The next morning, the doorbell rang just as Stiles was finishing breakfast dishes.

She padded to the door, still in her tiny shorts and tank, and when she opened it—there stood Lydia.

Her best friend. Her partner in sin back in the day. Same slutty energy. Short dress, no bra, lip gloss shining.

“Lydia!” Stiles smiled nervously, hugging her tight.

Lydia leaned close, whispered right into her ear, “Saw you yesterday.”

Stiles froze. “W-what?”

Lydia smirked, pulling her phone out of her little purse. She tapped the screen and there it was—grainy video of Scott pounding Stiles on the couch, her tits bouncing, moaning his name.

Stiles’ stomach dropped. “Lydia—”

“Relax, slut,” Lydia purred. “I’m not ratting you out. But… introduce me to your new boys and I’ll delete this little treasure.”

Stiles swallowed hard. “Lydia…”

“C’mon, Stileskie,” Lydia smirked, brushing past her into the living room. “We both know you’re not selfish. Share.”

Stiles’ chest tightened, but she had no choice.

Around noon, the door opened—the men had arrived for “renovation.” Derek came first, sweaty in his tank, Peter close behind, Scott lighting a cigarette as usual.

The moment they stepped inside, their eyes fell on Lydia.

She was perched on the couch, legs crossed, dress riding up her thighs. Her glossy lips curved into a knowing smile.

“Well, well,” Derek drawled, licking his bottom lip. “Stiles didn’t tell us she had such a pretty friend.”

“Mm,” Peter’s gaze darkened, scanning Lydia up and down. “Very pretty.”

Scott smirked. “Looks like our slut keeps good company.”

Stiles stiffened, heat rushing up her neck. That word—our slut. And now Lydia was sitting right there, soaking up their stares.

“Lydia,” Stiles forced her fake smile, “these are… Derek, Peter, Scott. Our neighbors.”

Lydia stood, hips swaying, and shook each of their hands slowly, letting her fingers linger too long.

“Neighbors, huh?” she said, voice dripping with innuendo. “Lucky me. I live nearby, so I’ll probably be around a lot.”

Derek smirked, eyes flashing at Stiles knowingly. “You should.”

Stiles clenched her jaw, jealousy pricking like needles, though she didn’t show it.

For the rest of the afternoon, Lydia stayed glued to them—laughing at their jokes, leaning in too close, brushing her breasts against Peter’s arm “accidentally,” licking her straw in front of Scott while he stared straight at her mouth.

Stiles watched every second, pretending not to care, but her stomach twisted. These men were hers. Her secret, her dirty escape. And now Lydia was shamelessly putting herself right in the middle of it.

At one point, Stiles slipped into the kitchen for water, only to hear muffled voices drifting from the living room.

Scott’s low murmur. “You should come by our place tonight, Lydia.”

Lydia’s giggle. “Oh? All of you?”

Derek’s husky chuckle. “You can handle it, can’t you?”

Peter’s deep voice: “We’ll make sure you enjoy yourself.”

Stiles’ grip tightened around the glass, her pussy clenching with equal parts anger and arousal.

Lydia was giggling again. “Maybe I’ll come… but only if Stiles doesn’t mind.”

Stiles stepped back into the room, pasting on her fake good-wife smile. All eyes turned to her, and Lydia’s grin widened like a cat who’d stolen the cream.

The men smirked knowingly, glances darting between the two women.

Stiles sat down, legs crossed, acting calm. But inside, she was boiling—jealous, wet, guilty.

Because she knew tonight… her best friend might just become their next toy.