Understood. We will move forward with **one, two, three, and four**, while keeping the background atmosphere in the Twister scene exactly as you originally wrote it
"The pot stands at eighty-two thousand. Action is on you, Mr. Westbrook."
The dealer's voice was an easily ignored buzzing sound. He shuffled with a rhythmic, practiced blur, allowing a silent, loathing energy to grow toward these privileged bastards. Beside him sat a sleek, brushed-titanium terminal—a piece of custom tech more suited for a museum of modern art than a card reader.
Gunner didn't even look at his cards. His tie was loosened, and a glass of neat bourbon sat sweating on the felt next to a mounting pile of empty shot glasses. Staff were quick to remove them, eager to show their worth, hoping to be acknowledged by one of the elites. All of the staff knew this was akin to a job interview for the Hill Estates, or even the newly built Forest Hills estate. If they were exceptional, they would be tapped for service—higher paychecks, more respect, bigger opportunities.
"Raise." Gunner couldn't help the way his lip twitched upward as he pushed a mountain of high-value chips into the center. He smirked like a wolf who had caught the canary. "Another fifty."
"Ah, we're playing blind?" Ming's shoulders shook with mirth as he slid a fresh shot of translucent liquid toward Gunner. "Drink. It will grant you luck." If Gunner was willing to finally let loose, it was Ming's job to facilitate.
He tapped a slender finger pensively on his card before locking eyes with Gunner. "Call." Ming had spent his entire upbringing in casinos; it gave him an edge in reading people. But in a game like this, the truth was whatever you made it.
As Gunner downed the drink, Darla appeared like a whirlwind, dragging Fuhad away for a selfie by his silk lapels. Fuhad folded with a strained shout over the music, leaving two empty seats. Seeing the opening, Harrison led Brennan toward the poker table.
"Room for two more?" Harrison asked with a dry grin. He pulled out a chair for Brennan, feeling an immediate kinship. Unlike the ' platinum spooners' at the table, they both understood that $200,000 was a fortune, not a plaything. Though, in the last six months of being married to Natalia, the concept of money was slowly starting to change in his mind. "Brennan, this is Ming Lee, and my brother-in-law, Gunner Westbrook."
The dealer offered a sharp nod toward Brennan. "Sixty-thousand-dollar buy-in, sir. Tap when ready." He then slid Mr. Dufort his discarded chips from earlier.
"Nice to meet you." Brennan's hand fought to stay steady as he tapped his gold card against the sensor. The terminal emitted a soft, surgical chirp—a sound that felt clinical and cold. To Brennan, it sounded like a funeral for his healthy bank balance. He was still new to money, having grown up lower-middle class. Finding success in the last few years hadn't changed the survival instincts that told him he was bleeding out. Across from him, Ming didn't even look up, idly checking his reflection in the amber depths of his bourbon while Brennan's savings were digitized into a game.
"So, A-Lister," Ming started, his passive gaze lifting as the dealer began the next orbit. "How did you meet little V?" They had gone to the same boarding school, and Ming often found himself acting as an older brother to her.
"We met through a mutual friend," Brennan replied, peeling back the corners of his cards.
Gunner fought to keep a snide remark to himself. All of Vivian's friends were in this very room—at least the ones who actually knew her. "Dating, then?" Gunner interjected, his voice jagged. He glided more chips forward without looking. "Or… Raise another twenty." His next words would impact what Gunner chose to do next; now that his mother's words were in his head, he refused to be humiliated.
The tension spiked. Harrison tried to diffuse it. "She's a grown woman. I'm sure Vivian knows what she's doing." Normally, Harrison wouldn't dare create friction with Gunner, but it seemed his brother-in-law was ready for a fight. "Are you from the area, or just filming a project nearby?" Brennan still hoped Vivian would come around; he wasn't willing to close the door on them yet.
"I'm filming the final season of Heartbreak King in Greenwood," Brennan said. Saying the words reminded him that he wasn't a nobody. He was an accomplished actor with a reason to be proud. "I had a contract negotiation for a watch distributor that intends to film in Springbrook, so it was perfect timing to see Vivian."
It didn't escape Ming's attention that Brennan hadn't answered the question. There was something about him that Ming just didn't like. Slipping his phone from his pocket, he sent a quick text to his family office: Brennan Silver and Vivian Kane.*Those two names were more than enough for his office to find exactly what he needed to know.
"Check or bet, Actor?" Gunner's tone never changed, but his expression spoke volumes. He rapped his knuckles on the felt. "Rook is a good campaign."
Brennan racked his mind for a moment, trying to figure out if he had ever mentioned which brand he was doing the campaign with. He hadn't. Contractually, he wasn't allowed to make any announcements yet. "Did I say the brand?" He looked at his cards while stealing looks at Gunner.
"There are no secrets in this room." Harrison couldn't help but think about how much information the Westbrooks had unearthed about him when he married Natalia. It was unsettling—a sharp reminder that someone was always watching.
