.

Our tongues clashed, messy and frantic, while his fingers still worked inside me, tearing a broken sound straight out of my throat and into his mouth.

He kissed me back with that same mocking hunger, swallowing my protests, feeding on every gasp like he owned it.

He groaned against my lips, like my kiss had just lit a fuse in him. His hand clamped harder at my hip, pinning me down.

Then he tore his mouth from mine and slowly pulled his fingers free, shoving down the last piece of his clothing.

My breath caught when I saw him.

Oh. Oh no. Is this it? My final moments? Am I about to be obliterated and never see daylight again? Someone please call Kali—actually, no, she doesn’t need this trauma.

My pulse hammering like a drumline in a parade I did not sign up for. My hands clawed at the sheets, trying to anchor myself, failing spectacularly.

He leaned down, reaching for the condom on the side table beside me—his thick length brushing deliberately against my thigh.

I swear he’s doing this on purpose. He could’ve just asked me to hand it over, but no—of course he had to make it that… moment.

He tore the plastic off with his teeth, somehow making it look disgustingly hot, before casually sliding it on.

Then he shifted, settling between my thighs, his body burning against my skin.

"Wait… are you trying to kill me?” I gasped, words tripping over each other like they were running from danger.

No, seriously. If I was ever going to tap out, now’s the perfect time—because that? That’s a full-on, call-an-ambulance situation.

Rewan just chuckled, low and dark, before dragging the thick length of him against my slit, teasing me deliberately.

He angled his tip at my entrance and pressed gently when my hand shot out, pressing flat against his stomach to stop him.

“Relax, I’m putting it in,” he said, voice maddeningly calm, like he wasn’t about to destroy me.

Hold up… putting what in?!

“You’re too big,” I blurted, breathless. “That’s not gonna fit.”

His smirk widened, ridiculously triumphant.

Rewan, that’s not a fucking compliment.

“You’re being dramatic, Sabrina,” he murmured, amused, leaning in to brush his mouth against mine.

No. Don’t ‘dramatic’ me, you beast.

His chuckle lingered in my ears as he pressed forward, slow but unrelenting, until I had no choice but to feel every inch of me stretch open. My breath hitched, nails digging into his shoulders—terror and heat tangling so tightly I could barely breathe.

Then he pushed past the worst of it, my body finally yielding, and the panic shattered into something else entirely.

A shaky sigh spilled out of me, and I caught his mouth in a kiss—desperate, grateful, almost giddy.

When I pulled back, a grin tugged at my lips. “Oh. That’s not as bad as I thought.” I tilted my chin, smug through the haze. “Guess I was scared for nothing.”

Rewan’s mouth brushed my ear, he whispered a dark laugh against my skin. “My love, that was barely the tip.”

You’ve got to be kidding me. Barely the tip?

I stole a quick peek, my pulse stuttering—yeah. It really was just the tip. Of course it was. What did I even expect?

This monster. Seriously… who allowed this guy to be this horrifying?

I snapped on my I’m fine mask, looping my thighs around his waist like I was the one running this show.

“Hey, stop—you’re gonna hurt yourself,” he ground out, jaw clenched tight as his fingers dug into my hips. The sound he made—low, rough, completely unguarded—shot straight through me.

But he wasn’t wrong. This felt like my first time all over again.

Seriously, why was he built like that? Sexy, sure. But also… completely unreasonable.

“Just lie there prettily, I’ll do the work,” he smirked.

Fine. Pillow princess it is. My pride stung, but his tone made my pulse skip.

“If you hurt me even a little,” I warned, muffling myself with a pillow.

He didn’t bother replying—just pressed forward, pinning my hips down as he eased deeper. The stretch was brutal and intoxicating, tearing a broken moan out of me I couldn’t swallow fast enough.

He smirked and pushed further, wringing another sharp gasp from my throat. “You’re too tight—I nearly lost it.”

All I could manage was another moan, clinging to the pillow like a lifeline.

Then, without warning, he slammed the rest all the way in. One hard thrust and he buried himself to the hilt, my body clamping down as pleasure detonated so hard it almost blacked me out.

A raw, guttural sound ripped out of me, muffled into the pillow as my back arched helplessly.

“Fuck—” he groaned, holding me down as I trembled. “You feel unreal like this.”

I could barely think, barely breathe—only feel the heat of him, the rasp of his voice unraveling me.

“Look at me,” he murmured, tugging gently at my hand before pressing a kiss to the inside of my wrist.

I peeked past the pillow, locking eyes with him.

“Kiss me,” I breathed.

He chuckled softly, lowering himself to capture my mouth in a kiss that was warm, lingering, almost reverent, our tongues brushed slowly.

“Can I start moving?” he asked against my lips.

I nodded, biting down a whimper.

He smirked, then gently slid the pillow aside, letting my cries spill freely as he pulled back just enough to slam into me. The sudden force knocked the air from my lungs. I clutched his shoulders, gasping as he set a pace that was steady but merciless, every thrust sending heat spiking through me.

“God—listen to you,” he rasped against my ear, voice wrecked. “So fucking pretty when you can’t breathe without moaning.”

My nails scraped down his back, desperate, but he pinned my wrists above my head, nuzzling my neck and trailing heated kisses down toward my breast, as if mocking my resistance.

“Too much?” he murmured, slowing just enough to make me whine.

“No, don’t stop,” I begged, breathless.

He chuckled low and dark, lips brushing along my skin, teasing, claiming, making it impossible to focus on anything but him.

His weight held me pinned, hips rolling, grinding against every spot that had me gasping.

“You can be louder, you know,” he murmured.

Slowly and deliberately, his hands slid down to my waist, fingers digging into my sides just enough to make me shiver.

“I already am,” I protested, as my cheeks burned.

“No, you’re not,” he growled, a wicked grin tugging at his lips. “Maybe I should go harder.”

Fuck. He’s insane.

I froze, chest tightening, heart racing. “Oh… don’t—wait—”

He shifted, easing back onto his knees between my thighs. Then—without warning—he changed the pace. Brutally fast and overwhelming.

My words crumbled into broken moans as he drove forward, his movement relentless, urgent, almost cruel in its perfection

My back arched instinctively, nails clawing at the sheets, knuckles white as heat and shock collided in every nerve.

“Rewan, I—”

“Shhh,” he whispered, pressing his lips to my inner thigh, teeth grazing the sensitive skin before he bit down lightly. “Let me hear you, Sabi. I want to hear everything you’re feeling.”

“Rewan, wait—” I pleaded, breath ragged, words breaking into desperate whimpers, but he didn’t slow down, didn’t even glance at me. It was like he couldn’t, wouldn’t, stop.

Every slam of his hips drove waves through me, the sound of our skin clapping, sending jolts straight to my spine, twisting pleasure into sharp, dizzying bursts that blurred my vision.

His hands released my waist, before pressing them firmly into the curve of my lower stomach, making me clench around him.

A low, ragged groan escaped his lips.

“Oh God… fuck—” he breathed.

Then his hands traveled upward, cupping my breasts with possessive force before pinching my nipples. I shivered, warmth sparking down my spine with each deliberate touch.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

Every groan he let out with each thrust somehow became a rhythm I couldn’t resist—sharp, raw, and utterly intoxicating.

“Rewan… wait, I’m close,” I gasped, clutching his wrist as he cupped my breast, gripping him like it could anchor me through the pleasure.

Ignoring my protests, he slammed into me again and again, each thrust sending my senses reeling. I arched my back, sweat dripping from my forehead and neck, my hands clawing at the sheets even tighter as pleasure crashed over me in relentless waves.

He planted a firm grip on my thigh, lifting, holding me open, and drove into me harder, faster, every thrust jarring me to the core.

My mind was fraying at the edges, each motion stealing my breath, scattering my thoughts, leaving only the dizzying, overwhelming bliss of him filling me completely.

“Fuck, I'm cu—”

The words broke apart, strangled by gasps as my body convulsed, caught in a crescendo that felt both illegal and unfair. And then—God—betrayal. My own body folded, caving hard, every muscle trembling as I came, chest heaving, sheets a crumpled crime scene.

Through it all, he stayed buried deep inside me, groans vibrating against my skin as he dragged me through my orgasm and into the pounding rhythm of his own. He rode out my tremors with a few more punishing and heart-stopping thrusts, each one threatening to tip me over the edge again.

And then finally—finally—he pulled back just enough.

“Ugh, fuck.” The sound cracked out of him, guttural, like he was unraveling.

My breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut—then I felt it—the warm, wet weight of him dripping across me, landing deliberately right against my slick, sensitive slit.

Somehow, he had already taken the condom off. A shiver ran through me at the sensation, part shock, part wicked thrill.

He smirked, leaning down to brush a hot, feather-light kiss along my jaw.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “Dripping just for me.”

And whose fault do you think that is?

I bit my lip, cheeks flaming, gripping the sheets tighter again as if that could piece together my scattered sanity—and what little remained of my dignity.

“You’re unbelievable,” I breathed, trying—and very much failing—to calm my still-trembling legs.

“I know.” His smirk deepened, dark and confident, like he’d just won something.

“Don’t smirk like that,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Why?” he asked, still wearing that smug little curve on his mouth.

“You’re too hot,” I muttered under my breath, sneaking glances at him like I owed him money.

For a split second, his smirk twitched—gone, then back again, weaker this time.

“Say that again,” he teased, voice low, but the edge of his confidence cracked just enough for me to catch it.

I snorted. “What, did I break you?”

“You wish,” he muttered, pulling me closer like that would hide the fact he’d just been flustered to hell.

Honestly, that was me telling him off for the sake of my own sanity. He looks way too hot when he’s being smug. Like—sir, pick a struggle. You can’t be attractive and irritating. It’s illegal.

Just when I was finally catching my breath—spent, trembling, still gasping—he flipped me flat onto my stomach like a pancake that weighed nothing, pinning me to the sheets.

“Excuse me?” I wheezed into the pillow, muffled and indignant.

He just ignored me, caging me in, his weight pressing me down until I could feel the thick length of him dragging against my back.

“What are you doing?” I asked, already half-dreading, half-expecting the answer.

He shifted lower, pressing the tip of himself against my soaked entrance. Instead of pushing in, he rocked slowly, teasing, rubbing over the sensitive swell again and again until I gasped into the pillow.

“Stop—” I tried, but the broken sound that slipped out of me wasn’t fooling anyone. My hips betrayed me, arching back, chasing the friction like I’d forgotten pride existed.

Kill me now.

Then—only then—he pushed all the way in, slow and unrelenting.

“You’re not done already, are you?” he whispered, voice low, pushing deeper, daring me to protest.

I could barely catch my breath.

A few more rounds? Fine. But I wasn’t even halfway recovered from my last orgasm.

I was still trembling, muscles tight and hypersensitive, not even close to finished.

“I’m still sensitive,” I gasped, breathless, glancing back at him.

His smirk widened, dark and devilish. “Perfect. Don’t you dare go numb on me.”

This beast wasn’t even listening to a single word I said.

With that, he started moving again—slow at first, teasing me mercilessly, then building speed, thrusting harder with every roll of his hips, each motion stealing a gasp and pulling a piece of my very soul.

The sound of our skin slapping, the pressure of him inside me, and the heat of his smirk pressed me deeper into the mattress. My mind frayed under the intensity, every nerve screaming, every thought dissolving into pure, chaotic pleasure.

Hours—or maybe days, who knew—passed. My body trembled, limbs weak, and at some point, I think I even passed out. But he didn’t stop, like he had a personal vendetta against my endurance.

“Rewan, I can’t anymore,” I cried, voice raw and hoarse.

“Just a bit more. Let me wreck you a little longer, hmm?” he murmured, teeth grazing the nape of my neck.

Liar. That’s what he’d been saying the entire time.

“Rewan… please.” I gasped, as he slammed into me again, each thrust sharper, more punishing than the last.

My stomach coiled tight, heat pulsing, and I knew I couldn’t hold back for much longer.

“Fuck… Sabi!” he groaned, losing control, thrusting deep, rough, consuming. And then he came, buried inside me, every pulse of his length igniting fire, dragging me over the edge and back.

He finally pulled out slowly, and I couldn’t help but moan at the way he dragged himself free.

Then, ever the menace that he is, he brushed a strand of hair off my cheek and wiped the sweat from my forehead.

“God, you’re so beautiful." His voice dropped, raw and reverent. "No one’s ever going to see you like this but me.”

This fucker—if he thinks that’s gonna work, he’s absolutely right. It works, and I hate that it works, but I’m still not forgiving him.

I’m sore all over my body. Aching, buzzing, wrecked. And this idiot is still smiling at me like he didn’t just break me in half.

“I hate you,” I muttered, glaring at him.

“No, you don’t,” he shot back, grinning.

Right. Perfect. Now he’s even narrating my emotions for me. Should I clap, or just die here?

He collapsed beside me on the mattress, both our breath ragged. Then he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my lips, stupidly gentle, like he hadn’t just annihilated me.

I’d never felt so completely, utterly wrecked.

Is he like this every time? Because honestly, I feel like he’s going to be the death of me. Even after all that, he doesn’t look the slightest bit tired.

