MY SUPER FIANCÉ - EPISODE ONE

Chapter 1: In the Heat of the Night

To JittiRain: Your work has inspired me more than you know!

CHAPTER ONE

In the Heat of the Night

Beneath the silvery gleam of a full moon—the kind that makes poets sigh and night owls reconsider their life choices—there is a city brimming with possibility. With purpose. With power.

Prism City.

But this isn’t your average metropolis. This is its own ecosystem—thriving, tangled, and just a little radioactive. Its sectors glow in bold, vibrant hues, each neighborhood defined by color, by character. From above, it looks like stained glass brought to life.

Scarlet Heights. Industrial heart of the city. It’s loud, it’s hot, and it never sleeps. Steel and smoke fill the air as hammers strike metal in a relentless rhythm. Workers move like ghosts through a haze, hardened by the kind of heat that doesn’t just burn—it incinerates.

In Marigold Plaza, commerce reigns supreme. Skyscrapers glitter like golden promises, towering above open-air markets where every vendor is one pitch away from their big break. Capitalism in stilettos.

Then there’s the Sunshine District. Bright. Orderly. Statues of justice line the clean, sunlit streets like they’re guarding some great civic truth. Government buildings, law enforcement Headquarters, and yet... not every law is enforced. Not every hand is clean.

And sometimes justice comes at a price.

Further out? Sagewater Bay. Think money. Think influence. Think champagne chilled in infinity pools beside carefully crafted hedges that spell out last names no one can pronounce—but everyone pretends to recognize. The one-percenters don’t just live here.

They reign.

In the Cerulean Core—tech pulses like a second heartbeat. Digital lights spill from holographic billboards, soaking the streets in electric blue. Laboratories, Virtual Reality hubs, innovation centers so advanced they blur the line between science and science fiction - and in the middle of the circuitry and chaos is The Daily Wave. It’s ot just a newspaper - it’s a narrative machine.

This is where the stories of Prism City get told - and retold. Where facts become framing. Where headlines become history. And where names become legend.

Names like… The Powers.

A legion of superhuman beings, The Powers are as complex as the city they call home. Some fight for love. Some fight for justice. And some fight because—let’s be honest—they just want to punish something.

Beyond the steel and circuitry, Indigo Acres grows the city’s food supply in rainbow-colored rows. A patchwork of tradition and innovation, where robotic tractors share the fields with sun-hats and sweat. This is where “farm to table” meets “lab to lunchbox.”

And then, there’s Violet Village. Picture a postcard—only with better schools and solar panels. It’s peaceful. Suburban. A little too perfect. But if you’re raising a family or starting a bakery, this is your place.

And at the very center of it all—pulsing like a living, breathing jewel—there’s the crystalline dome of Spectra.

It hums with prismatic energy, an alien heart beating at the core of Prism City. It’s the home of The Powers, and others like them. Beings who traveled across the stars not to conquer—but to survive.

And though its mysteries remain sealed to human eyes, its influence? It’s everywhere. In the air. In the light. In every whispered legend and leaked document. Its presence shapes everything.

Whether the people of Prism City want it to... or not.

From the outside, it truly was a bright and beautiful place, but Trevor Prince knew better. Raised in the Cinder Block Burroughs—a slum without a sector—he was intimately familiar with the rot that festered at the edge of the glow.

At twenty-four, he was boyishly lean, with wild red hair and angular features softened by a scattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

Blending into the shadows cast by the shipping containers on the docks, his emerald green eyes kept a stern watch on the happenings around him.

Whispers drifted through the night, mingling with the soft shuffle of guards on patrol, their guns ready. They had switched a large container from a ship that had been idling in the shallows since just before sunset with another on a truck that came and left within the same thirty minute period. But the other container hadn’t been loaded yet.

Something was happening on the ship.

There was chatter. Hushed and irritated. While most of the guards were scurrying around below deck a hand full of them were left to circle the other container.

It’s some kind of exchange. He thought. But what?

MEANWHILE, PARADISE LOFTS

In a spacious apartment in the middle of Violet Village, twenty-six-year-old Cole Carter stood by the window, the faint light tracing delicate lines across his face and casting a glow over the worry flickering in his honey-colored, almond-shaped eyes. Still in his Air Force uniform, he was undeniably handsome—though clearly irritated.

“Trevor,” he said, his voice low but insistent, as he pushed his square black frames up the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like the idea of you doing any of these things without me. You know that.”

From his hiding place, back on the docks,Trevor shrugged. He could feel the frustration of Cole’s voice vibrating through the communication system he wore around his neck.

Suspended from a delicate chain, a polished platinum pendant cradled an iridescent stone that glistened like a full moon. Its setting was flanked by two crescent gems—on the left, a waxing lapis shimmering like distant stars, while on the right, a waning amber radiating with the warmth of the sun—capturing the eternal balance of darkness and light.

“You were busy, Fly Boy” He stated flatly.

Cole felt Trevor’s voice echo through the shadows around him.

“Trevor…” He growled in response.

“I know…” Trevor mocked with a hissed whisper. “I didn’t want to miss my chance to break this story wide open. It’s going to get me another Pulitzer. I can feel it.”

