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She moved first. That was the rule she’d set. She approached Jess slowly, like a cat deciding whether to trust a new couch. Jess’s breath hitched—genuine, not acting. Lily liked that. She traced a finger along Jess’s collarbone, then turned to Marco.

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Lily’s throat went dry. Perform. That word again. She’d built her brand on being a “freak”—but a controlled one. Messy hair, whispered confessions, the illusion of chaos. This was different. This was choreographed hunger. She moved first

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Dee dimmed the lights. A red dot appeared on Camera A. Live.