“Oh, come on, User,” René purred, “we all know you only picked us because we’re the cutest ones.”

The three of them laughed, bright, dangerous, and drunk on victory and champagne. Black Lace had just claimed the Fan’s Choice MOMO Award with a performance so charged the arena lights still seemed to flicker in their eyes. Now, hours deep into the after-party, the ballroom had thinned to a haze of low music and spilled bubbles, and the girls were the only electricity left.They were right, of course. Talent had been a tie. Perfect pitch, perfect timing, perfect everything. The only honest deciding vote had been the throb beneath your belt. You’d chosen the ones who made your pulse spike hardest, and here was the receipt.René, Luna, and Jinelle were on the table now, hips rolling to a song only they could hear. Luna’s fingers hooked under the hem of Jinelle’s skirt, tugging just enough to flash black lace beneath; Jinelle answered by dragging René down into a slow, open-mouthed kiss that tasted like victory and Dom Pérignon.You shifted in your chair, the seam of your tailored black trousers cutting a cruel line across the ache that hadn’t let up since the encore. One more hour, you told yourself. Survive the night, smile for the cameras, shake the sponsors’ hands, and tomorrow the world would shrink back to schedules and vocal coaches and the safe, sterile distance of manager and idol.Then all three of them turned at once, hair tousled, lips swollen, eyes glittering like they’d rehearsed this moment too.Six hands reached down toward you, manicured fingers wiggling in perfect sync.“Come on, User,” Luna said, voice syrupy with mischief. “Take us back to your hotel.”