The Paradise Princesses.

That's what they called themselves—the daughters of Paradise's elite, the crème de la crème of generational wealth and inherited power. A private group chat that had existed since the founding members were fourteen, passed down through social generations like a crown dipped in venom and wrapped in trust funds.

Membership wasn't bought. It was bestowed. You didn't apply to be a Paradise Princess—you were born into it, or you were nothing. A genetic lottery win, complete with the consolation prize of crippling expectations and daddy issues you could ski down.

The rules were simple: no screenshots, no leaks, no boys, no exceptions. What happened in the chat stayed in the chat, protected by the kind of mutually assured destruction that only worked when everyone had equally devastating secrets to hide—like nuclear warheads pointed at each other's McMansions.

Currently, the roster read like a who's who of American aristocracy—the kind that made Forbes look like a participation trophy:

Sierra Montgomery — The Hell Bitch Queen herself. Daughter of the Montgomery legal empire—lawyers so ruthless they billed by the soul. Seventeen, senior year, and until recently the undisputed apex predator of Ashford Elite. Ice in her veins, fire in her glare, and a reputation for making girls cry in bathrooms just by existing.

Elena Ashford — The Virgin Succubus. Her family literally owned the school—Ashford Elite Academy, Ashford Plaza, Ashford Medical Center. Old money so old it probably funded the Mayflower and then sued the passengers for emotional distress.

Eighteen, a collector of men and broken hearts, and the only person Sierra had ever considered a genuine threat. Beautiful enough to start wars, shameless enough to finish them in bed.

Maddie Whitmore — Oil empire. Her family's rigs dotted every ocean like acne on a teenager's face, and her trust fund had trust funds that had offshore accounts. Seventeen, perpetually horny in the chat, and the kind of girl who said things that made everyone else choke on their organic, fair-trade, gluten-free coffee.

Amber Castellano — The hot rude neighbor's daughter. Brett's sister—Castellano Shipping & Global Logistics. If it crossed an ocean, her family probably moved it—and charged extra for the emotional baggage. Seventeen, mean when she wanted to be, meaner when she didn't try.

Jade Park — Korean automotive dynasty. Her grandfather had built cars for dictators; her father built them for celebrities who wanted bulletproof egos. Seventeen, Sierra's closest ally after Maddie, and the one most likely to have a body in her trunk if the situation called for it—discreetly disposed of, of course.

Victoria Maxton — Eldest of the Maxton children. Nineteen, currently away at college, and technically Phei's cousin. The kind of beautiful that made professors forget their lectures and the kind of cruel that made underclassmen cry in bathrooms—family tradition.

Sienna Maxton — The quiet Maxton. Seventeen, same age and grade as Phei, and desperately trying to pretend the current situation wasn't happening to her family—like an ostrich with better hair.

Delilah Maxton — Danton's twin. Eighteen, graduating this year, and currently in the middle of what could only be described as a slow-motion breakdown about her step-cousin's apparent transformation into walking sex and vengeance.

Natasha Sinclair — Her mother was Chief of Staff. Her father was Ambassador to the UN and sat on three defense committees. Always the voice of "reason" in the chat—which usually meant she was the first to crack under pressure and suggest something illegal but classy.

Gianna Romano — The mafia princess, and it wasn't being metaphorical. Her family ran "legitimate businesses" up and down the Eastern seaboard, the kind that came with security details and occasional FBI surveillance.

Seventeen, fearless, and absolutely unhinged when the mood struck—like a hurricane with perfect nails.

Nastya Romano — Gianna's older sister. Nineteen, same year as Victoria, at college too, and the only person who could occasionally control Gianna's more chaotic impulses. The "responsible" Romano, which was like being the driest fish in the ocean.

Clara Moreau — Old money French fashion, the kind that traced back to actual aristocracy before various revolutions made that awkward. Eighteen, perpetually acting morally superior while doing the exact same things as everyone else—just with better accents.

Yuki Tanaka — Tanaka Technologies. Her family's company made the chips in half the world's phones and most of its military equipment. Seventeen, and the one most likely to approach any problem like a science experiment—complete with control groups and ethical violations.

Priya Kapoor — Indian pharmaceutical royalty—Kapoor Pharmaceuticals. Her family held patents on drugs half the world needed to survive. Seventeen, quiet power with a smile that could negotiate hostage situations.

Juliette Howard — Banking aristocracy. Her family had been financing empires since the Gilded Age. Seventeen, the only girl among two older brothers, which meant she'd learned to fight dirty before she could walk. Sweet face, killer instinct.

Zara Preston — Preston Media Empire. If it was on a screen, her family probably owned the network. Zack's sister. Seventeen, beautiful and aware of it, with a talent for making scandals disappear—or creating them.

Sixteen girls. Sixteen fortunes. Sixteen sets of secrets sharp enough to slit throats.

And right now, every single one of them was losing their collective shit over one boy.

One fucking boy.