Does being a personal trainer really give you this much stamina? He’s terrifying… but also way too good. I absolutely will have a second—Just because I enjoy flirting with my own demise.

“Wait.” I blinked at him, trying to catch my breath. “Why did you come inside me?”

Apparently, we’d run out of condoms a few rounds ago—news to me, since I couldn’t even remember when the last one disappeared. He said it so casually, like he was reading a grocery list.

Just how many times had we done it?

My face went nuclear. I wasn’t just embarrassed—I was dishonoring my entire bloodline. My ancestors were probably rolling in their graves, shrieking in unison.

“It wasn’t that many,” Rewan added smoothly, like he could read my brain melting. “I only brought a few. None of the villa’s fit me, so relax.”

I froze. “I’m sorry—what do you mean none of them fit you?”

He gave the tiniest shrug, like it was obvious.

I slapped my hands over my mouth. “That doesn’t fucking help! Do you even hear yourself?”

“I’m kidding,” he laughed.

Lies. He obviously wasn’t. And worse? My stupid brain wouldn’t stop thinking about it—Now it has picked the worst possible rabbit hole.

Maybe the villa just ran out of his size. Or maybe they never even stocked it in the first place—there’s a dozen guys here, it could’ve happened.

I mean, yeah, he’s big. Sure. But not inhuman.

God, Sabrina, stop justifying his dick like it’s a supply chain issue.

I sighed, barely managing to keep my eyes open.

I was too tired for this. I’ve got contraception covered, so technically I don’t need to worry—but I still need to drill it into his thick skull at some point.

“Sabi, you can’t sleep yet—you’ll get sick,” he said, already tugging a blanket over me and scooping me up like I was nothing more than a sack of potatoes.

The rest of the night blurred into nothing.

I woke up in a clean shirt that wasn’t mine—it was Rewan’s. The sheets were fresh, the room spotless, and, horrifyingly, I was properly washed like some pampered doll.

Meanwhile, Rewan was knocked out on my side of the bed, sleeping peacefully like he hadn’t just destroyed me.

I shifted closer, snuggling against him for warmth. His hand immediately found my ass, kneading roughly like it was perfectly normal.

My eyes went wide. “Wait—why am I not wearing anything?” I yelped, swatting at him lightly before snatching the blanket and wrapping myself up like a burrito.

“You mean, you don’t mind wearing my underwear?” he asked, smirking.

Ew. No. I buried my face in the blanket, glaring at him through the folds.

Then he shifted, tugging me closer.

“Come on. Sleep some more,” he murmured, voice maddeningly low and raspy.

“But—” I tried to protest, but then I realized he had already seen everything. Not just seen—he had been inside me last night, buried deep in my soul.

Yeah. What was the point?

I buried my face against his chest, as if that could somehow erase the flashback, letting his hands instinctively wrap around my waist.

I dozed off, lulled by his intoxicating, fresh scent.

By the time I woke up again, it was already noon. Rewan sat beside me, lazily playing with my hair, the picture of smug domestic perfection.

“Morning. How are you feeling?” he asked, fingers threading through my hair like he owned me.

Why is he suddenly soft and careful? I squinted. Suspicious. Very suspicious.

“Good,” I mumbled, half-buried under the blankets, trying to pretend I wasn’t still combusting from last night.

Then he got serious—the kind of seriousness that makes your brain scream, this is not him. Suddenly we were talking about us—plans, feelings, the future. I didn’t even bother hiding my smug grin as he rambled about how much he liked me.

And yes—last night? He loved it, of course he did. But also pangs of regret. Not about me—don’t be ridiculous.

According to him, it was because he hadn’t even met my family yet. He’s trying to act all grown-up and gentlemanly.

After what he did to me last night?

Yeah. Sure.

“I know they’d love me,” he said, smirk tugging at his lips, “but still, out of respect for your dad.”

Arrogant. But also kind of true. My family would definitely adore him—they thrive on chaos.

He even promised he’d properly ask me out once we’re outside the villa. Like, actual, official date style.

“If you beg, I might,” I teased, smirking.

“Aren’t you the one with a natural talent for that?” he shot back, biting his words like they were dessert.

That shut me up for sure—but for the record, I was begging for him to stop.

I just rolled my eyes, then pulled me close, wrapping me in his arms like I was made of fragile glass.

“I love you, Sabi,” he murmured, voice low against my ear.

What the fuck?

I looked up at him, hands automatically reaching for his forehead exactly like last time, half-expecting a fever.

Again. He was fine. Perfectly fine.

So, of course, I wrapped my arms around him. I hummed, burying my face against his shoulder, trying—and failing—to act composed.

After our disgustingly adorable, melt-into-each-other moments—which, let’s be honest, I would absolutely do again—we finally ventured outside.

I didn’t waste a second before sprinting to the dressing room. Because, apparently, exposing myself on national TV isn’t exactly how I envisioned my holiday highlights.

I could feel Rewan’s gaze on me as I bolted, probably smirking like it was all part of his plan.

After pushing all the flashbacks of last night’s crimes into the deepest, darkest corner of my skull, I got ready properly—bikini on, makeup and hair done like I was about to run for Miss Universe. Feeling semi-competent, I decided it was time to track down my girls.

After a few left and right turns , I finally found them, sprawled across the bean bags.

They clocked me immediately, knowing smiles tugging at their faces.

I hadn’t even sat down yet, and they were already bombarding me with questions.

“So… where were you and Rewan last night?” Rosalie raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“Right, you both disappeared in the middle of the party,” Dani chimed in, voice full of mischief.

“We were… sleeping on the daybed,” I lied smoothly through my teeth.

“Me and Nathan slept on the daybed, though,” Dani countered, her smirk widened.

Okay, think. Quick.

“Fine. We were on the terrace. Happy now?” I rolled my eyes, hoping my shrug looked casual.

“But Sabi, Gryff and I spent the night there,” Rosalie said, all calm and innocent.

Fuck.

I could feel the threads of this lie unraveling before my very eyes.

They all burst out laughing, my face probably giving away my internal freak-out. I groaned, though a tiny smirk still tugged at my lips.

But instead of humiliating myself with my own tale, I deflected—turned straight to Dani and accused her of the wrinkled sheets on the daybed.

She gasped. “Omg, we changed it though?”

Gotcha.

All eyes immediately latched onto her, and Dani—bless her chaotic little heart—launched into a play-by-play of her previous night. Apparently Nathan had been acting all shy, and underselling himself, that’s when Dani shot her shot—and got obliterated.

The way she described it was so disturbingly detailed that our brain nearly melted.

Rosalie, on the other hand, only gave us a tiny snippet. Too smug, too relaxed—clearly she was having the time of her life and had zero intention of giving away the juicy bits.

We were all in stitches, gasping for air between giggles, when Keziah raised an eyebrow at the red mark on my nape.

I didn’t even pause. “We were sleeping in the treehouse and a bug bit me,” I said, with ridiculous breezy confidence.

They caught that I’d changed the location three times, but I was so emphatic about this version that they shrugged, defeated, and accepted it.

Victory never tasted so sweet.

Chapter Text

The past few days blurred into a haze of ridiculous challenges and dares—half the time, we weren’t even bothering to keep score.

With villa life winding down and the couples all but locked in, I figured we might as well call it and go home.

“What are you thinking?” Rewan asked, plopping down beside me.

“Oh, just how badly I wanted to go home before,” I laughed.

“You’re glad you didn’t, though, right?” he nudged me playfully.

I am glad. But I wouldn’t want the reason I wanted to leave asking me that.

Honestly, thinking back, I don’t even know how I managed to stick around with this lot. Then again, they’ve changed a lot since.

“Who do you think will win?” I whispered to Rewan.

“Sabi, that’s obvious. You and me. Us.” He grinned.

Right. Of course he’d say that. Why did I even bother asking?

“I think Rosalie and Gryff have the highest chance,” I said, watching them laugh across the garden.

“Hmm, I don’t know about that,” Rewan replied. “Keziah and Kami have stuck together since day one.”

Sure, they had. But to me? Half the time, it looked like they were just tolerating each other. Friends pretending to be lovers, or lovers pretending to be friends—hard to tell.

Kami’s eyes had wandered at one point. Then again, so did everyone’s—not exactly a scandal.

Matt and Irena were the same story as Keziah and Kami—comfortable, steady, but not exactly believable. Dani and Nathan, on the other hand, were clearly wrapped up in each other, even if they were basically rookies.

Who cares who wins. Not me. Obviously.

“Come on, Sabi, enough of that. We’ve got a date to get to—don’t make me carry you there.” He grinned, tugging at my hand.

“Not a bad idea,” I said, smirking.

Before I could even blink, Rewan bent down, hoisted me over his shoulder like a sack of rice, and started walking.

“Rewan!” I yelped, pounding lightly on his back while laughing. “Put me down!”

“Too late,” he said. “You asked for it.”

Sure. I asked. Just not like this.

He carried me all the way to the girls’ dressing room, my stomach twisting from being draped over his shoulder like luggage.

When he finally set me down, I crossed my arms.

“That wasn’t fun at all,” I muttered, glaring at him.

“My bad,” he chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to my temple before strolling off.

I watched him stroll off, then finally started getting ready. A few minutes later, the dressing room had erupted into full-blown chaos—hair dryers buzzing, heels clacking, everyone squealing and swapping makeup like we were prepping for a magazine shoot instead of just going on dates.

It’s like watching a herd of caffeinated squirrels try to coordinate outfits.

“I swear, we barely got any bombshells this season,” Dani said, swiping on lip gloss like it was breaking news.

Rosalie snorted. “Yeah. I can’t tell if that’s a blessing or a curse.”

“Jasleen and Layla didn’t even make it past the sleepover,” Irena added, smirking.

That set us off. Laughter ricocheted through the dressing room, loud enough to drown out the hairdryers.

“I just know the second we’re out of here, I’m watching Wine-Gate,” Dani laughed.

All of us spun to her in unison. “You have to! You’re missing out,” Rosalie said, mascara wand frozen mid-air.

“For once, I’m actually grateful for Rewan,” Keziah added, shooting me a conspiratorial grin.

I shook my head, letting the chaos wash over me.

Poor Jasleen and Layla—forever the sleepover girls, never villa material. Had they actually known better than to pick Rewan, maybe—just maybe—they’d be remembered differently. I’m not saying they’d have made it to the main villa, but honestly… it’s better than going down in history as the girls who got literally baptized in wine.

After I finished getting ready, I grabbed my clutch and slipped into my heels. The girls were still squealing over their outfits, swapping last-minute tips.

Rewan waited just outside the dressing room, leaning casually against the wall, that trademark grin plastered on his face.

He gave me a once-over, and his grin widened. “You look… perfect.”

“Don’t I always?” I smirked.

He held out his hand. No sacks-of-rice tricks this time. I took it, letting him lead me out of the villa, the chatter and chaos of the girls fading behind us.

After a short drive, the car pulled up to a wide-open field painted in colors—rows of wildflowers stretching as far as I could see, swaying gently in the soft afternoon breeze.

A lone windmill stood in the distance, its blades turning lazily beneath the bright blue sky.

“Wow,” I breathed, pressing a hand to the window before Rewan even had a chance to open the door for me.

I stepped out, the scent of flowers hitting me all at once—sweet and heady.

Rewan led me across the field to a blanket laid out on the ground, a wicker basket set neatly on top, brimming with wine and snacks.

The sun warmed our shoulders as we settled onto the blanket, the wildflowers stretching endlessly around us, painting the world in every color imaginable.

Rewan popped the cork on the wine and poured us each a glass, the liquid catching the sunlight like tiny golden flames.

“Cheers,” he said, clinking his glass gently against mine.

We nibbled on snacks and fruit, the conversation easy—teasing, light, and punctuated by quiet pauses to soak in the view.

At one point, our conversation drifted to plans outside the villa—weekends, trips, little things we wanted to do once we were out. Somehow, I ended up in all of his plans, and he wove himself into mine like my opinion didn’t even matter. And I absolutely did not mind, of course. 

Go off, king. Do your thing. I’ll just be over here pretending I didn’t already plan my entire life around you.

I did negotiate a little for work, but he just shrugged. “I’ll get a flat near you.” His exact words.

Right. Of course—I’m his oxygen. How else would he survive?

I don’t know if we’re moving too fast. My common sense is waving a little white flag somewhere in the back of my brain, trying to remind me that maybe, just maybe, this is a lot.

And yet… part of me is thrilled. Thrilled that he’s already planning around me, that he’s thinking about the future like it’s a given we’ll have one together.

“You have to come to Glasgow with me,” he said. “I’ll introduce you to my friends.”

“Then I’ll introduce you to my cousins—they’re going to love you.”

Rewan raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh really? Who are we talking about?”

“Kali and Eury,” I said, practically bouncing with excitement. “You’ll see—they’re hilarious.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright. But I’ll have to properly introduce myself to your parents first.”

I froze for a second. I didn’t expect him to have some manners—I’d been bracing myself, thinking I’d have to drill it into his thick skull first.

