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“Everyone can see all your curves the entire time you’re dressed like this, baby,” he says, his voice dropping lower, rougher, edged with frustration that barely hides the possessiveness underneath. “No. Go change now.”

“What the fuck are you wearing, Sierra?” Liam appears at our side, his dark brows drawing together as his gaze flicks over her outfit in disbelief. “You actually let her wear this?” he adds, throwing the question toward Nick.

Nick lifts both hands, like a man on the verge of losing control. “I’m on the edge of a goddamn breakdown right now, Liam. Don’t.”

Before Sierra even gets the chance to respond, Zayn joins in, his eyes widening the second they land on her.

“Fuck, what even is that on you, Sierra?” he asks, gesturing vaguely toward her like the outfit itself personally offended him.

One by one, the Hardy brothers begin to gather, drawn in by the chaos like moths to a flame, until they form a loose half-circle around her, a collective wall of male outrage that would be almost intimidating if it weren't so ridiculously entertaining.

They are all here, except Ethan again.

Maybe he won’t come at all. Rumor has it he’s never once attended one of these themed parties, and God, I hope tonight won’t become the exception.

Originally, the plan was for him to sit at the judge’s table, score the costumes, and hand out the grand prize—a ten-day luxury vacation somewhere exotic, the kind of place people only see in magazines.

But now…

Now, I’d rather he stayed away.

After the things that happened, after being shoved into this contest against my will, the last thing I need is to stand under those lights with him watching.

Let Irina handle the trophy. She’s his assistant, isn't she?

“You didn’t change Thalia?” Irina’s voice slices cleanly through the noise around us, cutting and precise enough to immediately pull my attention.

She steps up beside me, arms crossed, her gaze sweeping over me from head to toe with a cool, assessing look that makes me instinctively straighten my posture.

“You have two minutes,” she continues, her tone leaving no room for argument. “We’re waiting for you on stage with the rest of the contestants.”

Then, just as quickly, her focus shifts to Sierra, and something in her expression softens—only slightly.

“Sierra, since you’re already prepared, head up on stage too.”

She gives her a subtle, almost conspiratorial wink before turning away, her heels clicking against the floor as she disappears back into the crowd.

“See?” Sierra shoots back instantly, her eyes sparkling with defiance while she looks at the men surrounding her. “Someone who actually appreciates my outfit.”

She lifts her chin proudly, then turns toward me, her gaze sharpening before locking onto mine.

“Thalia, hurry up and change,” she adds, her tone serious. “If you’re not out there in two minutes, I’ll come drag you out myself.”

And with that, she pivots on her heel, hips swaying deliberately as she melts into the crowd, leaving behind a wave of tension—and a very loud, very frustrated Nick.

Laughing softly, I slip away toward the nearest bathroom, the sharp click of my heels echoing against the polished floor, the noise of the room gradually fading behind me, swallowed by distance and walls.

Good luck, Thalia. You’ll need it.

FOURTEEN

Thalia

The moment I step inside, I quickly change into the outfit I had set aside for the contest, and the energy switches completely, the muffled bass of the music now nothing more than a distant vibration humming through the walls as I lift my gaze toward the mirror.

For a few long seconds, I just stare at my reflection, the harsh white light above the sink catching every metallic detail, every glimmer, every inch of exposed skin—and with each passing moment, the realization coils deeper into my chest.

I can’t go out there.