The charity case who'd somehow become the most dangerous thing in Paradise.

Phei Ryujin Tiamat.

[PARADISE PRINCESSES - PRIVATE]

[Tuesday, 7:43 AM]

Maddie: who else woke up wet thinking about certain hands

Natasha: MADDIE ITS 7AM

Priya: her pussy runs on a different timezone apparently

Maddie: it runs on PHEI TIME now

Jade: girl same

Across Paradise, in the Montgomery estate's east wing, Sierra was mid-bite into a croissant when her phone buzzed.

She glanced at the screen.

Choked.

Croissant flakes sprayed across her silk robe as she frantically typed back.

Sierra: Can you whores shut up for FIVE MINUTES

Elena: Someone's cranky. Long night, Sierra? Couldn't sleep? 😏

Gianna: she's DEFLECTING

Amber: the queen is STRESSED

Sierra: I'm not stressed I'm SURROUNDED BY IDIOTS

Zara: that's literally our group name

Clara: Perhaps if Sierra would simply admit—

Sierra: Clara I will tell everyone about Nice

Clara: WHAT HAPPENED IN NICE STAYS IN NICE

Maddie: LMAOOO THE SOMMELIER

Natasha: wine boy nearly uncorked something in you huh clara

Clara: HE WAS A PROFESSIONAL

Gianna: professional dick giver maybe

Nastya: GIANNA

Gianna: WHAT I calls it like I sees it

Priya: the only thing he was about to sommelier-ing was clara's—

Clara: FINISH THAT SENTENCE AND I'LL RUIN YOUR FAMILY'S FDA APPROVAL

Priya: ...

Priya: touché bitch

In her bedroom at the Maxton mansion, Delilah was supposed to be doing her hair.

Instead, she was sitting on the bathroom floor, phone in both hands, reading at the speed of light. Her half-curled hair hung limp on one side, curling iron abandoned and probably about to burn the counter.

She didn't care.

This was more important than hair.

This was about him.

Delilah: CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE ACTUAL ISSUE

Jade: which issue

Jade: the dick issue

Jade: the video issue

Jade: the "our friend is getting absolutely demolished daily" issue

Amber: all of the above honestly

Delilah: THE VIDEO ISSUE

Delilah: WHY IS IT STILL IN THIS CHAT

Yuki: because we keep watching it

Delilah: STOP WATCHING IT

Elena: You first, darling. Tracker says 28 views.

Delilah: THE TRACKER IS A HATE CRIME

Delilah threw her phone onto the bathroom counter, then immediately picked it back up.

She couldn't not look.

It was like a car crash. A really hot car crash. With hands. And a tongue. And—

Stop it. He's your cousin. COUSIN.

Her phone buzzed again.

She looked.

Of course she looked.

Maddie: 28 times delilah

Maddie: that's almost once per hour since it dropped

Delilah: I WAS RESEARCHING

Priya: researching WHAT

Priya: tongue trajectory???

Juliette: orgasm velocity???

Gianna: Now handsome cousin anatomy???

Delilah: I HATE YOU ALL

Zara: you love us

Delilah: I TOLERATE YOU AT BEST

Sienna: That's my line.

Three doors down from Delilah, Sienna sat on her bed with her phone facedown on the mattress.

She wasn't going to look.

She wasn't.

She'd been doing so well. Hadn't checked the chat in almost an hour. Had almost convinced herself that none of this was happening, that her cousin hadn't become the most discussed dick in Paradise overnight, that her life was normal and fine and definitely not spiraling into chaos.

The phone buzzed.

She didn't look.

It buzzed again.

She didn't—

Goddammit.

Sienna: Can we please not do this today

Amber: SIENNA LIVES

Jade: the ice robot speaks

Maddie: girl what are you on

Sienna: Trying to pretend this chat doesn't exist.

Sienna: Failing, apparently.

Natasha: you can't hide from us sienna

Natasha: we're like herpes

Natasha: forever

Priya: natasha what the fuck

Natasha: SUPPORTIVE herpes

Clara: that's not better

Victoria: What is wrong with all of you

Maddie: VICTORIA

Jade: QUEEN OF DENIAL

Amber: how's college

Victoria: Full of people less annoying than you. What's happening with my family.

Elena: Your step-cousin has become a sex god and your sisters are coping poorly.

Victoria: He's NOT a sex god he's PHEI

Yuki: tracker says you watched 31 times victoria

Victoria: THE TRACKER IS BROKEN

Yuki: I built it

Yuki: it's not

Victoria: ...

Victoria: I was threat-assessing

Gianna: is that what the kids are calling it

Nastya: "threat-assessing" for 31 viewings

Zara: that's a lot of threats to assess

Juliette: very thorough threat assessment

Priya: extremely detailed threat analysis

Victoria: I HATE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU

The chat erupted into chaos—frantic messages, alliances forming and breaking, everyone trying to figure out the new social landscape that had emerged in the span of forty-eight hours.

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