“Talking about things like this… I can’t help but get excited at the thought of having you all to myself,” he said, sliding his hand over mine and holding it gently.

“Rewan… technically, you already do,” I shot back, a sly smirk tugging at my lips. “Considering your level of clinginess.”

He laughed softly, that smug, mischievous grin spreading across his face. “So pedantic, Sabrina,” he teased, leaning just a fraction closer.

Heat radiated off him like a warning sign, and somehow, the sun behind him made him look like a literal devil—dangerously hot.

My heart was doing literal gymnastics in my chest, and I was pretty sure my brain had melted a little. Is it the sun… or do I just like him way too much? Because if it’s the second one, someone seriously needs to hand me a chill pill—stat.

“C’mon, stroll with me,” he said, tugging at my hands with that infuriatingly confident grin.

“Wait… you’re not going to kiss me?” I frowned, incredulous.

All those butterflies in my stomach, and he just wants to stroll? Seriously?

He rolled his eyes, a teasing frustration in his gaze. “Ugh… what am I gonna do with you?” he murmured, tilting my face up. His thumbs brushed my cheeks before his lips finally claimed mine.

Warm, soft, and maddeningly insistent—his lips had me melting. My hands instinctively found their way to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under my palms.

When he finally pulled back just slightly, forehead resting against mine, his breath hitched. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I could say the same about you,” I shot back, smirking, though my chest was still fluttering.

He chuckled softly, that low, throaty sound that made something coil in my stomach. “I don’t think anyone’s ever made me feel like this,” he admitted, eyes locked on mine.

I swallowed hard—surprised I didn’t actually swallow my own throat. Then I stood, brushing a stray wrinkle from my dress, and held out my hand.

“Come on… I thought you wanted to walk around,” I teased.

Rewan let out a soft, amused chuckle, that low rumble in his chest betraying how entertained he was by my little performance.

While we walked, Rewan rambled on about whatever popped into his head but I barely caught a word. All I could focus on was the way his thumb unconsciously drew little circles on the back of my hand, that familiar habit of his.

I sighed softly, letting the moment sink in.

For a moment, I wondered—would we be like this if I’d actually shown up to our blind date? If we’d met outside the villa instead of being thrown together in all this chaos?

Probably not. And honestly… that would’ve been boring.

“I’m actually glad we met here,” he said, like he could read my mind.

“Really? Why?” I asked.

Apparently, if we’d met outside, he’d have forgotten about me the second he got home—because, according to him, I radiate “I’m better than everyone here and you’re lucky to breathe the same air” energy.

Basically, he claimed we wouldn’t be what we are now if he hadn’t bothered peeling back all my layers.

Then he smirked. “Though… I probably still would’ve wanted to rip your clothes off the second I saw you.”

Perverted bastard.

Well, there goes the answer I was fishing for—and naturally, it had to be ridiculous. What did I even expect?

Out of nowhere, he handed me the bouquet of flowers he’d been picking earlier.

“Here,” he said, before planting a soft kiss on my lips.

What is wrong with this guy? One minute he’s roasting me, the next he’s talking about ripping my clothes off, and now he’s handing me flowers like some slightly deranged Romeo who wandered off a rom-com set.

At this rate, I’ll probably die of a heart attack before I even hit eighty.

We wandered a bit longer before finally heading back to the villa, still holding hands, and—surprise, surprise—we were the last to arrive. Everyone else was already back, probably judging us silently for being late and ridiculously in love.

“What took you guys so long?” Dani asked, smirking and raising an eyebrow.

The girls and I exchanged a look, like we were plotting some grand coup—but really, we were just off to our daily girls’ debrief session.

They went on about their dates—or, more accurately, boasted endlessly about their dates—and I was stuck nodding along, trying to look mildly interested while my brain quietly staged a revolt.

Just as we were all celebrating our “romantic escapades,” a text arrived. Apparently, it was time for Villa Files: Public Exposé or Public Execution. The public would be sending in statements “exposing or executing” us—because, of course, God forbid we ever get a break.

Expose or execute my ass—who are you kidding? That’s literally the same thing.

I groaned. Loudly.

We all agreed to eat dinner first—better to fuel up before marching straight into the firing squad.

Once we were sufficiently ready—both emotionally and in terms of appearances—we headed to the firepit. On the table sat a huge bowl, brimming with rolled-up papers, just waiting to obliterate us.

Villa Files had that perfect ring of chaos—messy, unpredictable, and exactly the kind of nonsense that made you question all your life choices. Judging by the size of that bowl, subtlety was clearly not on the guest list.

“Do you think they’re nice, or are we about to be destroyed?” Dani whispered, eyes wide.

Irena snorted. “Nice? Please. This is Love Island. The only thing ‘nice’ about this game is that at least the drinks are cold.”

I braced myself, secretly thrilled despite the dread bubbling in my stomach. Nothing says spectacle like public exposure… and somehow, I couldn’t wait to see which of us would survive without combusting.

Matt said he’d pick first, grinning like he was about to witness a circus. He sounded way too excited for someone about to read a list of all our unhinged behavior.

The moment he unfolded the paper, he started laughing.

“I watched this,” he said between laughs, barely able to catch his breath.

“Rewan: The Great Coffee Heist”
The Mocha Magistrate

We, the Mocha Magistrate, had been observing Rewan closely—and laughing with tears streaming down our faces. Hard. At his legendary coffee escapades.

During the infamous sleepover, Rewan embarked on a quest that could only be described as heroic… and borderline reckless. His mission? Craft the perfect cup of coffee for Sabi.

He remade it again and again—tweaking, tasting, perfecting every swirl of latte art with precision worthy of a gallery—nearly depleting the villa’s entire coffee reserve in the process. Each cup was a masterpiece, a delicate ode to caffeine… and also a subtle cry for attention.

Then came the audacious twist only Rewan could pull, he drank half the cup himself. Why? To erase the latte art he’d painstakingly drawn. Because, heaven forbid, Sabi should ever see his effort… or interpret it as a sign of actual affection. He then handed her the remaining half, cool as a cucumber, as if nothing had happened.

Caught in the act? Naturally, he blamed a “dramatic staircase trip,” claiming he couldn’t be bothered to make another cup—after all, the coffee powder was running dangerously low, and Tori’s cup could not suffer.

Sabi, unbothered, accepted her half-cup with a calm shrug. But us, the Mocha Magistrate? We documented every sip, every flustered excuse, every perfectly timed smirk. For posterity, for the history books, and for the memes yet to come.

P.S. Rewan, history will remember this as The Great Coffee Heist. And Sabi? She probably suspects nothing—which makes your brilliance, and your infuriating perfection, even more deliciously insufferable.

Matt finished reading the statement, and the villa collectively burst into laughter, all eyes turning to Rewan.

“You legend,” Kami laughed.

Gryff and Nathan jumped up mid-laugh, slapping Rewan a high five like they’d just witnessed a championship play.

I couldn’t help but stifle a laugh myself—partly in disbelief, and partly because watching Rewan unravel like that was genuinely entertaining.

He had definitely succeeded in keeping me in the dark—because after that, I honestly believed I looked like a potato in his eyes. A very sad, overcooked potato, probably with a side of embarrassment and zero charm.

Nathan volunteered to go next because apparently, this was actually fun.

After unfolding the paper, he dramatically gasped, then immediately burst into laughter, practically forcing himself to read the statement aloud.

“Gryff: The Salt Chronicles”
The Brine Brigade

Us, the Brine Brigade, were absolutely feasting watching Gryff spiral into peak melodrama.

See, Gryff had been slipping away under Sabi’s radar for a while, brewing something with Rosalie—yes, she was into him. Gryff, for his part, felt a little something too. But instead of keeping that spark quietly tucked away, they marched straight to Sabi and confessed it. And just like that, Sabi—queen of swift exits—cuts him off faster than you can say “plot twist.”

The kicker? The man actually leapt into Rosalie’s bed immediately afterward—like he thought staging a jealousy stunt could magically undo reality, reverse time, and make Sabi suddenly crave him again or force her into a dramatic regret monologue.

But his genius didn’t end there, of course. In true Gryff fashion, he doubled down, broadcasting from the beach hut that he didn’t actually want to end things with Sabi. No, no—he claimed it was “unfair.” Why? Because technically, he never ended things with her. Not when Darin was still floating around. Not when Rewan strolled in and changed the game. But the moment Sabi got wind of Rosalie? Snip—curtains closed.

What Gryff calls “unfair,” the rest of us call karma with a sense of humor. He wanted loyalty while shopping for attention on the side, and when jealousy didn’t win Sabi back, he was left with nothing but Rosalie’s bed sheets and his salt reserves.

If there were a medal for catastrophic miscalculations fueled by salt, Gryff would have it dangling around his neck—engraved: “For Turning Rosalie Into a Plot Device and Still Losing Sabi.”

P.S. Gryff, next time you try to spark jealousy, maybe don’t hand your leading lady the scissors to cut the storyline short.

After Nathan finished reading, everyone was laughing—except Rosalie, who immediately launched into a fight with Gryff.

“Are you actually for real?” Rosalie snapped, her words sharp enough to cut glass.

“It’s history. I’m not into her anymore—I thought I already made that pretty clear,” Gryff said, trying to sound calm, though the tension in the air made it obvious he was losing the argument.

Behind us, Irena and Matt were trying—and failing—not to laugh, completely oblivious to the drama unfolding right beside them. Clearly, they’d watched Gryff’s beach hut confession on repeat. Their giggles bounced off the walls, and I couldn’t help snickering myself, despite my best efforts to stay composed.

Adorable—though it didn’t make me jealous. If anything, I was seething… and a little hurt.

And then there was Rewan, smirking beside me like he had front-row seats to Gryff’s salt-fueled meltdown, clearly savoring every chaotic second.

Before their tension could spiral further, Keziah decided it was her turn. Instant regret painted her face the moment she unfolded the paper.

“Wait—Kami, that was you?” she gasped.

“What do you mean, me?” Kami asked, genuinely confused.

Keziah shook her head, muttering something under her breath, before moving on to the next statement.

“Kami: Attention Hoarding Index”
The Friendship Forensics Bureau

Kami, the Friendship Forensics Bureau has completed a high-priority investigation into your villa activities, and the findings are damning.

On day one, you earned the harmless title of “villa buddy.” Cute. Safe. But under scrutiny, your file reveals something far more complex—something bordering on the criminally clingy.

You are not merely a best friend. You are a full-blown emotional support with a suspiciously Sabi-shaped mission. That “villa buddy” badge you wear so proudly? Flip it over. The other side reads: Certified Simp. Engraved. With glitter.

The charges are stacked… but you might get off on a technicality. Let’s examine these “creative cries for attention” and determine whether they’re actual offenses—or just very enthusiastic attempts at friendship.

First, the legendary bed-cream incident. That wasn’t a prank. That was performance art—a dairy-drenched love poem masquerading as chaos. She didn’t appreciate the artistic genius, yet somehow you walked away unscathed. Bravo.

Then, of course, the infamous note. You rewrote it a hundred times, agonized over every word, debated whether your signature should be a flourish or a whisper. At last, you exhaled in triumph—only to smear it at the last second, like the tragic, indecisive mess you are. How pathetic. How cinematic. How quintessentially Kami.

When Sabi asked who wrote it, you denied it with the kind of raw conviction usually reserved for war crimes tribunals. A performance so dramatic we wondered why you’re in this villa instead of on stage accepting a Tony.

It’s no secret that Sabi has her own exclusive planetary system of men—Gryff, Matt, Rewan, Nathan, and even your friend Sam—all orbiting her like desperate planets. While those big planets fought for attention, you slinked in like Mercury—tiny, sneaky, and desperately trying to stay dangerously close to the heat.

Kami, after exhaustive review, we regret to inform you. You didn’t win. You didn’t even compete. Most of all—you don’t orbit. You leech, Kami. You leech!

You’re not the villa’s greatest magician. You are its saddest clown. Your tricks are painfully transparent—disguising obsession as loyalty, weaponizing chaos to monopolize her attention, pretending your “bestie energy” isn’t just an audition for the role of Sabi’s permanent plus-one.

And the cruelest irony? She doesn’t even remember your confessions. Not once, but twice, you laid your feelings bare—and twice, she forgot. That’s how little impact you made. Brutal. Historic. A public humiliation masquerading as a friendship bracelet.

Maybe frame it? For your next emotional exhibit.

The Friendship Forensics Bureau, naturally, is in stitches. Every investigator is wiping tears of laughter from their eyes while muttering, “What a mess. What a glorious mess.”

P.S. The next time a mysterious note appears, we won't bother investigating. We already know whose ink-stained, trembling little hands are behind it.

The last line hung in the air like a guillotine. Silence for a beat—then chaos. Laughter exploded around the circle, loud and merciless.

“You confessed twice?” I asked, genuinely baffled.

“That’s the third time now, Sabrina. How brutal,” Rewan said, full-on cackling.

“Third time she forgot!” Nathan howled, nearly falling off his seat.

Kami groaned—a long, guttural sound that only made everyone scream harder.

Then he picked up the next card, mostly to save his own skin—and, naturally, to shove the attention onto someone else.

