POV: Seraphine
The pizza had gone cold. The candles were half-melted stubs. My apartment looked like a frat house, a pillow fort, and a summoning ritual had all gotten into a fight and exploded.
Vixzen was currently wearing two coats, someone else's socks, and a glittery throw pillow like a war medal. Vivien was sipping lukewarm tea like it was poison control. Liora sat with a blanket over her head like a very tired ghost.
And there were still men everywhere.
Too many men.
In corners. On stools. Standing awkwardly near my now very broken door. Acting like this was a casual brunch and not the aftermath of a supernatural lingerie riot.
I stared at the destruction. The circle drawn in lipstick. The empty plates. The candle wax on my bookshelf.
I clapped. Once. Twice. Sharp and loud.
"Alright. Fun's over. Time to clean up this disaster like emotionally repressed adults."
There was a moment of frozen silence — the kind that follows a court verdict.
Then Vixzen let out a fake sob and slumped dramatically onto the carpet. "Nooooo. I live here now. This is my kingdom."
Vivien stood with an audible sigh and gestured sharply. "You," she said, pointing at no one in particular, "get the plates. You — trash. You — move that couch. And someone find my damn tea set."
Liora grumbled, already dragging a mop from the bathroom. "If anyone spills again, I'm hexing the next person's laundry into smelling like despair and ball sweat."
I ducked under a string of fairy lights. "Where did these even come from?"
"I borrowed them from your closet," Vixzen said, trying to untangle herself from the decorative vines and tiny bulbs. "But now they're sentient."
One of the fae — the green-haired one, with flowers still blooming behind his ears — approached gently, trying to help without pulling on her tails.
"I've got it," he said soothingly.
"No, don't touch my tail — okay, touch that one, but gently."
Behind me, a chorus of deep male voices began to whisper about door repair. Zaire was holding a measuring tape upside-down.
Kaiden tried to help but tripped over a floor pillow and slammed his hip into my coffee table.
Theodore opened my fridge, frowned, and began alphabetizing the condiments.
Vivien suddenly shrieked. "Who—put—my artisanal glass tea set in the fridge?!"
A guilty silence.
Then one of the twins pointed at the other twin. "He was trying to 'chill the vibes,' I swear."
"Your vibes can go chill in the dumpster," she growled, cradling a teacup like it had PTSD.
Meanwhile, Liora was sitting cross-legged on the floor, scribbling something with leftover lipstick.
"…Are you outlining a summoning circle again?" I asked.
"No," she said without looking up. "Just drawing on receding hairlines."
Two of the twins immediately slapped their hands to their foreheads and started arguing over who it was supposed to be.
A shriek followed from the ceiling fan.
"There's a bra up here!" Kaiden called, dangling it from one finger.
"It's not mine," Vixzen said immediately.
"Definitely not mine," Liora muttered.
Vivien didn't even blink. "If it's red lace, it belongs to my sins. Let them keep it."
Someone knocked over a bowl of popcorn. Someone else slipped on a slice of pineapple. One of the shifters got caught in a throw blanket and rolled like a burrito across the floor.
I looked over to where five men were still arguing over the busted door. The twins were proposing a full replacement. Someone else wanted to seal it with runes.
Then the green-haired fae simply raised one hand.
With a soft snap, the entire frame reassembled — locks, hinges, even the woodgrain polished to perfection.
Everyone stared.
He shrugged. "My dad's in construction."
Vixzen, still wrapped in half a string of fairy lights, blinked. "Okay but is he single?"
"You know I am," the fae offered with a smile and went back to her side with her other fae entourage trying to untangle the fairy lights off her many tails.
A chorus of groans followed.
—
I stopped in the middle of my war-torn living room and slowly turned in a full circle.
Pillows everywhere. Throw blankets stacked like failed architecture. Men — far too many men — still loitering in corners like confused NPCs waiting for side quests.
I clapped again.
