WANT EXCLUSIVITY?

4 Nipes had been part of my life for so long that I probably knew them better than my own family.

Fred Hunt was the guitarist, known as the King of Hearts. Tall and lean, with a sharp face, narrow nose, slightly slanted eyes of an unreal pale blue. He was the band's troublemaker, always tangled in scandals. The media loved him—not so much for his talent, but for the chaos he left in his wake. Simone couldn't understand how I'd fallen for him of all people; he wasn't even the fan favorite. And he was the most "wrong" choice for someone like me—the perpetual good girl.

What could I say? Love doesn't explain itself; it just happens. And what I felt for that stranger was stronger than anything I'd ever known. His smile, his gaze, the way he played guitar like he wanted to set the world on fire... it captivated me. From the moment I discovered 4 Nipes, I chose him.

I think I put him on a pedestal. My life was so fucked up that I desperately needed someone to love. And because everything good always felt out of reach for me, I picked him. Fred Hunt was my impossible love. The one who got me out of bed every morning, hoping one day I'd meet him in person. My entire purpose.

Gabriel Dimitryev was the lead singer, the Ace of Spades. The most desired. The most handsome. The most grounded. The band's leader. His voice was considered one of the most beautiful on the planet. But he was like me—too "proper."

Fred was my adventure, my escape, my unattainable victory. He was the utopia you long for but know you'll never have.

Maxon Vecchi, the Jack of Diamonds, was the baby of the band. The youngest drummer ever recognized as one of the most skilled with sticks. Quiet, always smiling. Gorgeous in that boyish way. At eighteen, he was already legendary, compared to John Bonham of Led Zeppelin.

But my Fred, no matter how insanely talented, never got compared to someone like Slash from Guns N' Roses.

And last but not least, the Queen of Clubs: Laisa Marie. Maxon's sister—maybe adopted, like me, because they looked nothing alike. Maxon was the sweet, clean-cut one. Laisa was the kind of woman who stopped traffic while smashing her bass against a car. A trail of minor offenses and drama followed her; no one doubted she loved causing trouble. Rumors said she'd hooked up with both Fred and Gabriel. The media lies sometimes. Or maybe not.

I liked her simply because she was part of 4 Nipes. I think Laisa Marie was the most envied girl on the planet.

I envied her too. I wondered what it must be like to be her—seeing Fred every day, traveling with him, performing on stage with him, smoking beside him, being his friend.

So yes... I opened the door and stood there, thinking about how long it had taken me to finally live my dream about 4 Nipes—specifically Fred Hunt, the guitarist—who was right in front of me now, or rather on the bed, practically naked, with a girl I didn't recognize, someone who clearly wasn't part of the band.

This encounter wasn't supposed to happen. Dominic had almost made sure it never would. And maybe... I really shouldn't have been there.

For a split second, I preferred the version of Fred I'd built in my head—loving him and worshipping him in silence, without ever seeing who he truly was.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady the air that had vanished from my lungs. My eyes scanned the room, and I was shocked by the mess. Hours earlier, I'd left everything impeccable.

The sheets on the floor were the least of it. The fact that Fred preferred sleeping on the bare mattress—or had fucked so hard the bedding had come off—was the part that bothered me least in that moment.

The room reeked of cigarette smoke. And though I'd never tried cocaine, I wasn't stupid enough not to recognize it. Rolled bills lay on the mirrored tray they'd pulled from the bathroom. Traces of white powder remained, proof it had been used quickly and carelessly, with enough left to waste.

I barely registered Fred in just his boxers, chest bare, confirming he was the thinnest in the group. His eyes looked exhausted. Dark circles betrayed how drained he was. His messy hair left me torn between thinking he looked awful or even more perfect like that.

"Spilled champagne on the bed," he explained, standing and walking toward me.

That's when I remembered I hadn't brought any fresh sheets. Just the intention.

I started gathering empty bottles from the floor on autopilot. Normally I'd have my cart and toss them in the trash bag inside it. Then I'd remake the bed with fresh linens I actually had on hand. But I had nothing. Only the urge to be useful. Or rather, I didn't want to be useful. I was only there to meet my idol.

I collected all the bottles, cradled them in my arms, and carried them to the bathroom, dumping them in the trash. Obviously, they didn't all fit. I removed the automatic lid, tied the bag, trying not to look any more than I already had. But when I came out, the girl on the bed threw another bottle to the floor, smirking at me.

I swallowed hard and bent to pick it up. I wasn't delusional enough to forget my place. As I straightened with the new bottle in hand, Fred grabbed my arm, stopping me cold. Our eyes met for the first time. And the whole world trembled, like an earthquake had struck right then, promising to leave nothing standing.

"Leave the fucking bottle on the floor," he said, still staring.

"But..." I tried to explain, but the words died on my lips.

I couldn't look away. I knew I'd carry this moment to my grave as the most important thing in my life. For the first time, someone had truly seen me—seen that beneath the uniform beat a real heart.

"She came to change the sheets but didn't even bring any," the girl laughed.

"I... didn't have time to grab them," I said directly to him, still pinned by his grip.

"Leave the bottle... who cares about the sheets?" He glanced at the girl with disdain, then locked eyes with me again. "Want to join us?" His gaze flicked to the bed.

Every second felt singular, like I'd been born to live this moment. My fingers trembled so hard Fred noticed and gave a mocking smile. I could have convinced myself it was because of my looks, because I was interesting... if not for the alcohol on his breath and the certainty that the cocaine had burned away what little sanity he had left.

"Thanks... but..." I swallowed the lump in my throat, staring straight into his eyes, almost crying from the refusal. "I... need to work."

Did I really just say that? Fuck it. Maybe this was all a dream anyway. And if it was, none of it was real.

"And who says this isn't work?" he laughed, sarcastic.

"I... don't... work like that," I said, glancing at the girl to make it clear I wasn't some escort.

The woman on the bed burst out laughing. I thought Fred would join her, but he didn't. He didn't even look her way.

"She wants exclusivity, Fred!" she mocked. (Or was I the other one?)