Classic.

If you can’t dodge the heat, just toss someone else into the fire and pretend it’s a strategic masterstroke.

“Nathan, it’s yours,” he said, laughing.

Nathan sat up straight, like posture alone could soften the blow. Cute try, but sorry—no amount of spine adjustment is going to make this game less brutal. 

“Nathan: The Bombshell Who Bombed Himself”
Explosive Detonation Ordnance Analysts

Nathan, we at the Explosive Detonation Ordnance Analysts have carefully reviewed the incident logs from your time in the villa, and honestly—we still can’t decide if you’re a tragic hero, a misunderstood genius, or just the dumbest man ever to strap on a mic pack.

You strutted in as the first bombshell, dripping with quiet confidence, immediately pulling Sabi aside to declare she was your first choice. Bold. Admirable. You even told the boys that if the power were yours, she’d already be locked in. For one dazzling second, Nathan—you looked like a man who knew exactly what he wanted.

And then came the kiss. The legendary almost-kiss. You leaned in, Sabi leaned in, the entire villa holding its collective breath. A cinematic moment was born—until you, Nathan, executed the impossible. You rejected yourself.

Respect for Tori, you said. Tori. And we all collectively blinked. Who even the fuck is Tori?

Ah yes—the girl who strayed because she couldn’t survive your slow-burn, calculated, vanilla approach. She spiraled, clawing for scraps of affection while you floated along with that maddening, inexplicable restraint. And yet, somehow, Nathan—you still ended up drooling over her. Collateral damage? Perhaps. Karma? Definitely.

The Explosive Detonation Ordnance Analysts has run a full audit, and we still can’t explain how a man can not only shoot his shot—but misfire spectacularly on himself at the same time. You are the first man in villa history to cockblock yourself. Revolutionary. Idiotic. Both.

But of course, you weren’t done. Clearly, there’s plenty more where that audacity came from. Pulling back wasn’t enough. No, you had to double down by ghosting Sabi—after confessing she was your first choice—vanishing with the stealth of a man who has a personal vendetta against his own love life. Houdini couldn’t have pulled a better covert operation.

While every other man orbited Sabi like desperate satellites, you became the anomaly. The lone planet to resist her gravitational pull—not out of principle, but out of sheer, weaponized dumbassery. Your trajectory? Unstable. Your orbit? Unpredictable. Villa-wide shockwaves guaranteed.

Nathan, what you pulled wasn’t just a fumble. It was the Super Bowl of fumbles. You had the trophy in your hands and managed to tackle yourself before the finish line. Twice. With no one else on the field.

Our unit verdict? You are either the villa’s greatest icon… or its greatest idiot. Your attempts at charm were… explosive, in the literal sense—each move detonated with spectacular misfires, collateral embarrassment, and several near-catastrophic social implosions.

In summary, Nathan, you are a one-man demolition team of romantic chaos. Handle with care—or better yet, do not handle at all.

We salute you, Nathan. Not because you succeeded—but because you failed with such groundbreaking audacity, we’ll be replaying the footage until our ribs hurt.

P.S. Next time, if you’re going to lean in—just kiss the girl, dumbass.

The villa didn’t know how to react after Kami finished reading it—he was literally choking, trying to swallow the words he’d just spat out.

Rewan—absolute menace that he is—was, of course, laughing harder than anyone, with zero regard for whose feelings were being shredded in the process.

To save Nathan from further embarrassment, Dani stepped forward and picked up another card.

What a devoted, utterly selfless, future-girlfriend-of-the-year move, Dani. Truly, heroism at its finest.

The moment she unfolded the paper, she gasped like the world had ended—then, of course, immediately lost it laughing. Only after she stopped flailing and wiping tears did we finally get to hear what it actually said.

“Rosalie: When Jealousy Goes Galactic”
Astro-Animosity Assembly

Rosalie, we, Astro-Animosity Assembly, have been closely monitoring the villa, and honestly… your reactions were nothing short of Oscar-worthy.

We all know that almost every guy in the villa was crushing on Sabi, leaving you to stew in the shadows while she soaked up every ounce of attention like a sunbathing queen.

During Casa Amor, you valiantly tried to get Matt’s attention. You even went out of your way to ask him to share a bed with you—but let’s be real, Matt was orbiting Sabi like she was the actual sun, and the rest of the villa were just decorative planets, asteroids, and the occasional lost space probe—floating helplessly in her radiant glow while you flailed in the cosmic background.

We documented every dramatic sigh, every exasperated eye-roll, every internal scream of, “why is she so annoyingly perfect?” Even every muttering, “ugh, not her again,” didn’t escape us either.

Your jealousy was palpable, theatrical, and borderline cinematic—so much so that we half-expected you to start composing a tragic ballad or dramatically faint onto the nearest chaise lounge. Honestly, we get it—the struggle is real.

P.S. Jealousy has never looked this good… or this tragic.

We all burst out laughing the moment Dani finished reading the statement—the way it was written so dramatically didn’t exactly help either.

Rosalie went bright red, completely mortified, and couldn’t bring herself to meet anyone’s eyes—not even mine.

Absolute gold—but seriously, why am I always at the center of this mess?That’s five statements in a row—at this point, I might as well start taking a bow.

Gryff clearly wanted to call her out for going after Matt—but wisely held back. Love? Pity? A mix of both? Who even knows. Either way, the suspense was delicious.

After the laughter finally died down—mostly because we forced ourselves to stop—Rewan stepped forward and reached for the next statement.

The second he smirked while unfolding the paper, a chill shot straight up my spine. That smirk wasn’t casual—it was ominous. I just knew, in my bones, that whatever was coming next had my name written all over it.

My horror, gift-wrapped with a bow.

Rewan was already shaking with suppressed laughter, practically vibrating like a kid about to unleash chaos. By the time he cleared his throat, he was grinning so wide it looked painful. And then—oh, he dragged it out. Every word delivered like Shakespeare at open-mic night, complete with dramatic pauses and pointed stares.

Yeah… I’m fucked.

“Sabi: The Invisible Star”
The Attention Audit Committee

We, the Attention Audit Committee, have been obsessively, unhealthily monitoring your every move in the villa, Sabi—and let’s be honest, the second your eyes landed on Rewan, the world tilted. You were properly smitten. Like, apocalyptic-heart-eyes smitten.

Funny, isn’t it? You walked in as the embodiment of every guy’s dream—stunning, charismatic, basically a human highlight reel. And yet, somehow, Rewan treated you like background décor. Instead of orbiting you—as any reasonable contestant should—he handed out kisses, cuddles, and attention to literally everyone else, while you simmered in the shadows.

But the ultimate insult? Out of all people, Tori and Mei are the ones who managed to catch Rewan’s attention. Tragic.

Then came the shade—oh, the glorious, cinematic shade. Your coping mechanism of choice.

The Committee, of course, documented everything—every word, every jab. What follows is only a small sampling from your legendary roast arsenal.

Mei—your first victim. The poor, unsuspecting target of your opening hostility.

“The way Mei flirts is laughably adorable, it’s like watching a chihuahua desperately beg for attention.”

“Did you see the way Mei flips her hair every time Rewan looks her way? It’s like she’s starring in a brandless shampoo commercial.”

“I wonder where Mei gets her lips done… they’re rather pointy, aren’t they?”

Even the host had to step in and clarify, ‘They’re natural.’ But of course, you doubled down, because why stop there?

“Oh, I just assumed she got them with a 50% discount.”

Deadly. Deliciously savage.

And just when everyone thought the massacre was over—you turned your sights on poor Tori, your secondary target of casual annihilation.

“Tori’s fashion sense… Well, at least she’s confident.”

“It’s entertaining how Nathan can tolerate Tori… clearly, he has unique taste, no?”

“Tori’s pride is as tiny as her presence. Blink and you’ll miss both.”

The cherry on top? You once said Tori would make an excellent babysitter—because somehow, she always manages to put you straight to sleep.

No wonder you were crowned the villa’s Shade Queen.

And naturally, your brilliance didn’t stop there—you roasted them together, because apparently the universe demanded a full play-by-play of every cringe-worthy moment they dared to exist.

Of course, we listed all our favorite zingers as well, we even went out of our way to translate them—because why settle for halfway when full-blown, ruthless attention audits are our thing?

“Someone tell me why he’s into Mei—those micro-bangs are a full-blown crime against symmetry.”

Translation: Mei chopped her bangs so short they’re basically half an eyebrow. Bangs are supposed to frame your face; hers just sabotage it. In the court of beauty law, that’s a felony.

“Why is he into Tori? Her favorite blinding yellow outfit doubles as a highlighter and should come with a retinal warning. She can’t even lean against the villa wall without looking like one of those stupid neon lights.”

Translation: Tori lives for obnoxious yellow. She’s a walking highlighter. Stare too long and your retinas file a complaint. Lean against the wall? Might as well be invisible—part of the interior design now.

“They both talk nonstop for people who contribute absolutely nothing. Not a single redeeming syllable.”

Translation: Mei and Tori’s chatter is pure static. Every vowel, every consonant, was wasted. This isn’t conversation—it’s acoustic pollution.

“Since when was being messy and dramatic a turn-on?”

Translation: Rewan’s interest is baffling. Their chaos should repel, not seduce. Basically, he’s kinked for dysfunction—and yes, Sabi’s shading him too. That’s what jealousy does.

And—drumroll, please—our personal favorite. “Every time I see Tori and Mei, I’m reminded of my cat when she’s in heat.”

Translation: Their flirting is desperate, over-the-top, primal. Nature documentary levels of cringe. David Attenborough would be narrating. “Here, we see the Lesser-Spotted Mei attempting to attract a mate by pathetically vibrating her eyelashes…”

Your commentary wasn’t just shade—it was passive-aggression upgraded to performance art. A true masterclass in observational roasting. Honestly, the combination of Rewan’s unbothered cool and your simmering annoyance? Peak villa entertainment.

Bravo, Sabi. Ignored? Maybe. But us? We were glued, mesmerized, trembling at the sheer perfection of your suffering and indignation.

P.S. Watching the hottest person in the villa get treated like furniture is… chef’s kiss.

Rewan hadn’t even finished reading, and the entire villa was already in stitches—people choking on laughter, tears streaming, clutching their stomachs like someone had just told the joke of the century.

“Sabi, that’s so harsh,” Rosalie gasped between giggles.

“We didn’t know you moved like that,” Nathan added, practically snorting.

Me? Kill me.

And as for you clowns from that stupid committee—don’t let me catch you. I’ll hunt you down through every blinding yellow outfit and every crooked micro-bang until justice is served. How dare you embarrass me like this.

Don’t even get me started on those “translations.” They’re accurate, sure, but do they really have to make my words even nastier? I mean, I said it nicely. Mostly. Sort of.

Okay, fine—maybe not nicely—but do they have to make me sound like a full-on rage god?

Thanks, guys. Really.

I shot to my feet, glaring at everyone while they were still doubled over—Rewan especially, who looked like he might pass out from laughter.

Without another word, I grabbed the next card off the table, mostly to save myself from further humiliation. One more round of them howling at my expense and I was going to combust on the spot.

The moment I unfolded the paper, I couldn’t help but gasp. Dani’s audacity practically leapt off the page. And yet… At this point, it was almost comforting how predictably outrageous it all was.

“Dani: Manifesting Main Character”
The Reality Check Registry

We, the Reality Check Registry, have been closely reviewing your time in the villa, Dani—and honestly? Your whole strategy reads less like romance and more like a vision board gone very, very wrong.

You walked into the villa convinced it was your personal playground, certain every man here was just waiting to bow down and kiss your ankles. Reality, however, had other plans.

Take Gryff, for example. You cast him as your leading man—but he only kept you around to avoid packing his bags too soon. Romance? Nonexistent. Interest? Equally nonexistent.

Then came Rewan. You swore he’d be wrapped around your finger in seconds, only to find out he barely remembered you were in the villa at all. Not wrapped around your finger—more like wrapped around Sabi.

Next up, Kami. Definitely not your type, but you figured,“eh, he’ll do.” Except he was already locked into a friend couple, blissfully unbothered by your main-character ambitions.

And when that didn’t pan out, you pivoted to Nathan. Plan D. Discount Kami. The human equivalent of plain toast—boring, but still better than nothing in your book.

But the pièce de résistance? Your “competition board.” Not so much strategy as it was a full-blown PowerPoint titled “Why I’m the Star and You’re All Irrelevant.”

Sabi? Public enemy number one—too hot to ignore, too dangerous to leave unchecked.

Rosalie? Pretty enough to be annoying, but beatable with screen time.

Mei and Tori? Declared irrelevant—lucky for them they dipped early.

And Keziah? Poor Keziah didn’t even make the cut—written off entirely just because you weren’t interested in Kami, as if her whole existence revolved around your scraps.

Dani, this wasn’t confidence—it was full-blown delusion in heels. You didn’t walk into the villa, you auditioned for the role of Queen Bee… only for the script to get cancelled mid-season.

Honestly, the gap between the story you told yourself and the reality the rest of us were watching? Comedy gold. You weren’t the main character, but you were hands down the villa’s most iconic unreliable narrator.