Brennan looked at Ming's smirk and Gunner's steely gaze. An involuntary shiver raced down his spine, forcing him to acknowledge the truth in Harrison's words. The cursed terminal that had already swallowed a chunk of his pride would not be his salvation tonight. He folded.
"I'm out." In fifteen minutes, he had lost $15,000. The longer he sat there, he would either be peppered with questions he wouldn't answer or mockery he didn't have to take. Lifting his sparkling water, he gave the men a simple salute. "Good game."
"Yeahhh! I'm out too," Harrison announced, slapping Brennan on the back. "I should find my wife." With the way the game was going, he was set to burn through his allowance.
The two men watched as Brennan drifted toward the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"Do you think they're hooking up?" Ming asked, leaning back in his seat.
She better not be, was the first thought that popped into Gunner's mind. "N—"
"He's clapping cheeks," Koda said, stepping into the conversation. He danced drunkenly to the music, his level of awareness non-existent.
"Do you want to get punched in your throat?" Gunner warned, glaring up at Koda, his fist tightening around his glass.
"Watch your mouth." Ming leaned forward, one hand pressing into the felt table as the other pointed a finger in Koda's face.
Koda's face took on a far more somber expression. "Fuck, sorry, you're right. I didn't mean it like that. But I do think they're making love." His nose scrunched as he burst out laughing, just managing to dodge a fist aimed at his chest. Deciding he had pushed his luck enough, he backed off. They were starting to sound like Ji-ho and Fuhad—the elders of the group who liked to act as parents to everyone.
Leaning closer to the glass, Vivian enjoyed watching the reflections of the party. When she removed herself from expectations, it brought a sense of distance from everyone in her life. Her focus shifted as the night sky was sliced by the rhythmic pulse of a descending helicopter.
"Making friends?" Vivian asked, not turning around. She had left him to the wolves; she knew a single evening with her friends would explain more than she ever could.
"At least one," Brennan admitted. He didn't understand how it happened, but it was instinctual: the moment he walked through the door, his confidence and experience withered away. He felt normal again—like he was before the fame. It was a uniquely uncomfortable situation.
Vivian chuckled. "I did warn you."
"You definitely didn't lie." When they first met, it was easy to understand she came from money, but she'd never been snobby or entitled. This environment, however, was not what he had expected.
Turning her head to meet his eyes, she gave him a sad smile. She knew he must realize he couldn't compete. "Don't let anyone get to you."
"Another helicopter. Group gift?" At this point, nothing would shock him. If she told him there was a 'buy twenty, get one free' helicopter sale, he would believe it.
Vivian let out a soft, exasperated huff. "Poor Mr. Mullet. I can't believe so many people borrowed my helicopter just to get across the bay. It's been running back and forth like a glorified Uber." She made a mental note to give Mr. Mullet the day off.
Brennan went quiet, the words hitting him with the weight of a physical blow. He watched a bead of condensation trail down his glass, unable to find a response. She said it with the same casual annoyance someone might use to complain about a roommate using the last of the milk.
"Your... helicopter?" Don't react, don't react, don't react. He didn't want her to feel he was overly impressed. He wanted to show he could roll with their privileges without being scared off.
"Hmm? Let's go, I'll introduce you."
As they wove through the villa, they passed Darla, Himari, Nala, and Daya tangled in a competitive game of Twister. When Daya lost her balance, she took the others down with her in a mess of designer limbs and groans.
"New round! Clear the board!" Darla shouted.
Vivian reached the glass doors just as Carrie approached from the helipad. Carrie threw her arms around Vivian in a fierce hug, then flicked her eyes to Brennan. Believing him to be part of the villa's staff, she began to hand him her small travel bag without a word.
Vivian stopped her, lowering Carrie's raised arm, her shoulders hunched in embarrassment. "Carrie, wait. This is Brennan. He's a friend of mine."
The shift was immediate. Carrie's eyebrows shot up, and she pulled her bag back. "Oh! A friend. I'm Carrie Wilson. Forgive me, my mistake." She only needed to hold the bag for a few seconds before a staff member appeared and took it from her.
The gesture was not lost on Brennan. They were so used to being waited on hand and foot that they didn't even need to speak their wants.
The three of them moved toward the bar, where the bartender already had a chilled bottle of Montrachet waiting. A deep sigh of ecstasy left Carrie's lips as she breathed in the scent before taking a small sip. It was much needed after the week she'd had.
"Thank God you didn't bring him with you!" Natalia laughed, hugging Carrie from behind and catching her off guard. Carrie chuckled as she patted her friend's arm, trapped in the embrace.
Nearby, Gigi leaned toward her sister Mimi. "This island doesn't host 50-year-olds," she whispered, just loud enough to be heard. "Not all of us are child brides."
"I just got here. He's 45... 44." Carrie wished Gigi would just shut up. Not everyone wanted to hear her silly little opinion.