Everyone froze.
"I love the effort," I said, sweeping my gaze across the room like a disappointed teacher on parent-teacher night. "Really. Good hustle. Great confusion. A+ chaos."
I took a breath.
"But all of you—out."
Confusion rippled through the testosterone-soaked air.
A few men blinked. Some glanced at each other. One had the audacity to look personally wounded, like I'd just canceled Christmas.
"You stormed my apartment," I continued, voice calm but loaded. "You broke my door. You saw me in lingerie. That's enough perks for one night."
Vivien stood beside me like a judgmental queen. "Out. Or I start charging emotional rent."
Liora rolled up her sleeves and started physically herding the nearest group toward the door. "Moo, bitches."
Vixzen, in true feral fashion, snatched one of her fae's jackets off the back of a stool and lobbed it out the window. "Go fetch."
The fae in question didn't even blink. He just raised a brow and murmured, "Worth it."
One of the twins tried to protest, "But I was helping!"
Another, clutching the now-cursed rotisserie chicken, added, "I'm emotionally invested in the summoning chicken."
"I'm emotionally invested in her," someone muttered dramatically from behind the couch.
"My feelings live here now," one of the shifters declared as if it was a legal argument.
I didn't flinch. Just calmly walked to the door and grabbed the nearest broom like a weapon forged in sarcasm.
"Anyone still here in ten seconds gets hexed with chronic erectile insecurity."
Liora backed me up without missing a beat. "And believe me, I know how to make it permanent."
The silence was sudden.
Magical.
Several men shuffled toward the exit like guilty toddlers being kicked out of daycare.
A few coats were dramatically returned. One man stared wistfully at the blanket he'd been wrapped in before peeling it off with a sigh that probably killed a flower somewhere.
Eventually — reluctantly — the crowd cleared, leaving just us and the smell of chicken, burnt wax, and poor decisions.
We flopped onto the couch in a pile of warm throw blankets, stolen coats, and broken pride.
For a second, no one spoke.
Then — a giggle.
Then more.
Suddenly we were all snorting, wheezing, and clutching at each other like post-battle survivors in silk armor.
Liora wiped a tear from her eye. "So. Group pact. No more inviting men over."
Vivien smirked. "We never invited them to begin with."
"I say we summon a cleaning demon next time," Vixzen declared, dramatically throwing an arm across her face. "Preferably one who vacuums and does taxes."
I took a sip from a chipped mug someone had unearthed from under the couch. "If he's tall, emotionally available, and brings wine, I'll consider it."
All our phones pinged at once.
We blinked at each other, already suspicious.
"Who…" I began.
Vixzen grinned, holding up her phone. "What? We're not in relationships… yet. And this is quality bonding. Look!" She spun her screen.
A brand new group chat: "Supernaturally Single 💀💘"
Vivien stared. "Did you seriously name it that?"
"We have to do these more often," Vixzen said, scrolling. "It's so much fun."
Liora muttered, "Minus the door-breaking and supernatural thirst traps."
We all turned to glance at the front door.
It looked brand-new. Repaired. Not a single scratch.
"Still looks like a group of lingerie models didn't crash through it three hours ago," I said, sipping again.
"Urgh," Liora groaned, flopping sideways. "All that has made me hungry again."
"We can reheat the pizza," I offered. "And order more."
"No one has work tomorrow, right?" I asked hopefully, not ready to let go of the night just yet.
Vivien flicked her fingers and set her phone down with finality. "Please. We're our own bosses. We work when we want. It's called smart delegation."
She said it like she'd just declared war and also won.
With the lights dimmed, the room smelling faintly of leftover garlic and victory, we huddled back into the couch — the four of us wrapped in warmth, exhausted, triumphant.
A rom-com flickered on the TV.
Lesson learned. No more horror.
We barely made it halfway before falling asleep in a tangled heap of limbs, silk, sarcasm, and sisterhood.
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