P.S. “Delulu” might just be the only pipeline you successfully built in this villa.

The villa had barely managed to suppress their laughter a moment ago—and now it was erupting all over again.

I couldn’t even blame them… seriously, what even is this?

“Dani… anything you want to say?” I asked, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

Dani could only bury her face in her palm, utterly mortified. Nathan, meanwhile, was serving up the side-eye of absolute judgment.

“It’s so ridiculous I can’t even be mad I didn’t make the cut," Keziah wheezed, gasping for air between laughs.

Irena and Rosalie were laughing so hard I swear they looked like they might start leaking at any moment. The boys didn’t even know whether to laugh or feel bad. Kami, especially, looked utterly conflicted—even though he’d been labeled “eh, he’ll do.”

Before Dani could fully combust, Irena stepped forward and picked up the next card, her expression a careful mix of curiosity and mild dread.

"Matt, get ready," she said, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips as she read it aloud.

“Matt: The Almost-Won Hero”
Cupid Compliance Commission

Matt, we at the Cupid Compliance Commission have been observing your time in the villa—and yes, we are taking notes. Lots of notes. Very dramatic notes.

During Casa Amor, you scored a flawless 100% compatibility with Sabi on that little test—the one that basically screamed, “You are destined to be a thing.” And yet… her head remained firmly in Rewan’s orbit. Classic Sabi.

You hadn’t even unleashed your full flirtation power, Matt, and—instant friend zone. Brutal. We gasped audibly. But let’s be honest—every small slip of attention toward you? Evidence of your quiet domination. You shook her. Just a little. Like a polite earthquake. We saw the subtle tremor. It was adorable.

Was she shaken because you resemble Rewan but with a better personality? Who knows. Perhaps. But progress, nonetheless. Tiny, maddening, torturous progress… and we, the Commission, applauded in silent hysteria.

We know Sabi sensed the threat. You were the charming, quietly competent hurricane capable of reducing walls, defenses, and decades of emotional barricades to rubble. So what did she do? She feigned ignorance. Genius. Utter genius.

It’s tragic, really. Watching Sabi sidestep your affection like a master ninja dodging a lethal shuriken, while we—well, we were scribbling furiously in the margins of our invisible report with cries of “Yes. Yes, Matt. Do it again.”

We were captivated. Completely, utterly captivated. You, Matt, are the villa’s dangerously charming, almost-won hero.

P.S. Keep at it. One day, she might just notice that someone exists in the villa who is not Rewan but still somehow… devastatingly perfect. When that day comes… popcorn, anyone? We’ll be watching.

“Why me again?” I deadpanned.

That only sent the villa into another full-blown eruption of laughter.

Seriously, at this point, we might as well rename the game to Villa Files: The Untold Sabi.

Meanwhile, Matt sat there all smiles, practically radiating smug satisfaction. And when his eyes landed on mine, he didn’t just glance—he winked. Playful, knowing, utterly infuriating—like he was fully aware of the mini whirlwind he’d just unleashed simply by existing.

"Can I ever get a break with all these guys trying to graft you?" Rewan muttered, shaking his head beside me.

I just shrugged, trying to suppress the smug that threatened to creep onto my face.

We read a few more disturbing statements before the game concluded, and in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help wishing we’d just had a movie night instead of this full-blown Villa Files assault on our dignity.

Then we got another text—apparently tomorrow is the final recoupling.

Clearly, the producers love watching us crash and burn. Sadly, we’re too drained from being emotionally obliterated earlier to muster the energy to care—or even pretend to overreact.

Either way, we’re excited—whether it’s finally locking in a final couple spot or just escaping this drama to go for a hike. The jury's still out.

We scattered to check in with our partners, of course, mostly because a few of them were teetering on the verge of full-blown villa violence. Great. Just what I wanted. Chaos served piping hot.

Rewan and I moved to our favorite spot in the villa—the treehouse. He plopped down beside me with that stupid grin, clearly still thinking about that ridiculous statement about me.

I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s the poster child for testing my patience. Why do I even let him sit this close?

I shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “Don’t you dare say a word,” I warned, glaring at him.

“What? You’re the one who said I have a dysfunction kink,” he said, holding back a laugh. “You don’t get to glare at me like that.”

“You know I never said that,” I rolled my eyes.

“You like me that much?” he chuckled.

I nearly rolled my eyes again—but somehow, my chest decided it was amused. Stupid traitor.

“Unfortunately, I do.”

I have no idea where he’s getting the nerve to tease me when he’s just as bad as I am.

“So… were you actually into Tori back then?” I asked.

“Huh? Of course not. That’s messed up,” he said immediately.

“Exactly your type, then,” I smirked.

Then he leaned closer, eyes gleaming. “You know… maybe I do actually like them like that. I mean… look at you.”

Right.

Let’s stop, Sabrina. Don’t be digging your own grave now.

He smirked when he realized I’d run out of things to say, then stretched out beside me and tugged me along.

“C’mon,” he said, hand gentle on mine. “Let’s sleep.”

We sank into the cushions together. His hands found my waist almost instinctively, while the other lazily threaded through my hair. I buried my face against his chest, inhaling his scent, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

And yes, I know—this is suspiciously cozy. Totally not sexualizing him, obviously.

For a few quiet minutes, the world fell away. Warmth, the faint scent of him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest—it was impossible not to relax.

Finally, finally, we drifted off to sleep.

Hello, Love Island! Yes, it’s me again, back to narrate the absolute chaos.

So, apparently, tomorrow is the final recoupling. But judging by the islanders’ faces, you’d think someone just told them their favorite ice cream flavor was discontinued. No one is celebrating. Clearly, the most important announcement ever… not.

Me? I’m living for this. Can’t wait to see who picks who. And honestly… don’t get too comfy predicting anything. Those fights-in-the-making? Could implode at any second.

Now, let’s talk about that unhinged game. Beautiful chaos.

I may have leaked myself laughing—totally worth it. Luckily, I’m in this tiny box alone, so no judgment. If anyone had seen me, I’d be dead. Murdered by embarrassment.

Then there’s our absolute menace, Rewan—proving yet again why he deserved that crown. Oh, sweet chaos, that is Rewan.

Technically, yes—he succeeded in his “keep Sabi in the dark” master plan. Bravo. Genius, even. But at what cost? Nothing much… just Mei and Tori—if we borrow Sabi’s words—except we won’t, because it was a total catastrophe. Glorious carnage. Emotional shredded bodies everywhere. Absolutely not “nothing much.”

I was screaming, flailing, possibly vibrating with stress and delight. "Rewan, for the love of God, just notice her already!"

And yes, I watched the Sabi beach hut moments—those shades? Exactly her words

Sabi even threw shade at Rosalie—editors, you missed a goldmine. She called her a “self-proclaimed rival” after Rosalie chased every guy Sabi glanced at. Apparently, Rosalie is adorably unthreatening. And Sabi? She was genuinely amazed how much Rosalie fussed over her hair… and nothing changed. Iconic shade. Absolute queen energy.

Rewan now knows better than to try and make Sabi jealous—lesson learned, probably.

Stay tuned, folks. This island is far from over, and the tea… oh, the tea is just getting brewed.

Chapter Text

Rewan and I spent the entire day lounging around the villa, soaking in the sun and the absurdity of it all while everyone else scrambled about, still stewing over the events of last night’s public “exposés.”

Honestly, most of that drama feels like ancient history to me—so why the heck are they still clutching their pearls? Embarrassingly stupid, and hilarious from where I’m sitting.

After dinner, we received a text announcing the final recoupling. A shocker? Not really—it had been announced the day before, but it didn’t seem to register with the others until just now.

The girls immediately launched into overdrive, hopping into the showers and pulling out all the stops on their appearance. Me? Please. I always look unrealistically good, whether I bother with makeup or not. It’s just my thing.

“How’s everyone’s beef doing?” I asked, breaking the heavy silence, since not a single soul was uttering a word.

They turned to me, a mixture of despair and pleading in their expressions that basically screamed Save us.

Yeah, no thanks. I’m not about to stick my nose into that mess—I’ll happily watch the drama unfold from a safe distance while they spiral in slow motion.

“Sabi,” Rosalie winced, clearly uncomfortable.

Ugh. Shouldn't have asked.

“Okay… what’s up?” I forced out, bracing myself for the impending wave of drama that was sure to follow.

“No, actually, I’ll go first,” Dani declared, her voice steady yet laced with tension.

“But mine is just as important as yours!” Rosalie shot back, her eyes wide with urgency.

Ignoring Rosalie, Dani continued, “Nathan and I broke up.”

We all gasped—though my shock was a completely different flavor. They were reeling because Dani and Nathan split, while I was reeling because… hold up. They were officially dating? Since when?

Of course, I wasn’t about to let them think I was clueless. Gotta keep up appearances—I can’t let them think I’ve been living under a rock.

“Okay… why did you break up?” I asked, pretending I knew all the context.

I had no clue what had transpired between them—they were basically rookies in my book—but apparently, they’d been an item. Shocking, right? At least now I know… sort of.

Dani was practically fuming, waving her hands in the air like she could physically shove the universe into making sense of her situation.

She explained that Nathan was still hung up on that ridiculous exposé, refusing to let it go. He couldn’t shake the belief that she never really liked him—all because she had called him “plain toast” and labeled him as “better than nothing” in her book. Just that. Somehow, those words had unraveled the entirety of his world.

It wasn’t exactly flattering, but really? Acting like the apocalypse had hit over a flavor-of-the-month judgment?

Some people seriously need to get over themselves.

“You know,” I offered, “Nathan needs to let go. Plain toast is still edible.”

Dani shot me a grateful look that said Thank you, finally—someone is speaking sense here.

“Sabi,” Irena tapped my shoulder and shook her head, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“I mean, I’d be hurt too if Gryff called me plain toast,” Rosalie chimed in. “Also… your statement basically implies he was your last resort, so… feels reasonable, right?”

Oh. Is that how you’re supposed to give advice? Maybe I should take notes.

“I don’t know what to do anymore!” Dani barked, throwing up her hands.

I mean… is there even anything left to do?

Kidding aside, Dani’s words were undeniably hurtful, but back when this all began, they hadn’t even exchanged a single meaningful word with each other. It’s natural to make snap judgments based on first impressions.

Since their issue seemed mostly sorted—sort of—I couldn’t possibly advise Dani to grovel in front of Nathan just to win him back. On to Rosalie, then.

“So… what’s up with you and Gryff?” I asked.

“We talked it out,” Rosalie said. “I felt like it was my fault you ended things with him, and I kind of messed up his chance with you.”

Did that even happen? Honestly, I couldn’t remember.

“And? What did he say?” I pressed, curiosity sneaking in despite myself.

“He said he regrets it a lot. Not fun to hear, but I can’t really blame him. I guess we both rushed things a bit.”

“Don’t tell me you guys broke up too?”

“No. He said it’s all in the past, and he really likes me, so… I guess we’re good?”

“So why the fidgeting?” I asked, noticing her hands twisting the hem of her hoodie nervously.

Rosalie hesitated, her voice trembled slightly. “I know we talked it out. I’ve been upfront, but that was mostly because I didn’t want to come across as a snake. I didn’t really consider your feelings enough.” She fidgeted even more, her guilt palpable. “Sorry, Sabi.”

I leaned back slightly in my seat, letting the silence stretch between us. She looked guilty enough to make me want to roll my eyes and laugh—and maybe hug her a little.

Right. Looking back, I’d been more into Gryff than I wanted to admit—stupid enough to willingly wait around when I’d told myself I wasn’t here to babysit a man into realizing his own worth.

Sure, I’d been hurt—yeah—but I’d already made my peace with that. I have Rewan now, and the way he drools after me? Hot. I’d end things with Gryff all over again if it led to this.

It's amusing how some people cannot resist bringing up every embarrassing moment from the past just to stir up some drama.

I mean, who doesn’t enjoy a good trip down memory lane? It’s not like I needed a constant reminder of how far I’ve come. But hey, let’s keep the nostalgia flowing—clearly, some individuals thrive on this kind of stuff.

“Alright, what about you two?” I turned to Keziah and Irena.

“Wait—no hug after all that?” Rosalie whined.

“Ew, we’re good. Isn’t that enough?”

Of course, she lunged anyway, wrapping me up like we were besties in a rom-com montage. Déjà vu hit hard. Dani had done the exact same thing—hugging, dramatic sighs, the full Oscar-worthy performance—and now Rosalie was pulling the same stunt.

This villa really runs entirely on recycled emotional chaos.

After Rosalie finally let go, Keziah spoke up.

“We’re good. Nothing to worry about.”

I see.

“What about you and Matt?” I asked Irena, already counting the minutes until I could escape this villa and retire from my unpaid role as Chief Peacekeeper for a bunch of adults pretending to be toddlers.

“We’re good,” she said. “Unlike everyone else, we don’t do drama.”

Ah, that’s more like it. Show your claws, babe.

Dani and Rosalie both rolled their eyes but didn’t say a word.

