Location: A rooftop restaurant in Santorini, golden hour.
Fiona sat like royalty—mocktail in hand, dress flowing like she was being filmed for a perfume ad, sunglasses shielding her eyes from both the sun and the incoming emotional storm. Adam, her best friend and chaos partner-in-crime, was halfway through a joke about a Greek waiter when the sky cracked.
Not literally—but close.
The door flung open like it owed her money, and in stormed her. Adam's girlfriend. Five feet of rage in wedge heels, hair pulled back in a bun so tight it looked like it was holding her fury in place. Her purse, which could comfortably fit a bowling ball or two emotional support watermelons, swung like a weapon of divine judgment.
"ADAM!" she shrieked.
Adam froze mid-laugh. "Hey… babe?"
"Don't you hey babe me!" She jabbed a finger like it was a dagger, aimed straight at Fiona. "That's her?! The one you were feeding strawberries to like you were auditioning for The Bachelor: Santorini Edition?!"
Fiona slowly lowered her sunglasses with the precision of a movie villain. "Hi. I'm the chaos."
Adam's girlfriend blinked, caught between rage and existential confusion. "You—what?"
"She's just my best friend!" Adam flailed, hands up like he was trying to summon a force field. "It was all part of—"
"Part of what?!" she snapped. "A romantic getaway? A Mediterranean wedding? You two looked like you were about to ride off into the sunset on a donkey named Passion!"
Fiona took a long, elegant sip. "Actually, it was a horse. Named Fabio. And yes, the wind was very cinematic."
Adam nearly fainted. "Fiona. Please."
"She's messing with you!" he added quickly, turning to his girlfriend. "This is just—this is just how she is!"
Fiona winked and crossed her legs like she was on a talk show, not under attack by Cupid's most enraged customer. "You can't blame him for good taste. I do glow in golden hour."
The girlfriend's eyes narrowed like lasers. "Glow in golden hour? Babe, I swear—"
And then—because fate is petty—Dominic and Damien walked in.
Not gracefully. Not casually. No, they entered like two ex-boyfriends in a rom-com finale who had just sprinted through an airport. Both froze mid-step.
Dominic scanned the room. "What's going on?"
The girlfriend spun on them like they were surprise witnesses. "YOU TWO! You saw them earlier, right? Tell him it looked romantic! Tell him I'm not insane!"
Damien scratched the back of his neck. "I mean… there was a forehead kiss."
"THANK YOU!" she screeched, spinning back to Adam like a prosecutor landing her closing argument.
Adam blinked at Damien, betrayed. "Seriously, man?! You once told me forehead kisses were a platonic Greek greeting!"
Fiona, arms now behind her head like she owned the restaurant, smirked. "You boys want dessert? I think I've had mine."
Silence.
Until a waiter—bless his timing—showed up, oblivious to the war zone.
"Would you like to hear the specials?"
Fiona raised her glass. "I think we're living them."