Terms and Conditions

Catalina Games

A/N: I wasn't going to continue this story cause it didn't seem like people were interested, but after some convincing from people who actually like it, I'll continue. Voting really encourages me and lets meet know you like the story. So please don't forget to do that. If there is any error let me know because I haven't edited this chapter nor have I refreshed my memory on what I've written so far. Too lazy.
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The storm rolled in quietly. Not with thunder or lightning, but with a hush and low-hung fog that swept in from the ocean, cloaking the cliffs and wrapping the DiLaurentis estate in a silvery veil. The air was colder than it had been, the sea louder and the energy inside the house felt different now. Tighter. Pressurized.

Maya had arrived less than twenty-four hours ago, and already the retreat had shifted. Conversations became less fluid, glances sharpened. Emily felt it most around Alison, whose normally impervious calm had taken on an edge like glass just beginning to crack.

Tonight's dinner was formal, the kind of curated event that Alison's team executed with effortless precision. The long table was candlelit, the linens ivory, the guest list tight. A handful of artists, venture capitalists, media moguls. And three women who'd once loved each other in different lifetimes, now seated like chess pieces on the same board.

Emily wore a black wrap dress. Simple, clean and confident, or at least that was the illusion. Beneath it, her skin buzzed with tension because Maya was seated directly across from her. And Alison, two seats down, silent and watching.

The first toast was made by a director from Berlin. Something about art and rebellion. Laughter followed, and glasses clinked. But Emily barely registered it, her eyes kept returning to the flicker of Maya's fingertips against her wine glass. The tilt of her smile. The way she leaned closer each time Emily spoke, like she was still entitled to that space.

"I almost didn't come," Maya said softly, during a lull in the conversation.

Emily glanced at her, cautious. "But you did."

Maya held her gaze. "I heard the invitation wasn't meant for me."

"It wasn't," Alison said, suddenly. Her voice cut through the clatter of silverware with blade-like precision.

Several heads turned. Maya smirked, but her shoulders stiffened.

"Oh, Ali," she purred. "Still territorial, are we?"

Alison lifted her glass, unreadable. "Just selective."

And Emily knew, in that exact moment, that tonight wasn't just about food or networking.

It was a game. And they were the board.

After dessert, Emily stepped away. She needed air. Anything but the suffocating weight of Maya's gaze and Alison's silence. Meanwhile, inside, Maya found herself face to face with Charlotte DiLaurentis for the first time in nearly four years.

"Still circling the wreckage?" Charlotte asked, sipping her espresso without looking up.

Maya slid into the empty seat across from her. "I missed your warmth, Char."

Charlotte snorted. "You never miss what you never valued."

There was a long pause between them.

Then Maya leaned forward, her voice low. "You think I came here for Alison?"

Charlotte finally looked at her, eyes like steel. "Didn't you?"

"No," Maya said simply. "I came here for the only person who's ever really made me want to be better."

For once, there was no pretense. No performance. And Charlotte, surprisingly, softened. Just a little.

"You broke her."