Finally, after that slightly rollercoaster ride of prep and awkward bonding, we headed to the firepit. The boys were already out there, sitting like they’d stepped straight out of a shounen manga—perfect hair, brooding stares, and all the unintentional menace of a dramatic panel.

After we all settled, I got the text that I’d be picking first.

Rewan sat there, smug as ever, as though he already knew I would choose him. Of course, I would—but seriously, could you chill a bit? You're making me look dull and predictable.

“I’d like to couple up with Rewan because… obviously I like him, but I’m not going to list my reasons—I don’t want to inflate his ego.” I rolled my eyes at myself.

Of course, I listed them all anyway. Rewan, sitting right next to me, grinned like he’d won the lottery.

That was way more embarrassing than I had anticipated. Thank goodness it was the last time I would have to do this.

Everyone laughed as I sat back down. Rewan wrapped his hand around my waist.

“I like you too,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to my lips. “You’re so pretty.”

I tried not to look like I’d just ascended into another plane and discovered a new religion.

The rest got their texts one after another, and, unsurprisingly, everyone stuck with their couples.

Then came Dani—calm, serene, the picture of composure. Nathan, on the other hand… just stared at the floor like he’d lost the ability to process basic human emotions.

What’s up with this guy?

“As much as I’d like to couple up with Nathan, we already broke up, so I decided to just leave the villa,” she said, silky and maddeningly calm, like she was commenting on the clouds while shutting down the entire villa subplot.

We all gasped. Nathan probably expected her to collapse, beg, or otherwise perform the dramatic, flailing ex he could control. But no. Dani was a wolf in cashmere, and she wasn’t done. She tilted her head, let the pause stretch just long enough for him to realize he was utterly doomed, and then unleashed it.

“Actually, after thinking about it… It wasn’t even my fault. I said my first impression, and you—yes, you—are a wet wipe, self-absorbed, and completely incapable of handling anything real. It’s way too early for you to be this pathetic. So congrats—you made my decision for me. We’re done.”

And just like that, she walked out, tossing him a look sharp enough to cut glass, leaving Nathan slack-jawed, the rest of us blinking like someone had just detonated a chaos grenade, and me… well, mentally applauding the sheer unhinged perfection of it all.

We girls followed Dani to the door. She’d been acting all nice and sweet these past few days, so I’d almost forgotten what she’s really like.

I have to admit… I was proud, to be fair.

They all hugged, and I hung back, watching. Honestly, it didn’t even look like they were saying goodbye. Cheerful smiles, excited chatter… they were already planning their next trips the second everyone else stepped out.

Calm down, people.

After my not-so-sad exit from the villa, I went looking for Rewan. I didn’t know then it would lead to my complete obliteration—an obliteration I’d happily go through again.

He was in the kitchen, fussing over something at the counter. A drink, apparently.

“Do you remember when you yanked my hair, back when Nathan and Tori caught us?” he asked, laughing at the memory.

“Yeah. That was hilarious,” I said, matching his grin.

He slid one of the glasses toward me. The drink was stronger than I’d usually go for, but it was good—dangerously good. And no, that had nothing to do with the fact that it came from him.

I’m not sure what flipped the switch, what invisible line I crossed, but one moment we were reminiscing, and the next his mouth was on mine, urgent, like the world was ending.

If that’s where reminiscing leads, I wouldn’t mind doing it every single day.

We drifted away from the counter, somewhere just ours, and everything blurred. I lost track of the rest of the world.

Rewan leaned in, his warm, intoxicating breath ghosting over my cheek. “You’re so fucking hot,” he murmured, lips curling into a dangerous smirk. “Makes me want to ruin you… fuck you until you can’t even walk.”

I pressed my lips to his, mostly to shut him up—though part of me wanted him to keep talking. But seriously, what the hell was this freak even saying?

Since when was being hot a crime? It's not my fault I look this good. And now? Now I’m a walking threat. Be hot, and you face obliteration.

Somehow… that only makes me want to push him further, make him lose his mind over me. I’ve danced with obliteration before… I didn't hate it.

Yeah. I’m that kind of twisted. But tonight? Tonight, let’s tease death instead of choosing it.

“Do that,” I whispered against his mouth, smiling brightly, “and there won’t be a next time.”

He pulled back slightly… then slammed his hips into me again. A moan slipped past my lips, straight into his mouth. He swallowed it greedily and thrust harder, burying himself even deeper inside me.

“You sure?” he breathed against my lips.

I could only answer with a whimper, my mind hazy from the way he slammed and dragged himself within me.

“C’mon… use your words, Sabi,” he murmured, low, teasing, a growl hidden in his voice.

I gasped, struggling for breath. “Slow down… Rewan,” I managed, voice trembling.

He smirked against my lips, his hands sliding down my hips. Gently, he guided me to straddle him as he lay back, his eyes dark with anticipation.

His hands clamped tight around my waist, dragging me down until I was flush against him, every inch locked in place.

The way he looked at me—hungry, almost feral—sent a jolt straight through me. I caught my lip between my teeth, smirking through the pulse of heat coiling low in my stomach.

“How’s the view down there?” I teased, voice low and wicked.

“Fuck…” he hissed, grip bruising. “Unreal.”

I pressed my palms to his chest, feeling the ripple of muscle tense beneath me as he tried to thrust up into me. Slowly, deliberately, I rolled my hips against him—just enough to make him curse again, his head tipping back as a groan tore from his throat.

The friction sparked through me, hot and consuming, until my body gave in to instinct. My back arched, chest lifting, head thrown back as pleasure cracked me open. A moan slipped out before I could stop it—soft, desperate, betraying just how badly I needed more.

“This feels so good…” I breathed, the words shaky, almost a confession, as I ground down harder, chasing the burn.

One gasp bled into another, time breaking apart into nothing but sweat, motion, and the pounding of my own pulse.

After dragging me to the literal verge of my demise—again, like the absolute menace he is—he finally stilled.

Breathless and spent, we collapsed side by side, skin still humming, warmth bleeding together in the quiet aftermath. For a second, it was almost sweet—until my lungs reminded me I might actually die at this pace. I seriously need to work on my endurance.

He’s going to be the death of me—not even in some tragic-heroine way, but in the most humiliating obituary ever. Cause of death—too much dick, not enough cardio.

Whatever happened to not choosing death tonight?

“How do you feel about the recoupling?” Rewan asked, his fingers stroking through my hair.

Right. Because obviously that’s the most important thing right now.

“I’d rather you help me clean up first, mister.”

He clicked his tongue. “Is it really that hard to just say you’re happy we’re finally coupled up?” His hand pinched my cheek—not sweetly, more like he was trying to expand it for fun.

“I’m happy,” I deadpanned, swatting at his hand. “Now bring me to the bathroom.”

Rewan rolled his eyes, then pressed a quick kiss to my forehead. “You stay here. I’ll get what we need.”

Before I could argue, he slipped off the bed, already moving with that annoyingly sure stride of his. I sank deeper into the pillows, too exhausted to fight him on it.

He really knew how to make it impossible to stay mad at him. Annoying, honestly.

A few minutes later, Rewan returned. Moving with a carefulness that made me wonder if he actually thought I might break, gently cleaning me up as if I were made of glass.

I was already half dead to the world, but of course, I couldn’t resist noticing how meticulous he was.

“I’m sorry I went a little overboard… you’re just too pretty for your own good,” he murmured, brushing a clean cloth over me.

A little? That’s one way to put it. You nearly sent me to meet my ancestors.

I shot him a look somewhere between exasperated and impressed.

“Thanks for the concern. Really comforting to know I’m too hot to handle,” I muttered, a small smirk creeping onto my face despite the mess of exhaustion.

He continued cleaning me up, changing my clothes into his, then tidying the bed—swapping out the sheets we’d just ruined, straightening the mess I’d left behind, making it look like nothing had happened.

“Come on, Sabi, you can’t sleep yet,” he said, helping me sit up.

If you don’t want me lifeless every damn time, don’t fuck me straight into the afterlife, you beast.

He handed me a mug of milk, warm and steaming. I eyed it suspiciously before taking a slow sip, letting the gentle warmth seep through me.

As always, after obliterating me, he somehow managed to make me a glass of milk. I swear, he’s got a PhD in both destruction and domesticity.

After I finished the milk, he set the mug aside and settled back, pulling me close, his fingers lazily stroking my back. I nuzzled into him, letting my cheek rest against his chest. The warmth, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, was almost hypnotic.

"I'm really happy you picked me," he murmured against my hair.

I tilted my head to meet his gaze. His eyes softened, the usual sharpness replaced with something almost vulnerable.

We stayed like that, tangled together, the quiet stretching comfortably around us until we drifted off to sleep.

Welcome back to Love Island—or, as tonight proves, Break-Up Island. Honestly, these people couldn’t hold a relationship together with duct tape, holy water, and a signed affidavit from Cupid himself.

Take Nathan, for example. One day before the final and he bails on Dani because she tossed a few snappy comments? Please. Man’s acting like she keyed his car when all she did was call him “better than nothing,” crown him the “human embodiment of plain toast,” and roll her eyes for emphasis.

Sabi even said plain toast is still edible—so unless Nathan’s hiding some unresolved breakfast trauma, this breakup is giving Overreaction Olympics.

And poor Dani? The girl's been hanging on like a French tip acrylic, only to get yeeted right before the finish line. Tragic… but also, let’s be honest, kind of hilarious.

So now we’re down to four couples. Two actually look legit. The other two? One’s powered by delusion, the other’s surviving on producer glue, prayer candles, and maybe a blood pact.

Chaotic as this season has been, it’s been a ride.

Just ask my chair—oh wait, you can’t. Because these islanders straight-up assassinated it. Every breakup, every screaming match, every “plot twist” had me climbing on top for a better view until the poor thing collapsed under the weight of their collective nonsense.

RIP to a real one. It didn’t die of old age—it was taken too soon, crushed beneath the sheer volume of Gryff’s bad decisions.

That chair might be gone, but its legacy lives on—right up there with Sabi’s beach hut moment where she tied on her imaginary chef’s hat and roasted the villa like it was a Sunday buffet.

Our iconic villa residents will be deeply missed—probably.

Starting with the disasterpiece we call Rabis. Their journey wasn’t a romance, it was a Michael Bay film with fewer explosions and way more emotional terrorism.

Sabi dodged that blind date like it was an IRS audit, Rewan gaslit her into rage-god mode for half the season, and somehow—against all logic, decency, and human rights violations—they still walked out side by side like a knockoff Bonnie and Clyde.

The kind of Bonnie and Clyde who would immediately lose the money bag in an Uber.

Matt and Kami. My good, innocent boys.

If Sabi had just shown up to that cursed blind date, Matt and Kami might’ve had actual love lives.

They could’ve been thriving. Hell, they might’ve found their soulmates by now—posting joint thirst traps, soft-launching matching tattoos, maybe even making Pinterest boards together. But no. Instead, Sabi friend-zoned Matt so hard he earned permanent residency, hogged Kami like a day-one emotional support hamster, and then carried the entire villa on her back like Atlas with second-degree sunburn.

She wrecked it, rebuilt it, wrecked it again, and we clapped like trained seals every single time.

Without Sabi in the way, you two probably would’ve found someone who wasn’t already booked and busy playing the main character. Instead, you got downgraded to supporting characters in the Sabi Cinematic Universe.

She was the sun, you were the traffic cones. She was the hurricane, you were the deck chairs flying offscreen. Better luck next season—unless one of you figures out how to clone her.

But then again, without Sabi this villa would’ve been about as fun as watching grass grow in slow motion.

Then there was Gryff and Rosalie. Messy? Absolutely. Screen time? About as rare as a man with a working brain cell in this villa. Did Rosalie stealing Gryff from Sabi make sense? Not even slightly. But let’s all send thoughts and prayers to Sabi anyway, because she now has Rewan permanently glued to her side.

And finally, Keziah and Irena. The greenest green flags this villa has ever seen.

Half the time you were roasting everyone alive, the other half you accidentally started looking like a couple yourselves. Shade royalty. Thank you for defending Sabi and for putting Rewan back in his place like it was your civic duty—even if your aim slipped once and he somehow ended up standing right next to her.

Whatever, we pinky-swore not to notice

Still, you two served such a powerful duo act that I have to say it—what if?

Until we meet again, you chaos gremlins. Here’s to hoping next season doesn’t deliver quite this much disaster in one villa.

After the show ended, Rewan and I flew to Glasgow to meet his parents. Might as well, right? I figured I should finally apologize for being rude.

Honestly, I was mortified. I looked about as ready as someone who’d just rolled out of bed. Meanwhile, Rewan—who’d been itching to escape the villa since forever—was practically buzzing.

He couldn’t wait to introduce me to his friends and family. And, I mean, who could blame him? Anyone who dates me would want to flex me. I’m the whole package and some more—obviously.

His mom greeted us with the enthusiasm of a mother finally proud of her son after years of total disappointment.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Sabrina,” I said politely.

“Oh my, how pretty! It’s so nice to finally meet you, sweetie,” she gushed, pulling me into a hug.

