Ace Steel is a notorious womanizing rock star who finds himself in hot water just days before he's set to join a celebrity ballroom dancing competition called "Star Strut." A video of him making disparaging comments about black women goes viral, and...
As we made our way into the mansion, I caught myself taking a second glance at Aria. Despite everything I'd heard about her – the bold statements, the media snippets – seeing her up close was a different experience. There was an undeniable radiance about her. Her skin glowed with a kind of effortless perfection, and her hair, with its tight curls, framed her face in a way that seemed both unique and striking. Her features, especially those almond-shaped eyes and subtly full lips, had a natural allure. And there was something about the way she smelled – a scent that was both intriguing and unfamiliar, lingering in the air in a way that was hard to ignore.
But, of course, there was more to her than just looks. She was the same person who didn't shy away from speaking her mind, often in ways that clashed with my own views. In a different world, maybe I'd have been drawn to her, but in this one, our paths seemed destined to clash. And yet, the idea of ruffling her feathers, seeing that composed exterior crack into frustration – I had to admit, there was a certain appeal to it. Behind the façade we were expected to maintain, there was something oddly entertaining about the thought of pushing her buttons. Maybe this stupid gig would be more entertaining than I thought.
As soon as we stepped foot into the sprawling mansion, the reality of our situation snapped into focus. Microphones clipped on, cameras rolling—a silent reminder that every move, every word between Aria and me, was now entertainment for public consumption. The pact was clear: feign camaraderie, perhaps even hint at a budding romance for the cameras. But anyone who really knows me understands that I don't play by the rules. I'm the guy who colors outside the lines, a rebel at heart.
Today's dance rehearsal was just the appetizer to what I was really looking forward to—getting a rise out of Aria. Some might call me an instigator, and they wouldn't be wrong. There's something undeniably amusing about the way her eyes flash with irritation, the subtle tension of her jaw when I push her buttons. It's like a game, and I can't help but be drawn to her fiery reactions. They say dance is a form of expression, but for me, ruffling Aria's feathers? Now that's an art form.
The moment we were free to explore, Aria and I casually drifted through the mansion, sizing up our living quarters. The house was split into five bedrooms - four generously sized ones each with a trio of beds, and then there was the fifth. It was smaller, more intimate, with just two beds nestled in its confines. Being the first to arrive, we had the luxury of choice: the anonymity of a larger room with more beds or the close quarters of the smaller room.
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I lounged on the plush living room sofa, observing Aria as she made her decision. She moved with a determined grace, her belongings in tow, heading straight for the smaller bedroom. A mischievous plan began to form as I watched her claim her space. With her out of sight, I casually stood up, a hint of playful intent in my movements.
I scooped up my bags from the entrance and made my way to the room where Aria had started to unpack. My sudden entry into the cramped space caught her off guard, causing her to jump back and collide with my hard chest. I stood firm, a slight smirk forming as I watched her scramble to regain her composure.
