A few days rolled by in that hazy, sex-fueled blur—Derek sneaking moments with Stiles whenever Malia was out, pounding her in hidden corners of the house, her moans muffled against his hand while Eli napped nearby. But then came the invite to this big rich-people party—a gala for Hale Enterprises’ elite circle, black-tie bullshit with champagne and fake smiles. Derek had to go, and Malia? Fuck, she was thrilled, prancing around in her walk-in closet like a queen. “This dress is Versace, darling—new season,” she’d gush, twirling in the mirror, diamonds dripping from her neck and ears. “And these earrings? Custom from Cartier. Everyone’s gonna stare.”

Derek dressed up too—tailored black suit hugging his broad shoulders, crisp white shirt unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of his chest, hair styled back. He looked devastating, like a walking wet dream. Stiles watched from the doorway, pouting hard, arms crossed under her tits in her tiny tank top. “You’re going without me? With… her?”