She was gentle and graceful—the kind of woman who made you wonder if Rewan was secretly adopted.

We sat and talked. I gushed about Rewan here and there, half-forced to be polite—but only I knew that.

His mother, though, had other priorities.

She straight-up questioned my judgment, because apparently she’d tried watching the show but had to stop halfway. Not because of me—oh no. Because Rewan, her darling son, was acting like such a complete piece of shit she couldn’t bear the secondhand embarrassment.

I couldn’t exactly disagree with her—Rewan really had been a nightmare half the time. But parents are funny like that. Give their kid one compliment once in a blue moon, no matter how undeserved, and suddenly they act like they raised a Nobel Prize winner.

“I feel bad for you, sweetie,” his mom said.

“Why would you feel bad? I’m a catch,” Rewan huffed.

“Please don’t. He’s actually nice to me, and his cooking is impressive too,” I said, laughing and side-eyeing Rewan.

He was crossing his arms and sulking like a toddler denied dessert, though the twitch of his lips gave away that he was more embarrassed than angry.

He has been taking care of me, so it wasn’t a total lie.

“I’m glad he’s not just a dense muscle with no brain cells,” his mother chuckled.

Actually… he is, I thought.

“So, what’s your plan? How long are you going to stay here?” she asked, her tone practically begging us not to leave.

“Actually, we plan to stay a week to rest before heading to Paris,” I said sweetly, careful to sound polite.

“Why don’t you stay longer, my dear?” she asked, gently caressing my hands.

“If you don’t mind, I’d be happy to do so,” I said, keeping my tone gracious, even though every part of me knew we weren’t planning on it.

Rewan just sat there, nodding like the world’s most useless co-conspirator.

Still… two weeks wouldn’t kill us. Probably.

“I see, that’s good. You’ll be able to meet his dad—he’ll be back in a few days,” she said excitedly.

Right. Rewan’s dad wasn’t even home. Off on a business trip, apparently.

A little later, Rewan’s mom got this brilliant idea. She dragged out Rewan’s pink unicorn onesie—yes, the same one he admitted on the show he wears whenever he’s feeling down—and basically forced him to put it on.

I couldn’t tell if she was trying to make me run for the hills or if this was just her personal hobby—publicly humiliating her son for sport.

So there he was, six feet something of pure sulk stuffed into a fuzzy pink unicorn onesie, complete with a horn, floppy ears, and a tragically tiny rainbow tail. Meanwhile, I was trying not to collapse laughing on their carpet.

Honestly, I’d seen him shirtless for weeks in the villa, but nothing—and I mean nothing—was as intimate as watching Rewan, alleged “Menace,” reduced to a grumpy unicorn in front of his own mother.

Suddenly, I missed my own mom, who also got her literal kicks out of embarrassing me.

After a few days, I practically memorized Rewan’s childhood. Turns out we didn’t even attend the same school. Honestly, I wasn’t buying it back then anyway—who would dare reject me?

When Rewan’s father finally got back home, we went out for a fancy dinner. He immediately started teasing me about flying all the way to Melbourne just to meet his in-laws.

Really, I’m starting to think moving fast runs in their family.

“I heard you’re headed to Paris?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said with a polite smile, tilting my head just slightly, like traveling across Europe was no big deal. “I have a few matters to attend to, and then we’ll be heading to Australia. I’ve been away for a while, so I imagine my work has piled up.”

“What about you, son?” his father asked, turning to Rewan, who was busy slicing meat on my plate.

“I’ll go with Sabi,” Rewan said without hesitation.

Then came the gentle nags from his mom—don’t bother Sabi too much, don’t cause trouble. I could only smirk.

We spent the rest of the week gallivanting around Glasgow, visiting every cute café, dodgy souvenir shop, and historical site his parents could drag us to.

I’m practically their daughter now. I mean, they’d seen me spill coffee on Rewan, laugh at his unicorn onesie, and side-eye him harder than anyone ever could—and somehow they still let me stick around.

His mom took every opportunity to nag Rewan like a drill sergeant while secretly grinning at me. His dad just laughed, tossing teasing comments from time to time.

By the end of the week, I was walking around like I owned the place—kitchen privileges, remote control authority, even veto power over the music.

I enjoyed our stay more than I expected. His dad kept bringing snacks from work, apparently boasting about how his son had brought home a “stunning daughter-in-law.” I added the stunning part myself—facts matter.

His mom would always cook for us. I found myself casually reorganizing the fridge one afternoon, just because it needed it, and Rewan shot me a look that said, you’re terrifying and I love it.

Rewan has other siblings, but they were away for work and school, so I didn’t get to meet them.

On our last day in Glasgow, Rewan and I met up with his friend—or rather, he decided we’d intrude. The guy was swamped with work but told Rewan it was fine to drop by anytime.

So we did. We showed up on his doorstep with small gifts.

Apparently, his name is Lancer.

He opened the door seconds after Rewan rang the bell, a little breathless.

“Oh, she’s even prettier in real life.”

Rewan and him exchanged knowing glances and smug little smirks. I had no idea what that meant, but I was sure they were in on something I wasn’t.

“Hi, I’m Sabrina,” I smiled at him.

“Lancer, princess,” he smirked back. Just as smug as Rewan—no wonder they were friends.

“Princess?” I repeated.

Both of them laughed.

He waved us inside, and while they caught up, I busied myself playing with his dog. Rewan and Lancer were so wrapped up in conversation I couldn’t make sense of it—and honestly, I didn’t really care.

What I did notice, though, was that Lancer never stopped calling me princess.

“Did he not get my name?” I whispered to Rewan when Lancer wasn’t paying attention.

“Don’t mind him,” Rewan just chuckled.

We spent the whole afternoon at his place. Lancer never once called me by my actual name—and no, he wasn’t flirting. That would’ve been ridiculous.

By the time they finally finished catching up—half of it was just them laughing—I’d been fed enough snacks to roll out the door.

“Don’t forget to come visit again. And it was really nice to finally meet you, Princess,” Lancer said with a grin as we said goodbye.

“It’s Sabrina,” I tried again.

“Sure, princess.” He just shook my hand.

“Right, quit teasing her—you’re going to scare her off,” Rewan patted his shoulder.

As we walked away, I muttered, “He’s never going to stop calling me that, is he?”

Rewan only smirked.

Finally, it was time to fly to Paris. I had to check on Kali—she was stuck holding the fort for everything I’d dumped there. Honestly, I couldn’t fully trust her. Not because she’d slack off per se… more like her questionable sleeping habits.

Rewan and I said our goodbyes to his parents, though they promised they’d visit my hometown—so we’ll probably see more of each other again soon enough.

After a few calls to confirm my PA had handled the flights, we drove to one of Eury’s family’s private airports. The jet looked way too shiny for my taste, humming like it knew it was better than me.

Two hours later, we landed without incident. We went straight to the café we always frequented.

I didn’t even think about bringing Rewan straight to our place. He might’ve bolted if he’d seen the chaos. Kali’s mess had reached peak performance, with gourmet dishes stacked like modern art, Eury’s laundry staged like a fashion exhibit, and zero cleaners in sight.

After waiting for an hour and calling her at least fifteen times, she finally answered. I knew she was still sprawled in bed. And of course, she had the audacity to lie about cutting a trip short.

After another thirty minutes, Kali finally arrived. She peeked through the café door, probably checking if I’d brought a weapon with me.

“Kalixis!” I waved, shouting just enough not to bother the few other customers—or make them think we were hosting a circus.

She practically skidded across the café like a caffeinated cartoon, arms out, energy cranked to eleven.

“Elise!” she squealed, matching the fake energy I was giving off to mask my thoughts—because seriously, who makes someone wait almost two hours?

Somehow, she didn’t trip over a chair, despite looking like a nervous mess. We hugged, bouncing like idiots who hadn’t seen each other in decades instead of just a couple of months.

“Hey, how’d the launch go?” I asked, leaning in. “And why are you so damn late? We’ve been waiting for—what?—two hours? Don’t tell me you’ve been sleeping the whole time again,” I added, barely audible over the café’s clatter.

“Smooth, obviously. Eury helped too before flying back home,” she said, before leaning to whisper back. “Yes… I’m sorry, ma’am.”

I grinned, forcing brightness over my irritation. “I knew it. Also, quit that Elise bullshit.”

Then I turned to Rewan, finally introducing him to Kali. I’d been rambling about her and Eury at every opportunity—practically foaming at the mouth with pride.

She offered him a small smile before giving him a quick once-over.

Rude. What the hell is wrong with this girl?

“Nice to meet you! I’m Kalixis Evora Lee Sinclair,” she announced, tossing her full name around like the lunatic she is.

Rewan stared at her a beat too long, clearly trying to figure out whether he should be impressed, terrified, or both.

I know I’ve said my cousins are hilarious, but usually it’s true. Maybe Kali just woke up on the wrong side of the bed and decided embarrassing me would be a full-time job today.

I shot her a mock frown, silently commanding her to dial it back a notch before she obliterated our entire bloodline.

“Kali is fine. Just call her Kali,” I said, forcing sugar into my tone, though I could feel a vein twitching.

“It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Rewan,” he said, extending a hand.

Kali shook it—firm, polite—but, of course, she had to tease him about being my number-one hype man. Apparently, she’d watched a bit of our season.

I shot her a pointed smile, this time laced with warning—one more stunt like that, and there’d be blood the second we got home.

We sank back into our chairs and talked about a bunch of things.

Kali and Rewan were laughing so hard at my less-than-glorious moments that I half-considered disappearing under the table. Naturally, I’d just handed over the starring role in “Watch Sabi Cringe.”

I was starting to regret ever introducing him to her. 

Rewan shot me those murderously calm glances and leaned in. “This is what you get for laughing at me back in my parents’ place.”

So I decided to put my villa-honed skills to work and change the subject. I told kali about that guy from Casa Amor who mentioned her once.

"Roma dared me one summer," she said casually.

Apparently, this all went down during a summer break back in college.

Then she added, almost like it was no big deal, that she’d joined the show again for the new season—she’d refused at first, but Roma, our friend, apparently nearly threw a shoe at her head.

Honestly, I’m pretty sure Roma is just bored and has decided Kali is his personal puppet for entertainment this time.

Well… good luck, Kali. That’s all I can say. May the villa survive your energy, your antics, and whatever ridiculous chaos Roma has brainwashed you into causing.

After hours of catching up, we finally decided to head home. And yes, I confirmed—the house I thought I’d cleaned? Turned out Megane, my PA, had called in a professional cleaner yesterday.

I made a mental note to raise her salary. Seriously, she just saved me from Rewan walking into the disaster zone and reducing me to a quivering, mortified mess.

Back in my room, Rewan was busy unpacking some of his things. He’d brought enough stuff to make it look like he planned to live here permanently.

I leaned back and grinned. "What do you think of Kali? She’s hilarious, right?"

"Yeah… she yaps nonstop. I don’t think I can deal with two more of her," he said.

Usually, Kali is quiet. She’s only talking this much because she wasn’t bored to death. And really, why would they get bored when they’re laughing so hard at me?

That said, too bad. We’re just getting started. I’ve got more in my relatives’ arsenal—an endless parade of chaos ready to strike at any moment—but he doesn’t need to know that. Let’s keep him blissfully unaware before he bolts for the hills.

"I told you, you’d get along with her just fine," I said, smiling.

Then came his smug smirk. "That’s because I’m great."

I rolled my eyes, trying not to let him see just how much his smug confidence made me want to punch him… or laugh.

I half expected them to get along and half expected Kali to unleash some kind of miniature apocalypse. She meets actual people and immediately decides they’re all boring lullabies, good for nothing but putting her to sleep.

I patted my spot, motioning for him to lie down, and he obliged with that infuriatingly eager grin.

We started talking about our setup—because obviously I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t have work waiting for me back home. He said he’d stay with me for a while before heading to his own place, since he had things to take care of on his end too.

The next morning, I dragged Kali to the mall for clothes and anything else she might need at the villa.

Rewan was still sleeping, so I left him a note saying we were out. He’d been running around non-stop since the show ended, and I felt guilty even thinking about dragging him along.

I rattled off some potential islanders to Kali, mostly out of worry. I’d rather not watch her embarrass herself on television.

I barely even understand why she decided to come back to the villa since she’d rather sleep all day most of the time—but at least she’s doing something while on break.

“So, who’s your type among these guys? I think this ‘Will’ guy would suit your taste best.” I asked.

“He’s totally my type! How do you even know? But since when did you have time to compile all this?” Kali said, swiping through the profiles of potential islanders.

“We grew up together. I know everything about you,” I said, deadpan.

Last night, I’d asked her personal assistant to help me with it—because if I’d left her to enter that villa armed with nothing but unreasonable confidence and her absolute trash attitude… well, disaster was guaranteed.

Knowing Kalixis, she wouldn’t even bother actually looking these people up. She probably thinks she can get away with just nodding and giving a vague greeting, pretending she actually knows them.

Since it’s her second time, they probably know her already. If she acts unfriendly, they might get intimidated and leave her out—though honestly, her face screams orbit around me, so good luck ignoring her.

