𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐭𝐞𝐧 | 𝐬𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬

After a claustrophobic drive, the five of you finally arrived at a towering Mcmansion, strangely formed spikes jutting into the dusky sky, rounded windows winking with glimmering light, and hedges sprinkled across the lawn haphazardly. A tall, power-washed driveway curled around the side of the house, disappearing behind another strangely formed wall that bulged from the stucco exterior. Exiting the car with a sigh, you fixed your hair, watching as everyone else emerged, a touch grouchy. Yates immediately slung his arm around your waist once more, practically becoming a belt, and pulling you towards the front entrance. You could hear faint music coming from the house and the fruity smell of perfume. Expensive. Your insides felt all fluttery, and your steps became slower as you got closer and closer to the door.

"I don't want to do this," you muttered. Yates bent down, his lips brushing your ear.

"You'll be fine. I'm your bodyguard. Your saving grace."

"Right," you scoffed. "Why'd you call me babe this morning? You never do that. I just looked stupid," you muttered, miffed. Yates rolled his eyes.

"I'm experimenting."

"Yeah, well, maybe do it in private next time," you rebuffed. He said nothing, only pressing a final kiss to your temple before unchaining you from his grasp, stepping forwards to ring the doorbell. Emina stood to your right, still gorgeous, even after that ride. Her lips were a pristine red, and her head had not a single flyway. Pursing your lips, you patted yourself down again, trying to resist the urge of transforming into a hunchback.

"You'll be fine, [name], don't sweat it," she said. Her voice was warm and her smile wide. Yates should've chosen her. You're taken aback at the thought; it came from nowhere. Before you have time to address it, the door is flung open, revealing a short man in a purple tuxedo. He had long blonde hair, pinned back, and a flower tucked behind his ear. His eyes brightened as he saw Yates, rushing forwards to wrap your boyfriend in a hug.

"Anson!" Yates exclaimed, his voice full of false cheer.

"My man! Congrats!" You could hear a thump as Anson patted the brunette on the back- a little too hard. Yates let out a soft 'oof', stepping back.

"Thanks. We're late?"

Anson shook his head. He had a strange, predatory smile, his canines pointy and his lips full. His eyes had dark circles under them, and his cheeks were thin, making him look like some sort of Tim Burton character. He stepped aside, motioning for the rest of you to come in.

And- holy shit.

There were men in maid uniforms. No- there were women too, but the sight of their muscular, hairy legs filled you with a cocktail of revulsion and fascination, watching their skirts flounce as they walk around the room, holding trays of champagne, like shit you see in the movies.

The house was beautiful- Rayyan was right about the floors, they were blisteringly and painfully polished, mere inches away from being a mirror. It was lavishly furnished with a quirky and admittedly beautiful eclectic style. Anson seemed to really like purple; it permeated the entire house, in touches of furniture or the wallpaper plastered onto the parlor and dining room. A few other guests milled around the foyer with champagne glasses in their hands and a sparkly tint to their lips, roaring with laughter.

Rich people mystified you.

One of the men in maid uniforms made his way up to you, holding a literal tray of champagne glasses and some sort of small, sushi looking thing. He gave you a hesitant smile.

"Ma'am?"

You took a glass, gripping the stem with your fist, glancing down at his nametag. Gael. "Oh, thank you..Gael." He nodded and walked gracefully away, the flouncy layers of his costume bouncing along with his hair. Jesus christ, so this wasn't a thing only in the movies?