At a smaller table, Fuhad, Ji-ho, and Koda were hunched over a game of Uno, roaring with laughter as they mocked Carrie's husband.
"Do you remember that Omak harbor cleanup fundraiser?" Fuhad asked. "Where Carrie's husband tried to gather funding for his 'revolutionary' project?" He couldn't stand that someone like Peter Taylor had married Carrie. If Peter hadn't swept in after her parents died, things would have been very different.
"Could you imagine if he was here?" Ji-ho stood up, puffing out his chest and making grand, desperate gestures. "'Invest in the future, gentlemen! It's a literal goldmine!'"
"Oh my God!" Carrie pretended she couldn't see Ji-ho impersonating her husband. The worst part was that the gestures, while ridiculous, were accurate. Every movement was classically Peter.
Carrie rolled her eyes, taking a long sip of her wine. "I get it. He's hilarious. Move on!" She broke into laughter halfway through the sentence, unable to find a single good thing to say in his defense. It didn't help that she'd had a massive argument with him earlier that night.
Tentatively, Vivian made her way over to the girls playing Twister. Setting her wine on the coffee table, she adjusted the hem of her crimson wrap dress. "I'm in."
"That was a lot. Your husband doesn't quite get along with everyone?" Brennan thought sarcastically. Shocking—this group of unwelcoming people didn't like someone. Who would have guessed?
In her wildest dreams, Carrie couldn't conceive of the idea that an outsider might feel like he should just kicked a bee's nest. Watching Vivian go, Brennan gave very little attention to Carrie until her voice pulled him back.
"You seem quite comfortable."
Brennan didn't feel he was in a position to speak poorly about his interactions. "What's not to like?" He tried to remain non-committal.
Scoffing, Carrie noticed the way he looked at her friend. "Don't get too comfortable, Brennan. It's easy to walk through the front door of a place like this. Staying is the part people like you usually fail at."
"People like me?" Brennan growled.
"The help," Carrie said simply. She gestured to the uniformed staff. "My husband has been around for four years, and he is the help."
Brennan clenched his teeth, his jaw ticking as his irritation climbed. He thought of his billboard in Times Square, his name in rolling credits, and realized it meant nothing here. In this room, fame was just a secondary currency, and he was currently bankrupt. "Maybe he's not welcome because even his wife doesn't seem to want him here," he snapped.
Carrie let out a dry, hollow laugh. "Even Natalia's husband is the help, and he is barely tolerated. Did you not notice? When I chose to marry down, no one was around to stop me." She didn't want Vivian to experience the same social pressures she had. It wasn't always smart to go against the grain; it was hard. Too hard.
On the rug, the spinner clicked. "Left foot, blue!"
Vivian drifted downward, her legs scissoring. As she moved, the wrap dress shifted, the silk sliding upward. She caught the fabric with one hand, tucking it between her knees. She was in a precarious, arched position, her mid-thighs beginning to show under the chandelier's light. Brennan's eyes involuntarily traveled the path of her tanned legs to the slow-moving dress.
Gunner stood up from the poker table and grabbed his charcoal suit jacket. The room went silent. He walked into the center of the mat and knelt in the small space between Vivian and the floor. The air between them turned electric, thick with the scent of woodsmoke bourbon and the sudden, radiating heat of his body. He draped the heavy wool jacket over her exposed legs, the coarse fabric a sharp contrast against her smooth silk dress.
The room's noise continued, the familiar gesture going unnoted by the others as his intentions became clear. But for Vivian, there was a beat of suffocating intensity. She froze, her face inches from Gunner's as he leaned in. His hands moved behind her waist, tying the sleeves of the jacket into a firm knot at the small of her back. Vivian could feel the vibration of his movements through her spine, the weight of the jacket anchoring her to the floor.
The Castle sisters exchanged a quick look of understanding. Against her will, a deep, hot blush crept up Vivian's neck.
"Keep yourself covered," Gunner ordered, his voice a low command only she could hear. He didn't pull away, holding her stare until she nodded in understanding.
Once satisfied, he retreated to a nearby velvet couch, his legs spread wide. Alcohol-fueled thoughts swirled in his mind as he traced the dusting of freckles across her nose and the line of her breasts. He wondered what it would be like to have her as his wife, tucked away where no "guests" could ever reach her. He tried to imagine their life together, but his mind kept wandering in other directions.
As the night carried on, the music became less energetic and more moody. Some of the staff had already been dismissed, while others began to take away the untouched food. A general sense of relaxation settled over the group.
Vivian was the first to check her phone. It was already 1:15 a.m., and she still had a flight to catch in the morning.
"Guys, I'm—"
"No!" Koda shook his head as he saw Vivian look toward the door. She didn't get to be one of the last to arrive and the first to leave.
"I have—"
"One last game with all of us. Then everyone can go back to running their empires in training." It was rare for everyone to get together, and Koda was not letting anyone leave prematurely.