After I helped Kali out—or, more accurately, mostly took care of her—that’s just how we are. We’re the same age, but she and Eury are practically my daughters. I end up bossing them around more than I probably should, but honestly, they kind of need me to.

Even Rewan was laughing at how absurd it was. Apparently, he hadn’t seen the Sabi who rolls her eyes at every stupid thing around her.

Let’s pretend I didn’t catch him calling Kali stupid.

Then Rewan and I spent the rest of our stay in Paris doing absolutely nothing—just relaxing and visiting my favorite spots. Once we’re back in Australia, I’d be buried in work, so we might as well make the most of it. He seemed to enjoy tagging along without complaining.

We decided to visit Eury’s mom since we still had plenty of free time, and she just happens to live in the 16th arrondissement. I introduced Rewan while we were there, which—honestly—was a level of chaos I hadn’t exactly prepared for.

Rewan got the full story about how Eury’s mom couldn’t handle our original names, so she went ahead and slapped “new” ones next to the originals when we were still newborns.

I ended up with Sabrina, Kali got “Kalixis,” and her daughter became “Euryelle.” Fancy, of course—because apparently Parisian names need that extra flair.

He laughed so hard I thought he might actually choke. Fair enough. I mean, who does that? Somehow, though, I’m weirdly grateful. It makes me feel like part of some exclusive, slightly insane club.

My grandad, bless him, loved the original names he had personally picked for us and refused to budge, so in the end, we all got two names each.

After a week, the three of us were finally flying back to Melbourne. I don’t know what awaits us, but I hope Rewan can handle it.

I love my family, but they’re a bit… over the top. Thank goodness we’re rich—or else we’d probably look more like a zoo than a family.

THE END

Chapter Text

I yanked the shirt over my head and checked myself in the mirror, not because I cared, but because I knew my mother would have a heart attack if I showed up looking like I didn’t try.

God forbid I ruin her little matchmaking fantasy.

I should’ve still been on vacation—drink in hand, feet in the sand—but no. Mom insisted I had to come back for this “special girl.” She’d been gushing like she’d discovered the cure for cancer.

Please. If this mystery woman was half as amazing as Mom claimed, she wouldn’t need her mommy arranging playdates.

I smirked at my reflection, running a hand through my hair. “Handsome bastard,” I muttered, amused at my own grin. At least the poor girl wouldn’t have to suffer an eyesore. Not my fault if she ended up drooling across the table.

Still, the whole thing screamed waste of time. I hated being forced into anything—especially by my own mother. But whatever. I’d show up, charm the hell out of this girl—if she was worth two seconds of my time—and then get back to my life.

If nothing else, I’d get a free dinner out of it.

Yeah, I’d seen the picture. Mom couldn’t resist shoving it under my nose like some prize she’d won at a carnival. And I’ll admit, the girl was hot—way hotter than I expected from one of my mother’s “perfect little angels.” Smooth skin, killer smile, legs for days.

Not that it changed a damn thing. Being easy on the eyes doesn’t mean she’s worth my time. For all I know, she’s boring, clingy, or—God help me—the type who orders a salad and lectures me about red meat.

Still… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious. Maybe a little intrigued. If she looked that good in a picture Mom managed to dig up, then in person? She might actually be dangerous.

I slid into my new car, and it purred under me as I fired up the engine.

The roar echoed down the street as I shifted gears, heads snapping in my direction. That sound alone was enough to remind everyone within a two-block radius that I was doing better than them.

I smirked, drumming my fingers against the wheel, completely at ease.

Mom had booked one of the best restaurants in the city, all because the girl I’m meeting is some dynasty princess who probably hasn’t touched her own spoon since the moment she was born.

I pulled over and parked my car with surgical precision. I knew I looked cool as fuck doing it.

I tossed the keys to the valet and strolled inside like I owned the place. Heads turned my direction, even the hostess nearly tripped over herself getting me to my table.

Classic.

Three hours later, my glass was empty, my patience even emptier. Still no princess.

I leaned back in my chair, drumming my fingers against the tablecloth. So this was the girl my mother couldn’t stop gushing about? The “special one”? The heiress with the perfect smile and legs for days? Cute. Real cute.

If she thought she could play me like this—make me cut my vacation short just to sit here like some idiot waiting—she was out of her mind.

I flagged down the waiter, my smirk sharp enough to cut glass. “Bring the check,” I said. “Apparently, I’ve been stood up.”

Normally, I wouldn’t even wait thirty minutes for anyone. But when I told my mom it’d already been an hour, she guilt-tripped me into staying longer. So I did—sitting there like a damn fool until every nerve in my body screamed at me to get up.

I slipped on my jacket, irritation buzzing under my skin, but my grin never faltered. If anything, it widened.

A few days later, there was a knock at my door. I should’ve known better than to open it, but I did anyway. Lancer strolled in without waiting for an invite, grinning like Christmas came early.

“How’s your date?” he asked, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away. He already knew.

I threw a pillow in his face. That set him off—he laughed, full-on belly laughed like he’d just won the lottery.

“How did you even know?” I raised a brow at him.

Apparently, my mother called and told him the whole damn story. They both found it hilarious. Good for them. Especially this guy, with his screwed-up sense of humor and nothing going for him except his face.

“Why are you even here?” I asked. “We clubbing tonight?”

“Sure,” Lancer said, sprawling across my couch like he paid rent. “Also, Bora’s been talking nonsense about me joining some fucked-up show, so I escaped.”

I snorted. “What show?”

He groaned, exasperated. “Love Island.”

“The hell is that?” I blinked, genuinely confused.

Lancer sighed like I’d just crawled out from under a rock, then pulled out his phone and shoved it in my face. On the screen flashed a bunch of tanned idiots in swimsuits pretending they knew how to flirt.

I squinted. “So… it’s a zoo, but with spray tans and bikinis?”

He snorted. “It’s a dating show. People get paired up, live in a villa, vote each other off. Big drama. Big money.”

“Sounds like hell. You’d last two minutes before someone voted your moody ass out.” I said flatly.

“Better than you,” he shot back.

“Please,” I drawled. “If I went on that show, half the island would be begging to share a bed with me by the first night. The other half would hate me for it. Either way, I’d win.”

“Then join. Bora might finally leave me alone,” he perked up.

“Fuck no. Maybe if the cast was hot,” I said.

“Hot? You mean this?” Lancer swiped and shoved another picture in my face.

I leaned forward, ready to roast whatever swimsuit Barbie he was about to show me—then froze.

Holy fuck—she was hot. But that wasn’t the problem.

Long legs. Dangerous smile. Curly ash-blonde hair. Hazel eyes sharp enough to cut glass. Skin so flawless a mosquito would have an identity crisis if it landed on her.

The kind of woman who’d own a room the second she stepped into it—and apparently, the kind who thinks my time is hers to waste.

I knew her.

My little princess.

The same princess who stood me up for three goddamn hours.

The corner of my mouth twitched, not sure if I wanted to laugh, curse, or break the phone in half.

Lancer raised a brow. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

I forced my smirk back into place, slow and sharp. “Oh, nothing. Just realized that ‘fucked-up’ show's about to be a hell of a lot more interesting.”

“Sure, sure,” Lancer sighed.

“That’s her,” I said, eyes still on the screen. “My little princess.”

“For real?” Lancer gasped.

That was all it took. The next second we were frantically calling Bora, figuring out how the hell to get me on that show.

I’m coming for you, princess. I’ll make sure you choke on the sight of what you missed.

“Fuck, no wonder she stood you up. She probably saw your picture and said, ‘absolutely not,’” Lancer said, staring at my little princess on the screen.

“She probably stood me up because she realized she wasn’t ready for this much perfection,” I shot back.

Absolutely not? Cute. Give me one night and I’ll have her screaming yes.

Lancer’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t even need me to say it out loud. “I know what you’re thinking—that’s sexual harassment.”

Weeks passed, and my application was accepted. Of course it was—who the hell would say no to me?

I was practically glued to my screen, watching every second of the show while I waited for my turn to step into that villa.

Every smile she tossed, every laugh, every hair flip—I caught it all and it was annoyingly pretty.

When I finally walked in, they shoved me into the so-called sleepover villa and told me to pick who I wanted to spend the night with.

Easy. I didn’t even blink.

I picked my little princess right away. Her name was Sabrina—but let’s be honest, Princess suits her better.

Then they said I had to choose two.

Fine. I grabbed Tori—the walking reality show cliché. Whatever. I wasn’t here for her. She could play background noise, our entertainment, while Sabi and I watched the stars.

Except there weren’t any fucking stars. And even if there were, my little princess doesn’t even know me—not that she forgot. She just literally doesn’t know.

Maybe she actually never even glanced at my picture. Maybe she just decided, absolutely not, without a second thought.

Which, honestly, was worse than Lancer’s theory.

I raised a brow at her after our short introduction, and she just stared back at me—innocent, unbothered.

And of course, I had no plan to tell her. Like hell I’d admit I followed her here—that's a borderline criminal. Even I’d be creeped out if some stranger pulled that stunt.

That said, I switched strategies—completely ignored her. Instead, I grafted every girl in the villa who so much as glanced my way. And every time I crossed paths with Sabi, I made it my full-time job to get under her skin.

Luckily, the new bombshell who entered the villa the same time I did turned out to know me. Apparently, she thought we’d dated.

Me? I remembered her as just another girl. She couldn’t stand Sabi, and I was more than happy to take advantage of that.

So we teamed up—for my own little Sabi hate show.

I did feel bad sometimes. Just a little. But the second that guilt crept in, someone else would swoop in—hovering around her, making her laugh, trying to play hero.

And that? That irritated me even more.

Days passed, watching—and annoying—Sabi became my little entertainment. Mei would sometimes go overboard, but I made sure to always put her back in her place.

After we finished lunch, we all gathered on the daybed, swapping stupid little stories outside the villa. But apparently, Mei hadn’t had enough lunch—she still wanted to chew on Sabi.

She leaned across the daybed, tossing a snide comment at Sabi about her laugh being “a little too much.”

Sabi froze, lips pressed tight, eyes darting like she wasn’t sure whether to snap back or just swallow it.

“Careful, Mei,” I drawled, not even looking up from my drink. “If you keep reaching that hard, people are gonna see the desperation dripping off you.”

The others laughed, Mei’s face went sour, and Sabi blinked at me like she didn’t know whether to thank me or strangle me.

I just smirked at her.

Yeah. Only I get to bully my princess.

That same night, Mei and Gryff went missing, and I caught Sabi slipping into the bedroom from the treehouse while I was out grabbing some fresh air.

Maybe she crawled into the right side of the bed and decided to act cute—boldly lying about being scared of the dark.

I might’ve believed her if I hadn’t seen her stroll a pitch-black hallway earlier like it was nothing. No clue what kind of roleplay she was going for, but I wasn’t complaining.

I grabbed her hand and dragged her with me, hiding behind the noble excuse of “accompanying her” since I was going to look for Mei anyway. Total bullshit, but she didn’t call me out.

Half of me hoped Mei and Gryff were cracking on somewhere—save me the headache of watching him hover around my princess. But then I caught myself. Because Sabi actually liked him. I’d seen it—her eyes lingered a little too long, her laugh softened whenever he opened his mouth.

And if Gryff was with Mei? She’d be crushed.

The thought of her getting hurt? Irritated the hell out of me. Not because I cared—please. But because it was pathetic. My princess, letting herself look that small over some knock-off Ken doll? Unacceptable.

After a few more laps around the villa, we ended up in the living room. I dropped onto the couch like I owned the place, stretching out without a care.

Surprisingly, she sat right beside me. Not across. Not keeping distance. Right there, close enough that her perfume brushed my nose every time she shifted.

I told myself not to think too much about it—hell, I almost managed. But then I felt it. Her stare. Heavy. Lingering.

Why the fuck was she looking at me like that?

A grin pulled at my lips before I could stop it. “Don’t blame you,” I said smoothly. “I’d stare at me too.”

Then I shifted, deliberately. Leaning back further, stretching my arm higher along the couch, rolling my shoulders so every line of my chest and arms caught the light just right. Angling myself like a fucking painting. If she wanted a show, I’d damn well give her one.

But apparently staring wasn’t enough for her. Oh no. My little princess wasn’t satisfied with just looking—she leaned in. Slow. Deliberate. Her eyes dragged over me, starting at my jaw, tracing down the slope of my throat, lingering on my chest.

Fuck. My muscles locked, my pulse jumped, but I forced my body to stay loose. Smooth. Untouchable.

“You’re almost making me wanna kiss you,” I said, cool as hell—though my voice came out lower, rougher than I meant it to.

Her brow arched, lips curving. “Then why don’t you?”

The air went still. My gaze dipped to her mouth before I could stop it—those soft, red lips, parted just enough to make my gut tighten.

She had no idea how badly I wanted it. One lean forward, one slip of control, and she’d be under me.

Then she smiled—sweet, cruel. “We should probably keep looking for them.”

This girl was insane. Absolutely insane. But crazy never looked half this tempting. I forced back a laugh, my smirk stretching wider.

Games, huh? Let’s see how she handles mine.