“But… you’ve already got two Pulitzers…”

Cole glanced toward said awards, proudly displayed on the mantle above an electric fireplace at the far end of the living area.

“There’s not enough room for another one.”

“Hey.” Trevor continued with casual dismissal. “Check my monitors?”

Rolling his eyes, Cole walked to the desk at the window and activated the screens. “Alright,” he stated. “They’re on.”

Lifting the setting of the pendent, Trevor turned the holographic surface of the Moonstone to face him.

Seeing his fiancé appear on the screen, Cole allowed his body to relax.

Slightly.

“How do I look?” Trevor asked, flashing a confident grin at the camera hidden inside the stone of the pendant.

Cole stared at the screens, taking in his handsomely smug, self-assured, and adorable (though far too pleased with himself) face.

“Like a gorgeous asshole.”

“Good.” Trevor nodded. “And for the record”—he glared— “There’s always room for another Pulitzer.”

“Your editor is right,” Cole sighed in defeat. “You’re…”

“Intrepid.”

They said simultaneously.

Sighing, Trevor rolled his eyes. “I know.”

“Jerk.”

“Going silent,” Trevor said, dropping the pendant back to his chest. “These guards with guns look irritated.”

“What?!” Cole scowled, his voice rising in concern. “Guards with… guns?!”

“Make sure I’m recording.”

Clicking a few times on the mouse, the screen extended.

Five burly-built men and one surly woman came into view.

“Yep,” he nodded. “Guards with guns… fuck. Trevor…” he groaned again. “I’m on m-”

“No!” Trevor cut him off with a hiss. “I’m sorry. Don’t come. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

“Fine!?!” Cole snorted. “They have guns. Lots of them!”

“And they’re going to shoot me if I don’t stop talking so… shhh!”

Closing his eyes, Cole listened. The crashing of waves against the dock. The steady shuffle of boots—guards with guns. The soft whistle of the wind. The quiet, nervous rhythm of Trevor’s breath.

And beneath it all—his heartbeat.

Exhaling slowly, Cole lifted his eyes toward the moon.

Damn it, Trevor.

MOMENTS LATER, THE CINDERBLOCK DOCKS

A loud bang echoed from the ship, followed by a sharp whistling scream as a cloud of steam plumed into the sky.

The guards whipped their heads toward the source of the noise, their eyes wide with concern. Without hesitation, every single one of them rushed toward the disturbance.

Every. Single. One of them.

Trevor focused on the unattended container.

“Don’t do it,” he felt Cole hiss through his bones.

But he never listened to anyone else, not even when he knew he should.

Scrambling, he slid to the ground, his fingers fumbling over the thick bolts as he pried at the door.

It’s probably drugs, he thought. Or weapons. Groaning, he pulled again.

It didn’t budge.

Maybe it’s both,his mind continued to spin.

Perhaps waiting for Cole would’ve been a good idea.

“Of course, you should’ve waited for me,” Cole’s voice scolded through the com.

“Get out of my head,” he huffed, pulling harder. “Open…” he grunted “Up!”

Finally, the rusted hinges creaking under the pressure cracked free. Pulling his phone from his pocket, Trevor turned on the flashlight and peeked inside.

His eyes widened and he gasped.

“Holy shit.”

MEANWHILE, PARADISE LOFTS

Seeing the dirt-stained faces of several women and girls flash on the monitor, Cole stepped back from the computer desk.

“That’s it!” he muttered, his hand already moving to strip off his glasses. Tossing them onto the desk without looking, his fingers reached back to unfasten the buttons of his shirt.

His eyes never left the screen.

It was worse than they thought. Much worse.

“Cole…” He felt Trevor’s voice whimper. “This is…”

“I’m on my way,” Cole cut him off.

“Good. I don’t thi-”

Trevor’s voice was swallowed by a sickening crack - the sound of the butt of a gun punching the back of a head.

Trevor’s head.

Fuck! Cole thought. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Ripping off his shirt, shadows began to coil around him, responding to Cole’s will like living strands of thread. Twisting in the air, they spun around his body, weaving into a suit that clung to his toned physique - the black fabric absorbing the light.

From the collar, a cape unfurled - the outer layer was thin, soft, and violet. The inner was a deep, impenetrable indigo shimmering with starlight.

Cole was gone. He’d been transformed into something darker—something more powerful. Something… Super…

MoonShadow!

Rushing toward the floor-to-ceiling window, he unlatched it, pushing it open. Stepping back, he sprinted forward, lifting into the night like an owl - white in the moonlight, black against the stars.

Airborne, MoonShadow sliced through the night. His mind racing as a thousand cries for help and whimpers of fear filtered through the shadows. Sifting through them with practiced precision, he sorted worry from panic, urgency from anguish. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help them - he did - but right now, Trevor was all he could think about.

He knew the sound of his heartbeat, the cadence of his breath. He could even distinguish the flow of blood as it pushed through his veins.

But right now. There was nothing. Every part of Trevor ’s being was silent.

Fuck.

Pushing the darkest thoughts out of his mind, he clung to the memory of the night they’d met in an attempt to remain positive.

It was all he could do to keep from going crazy.

SIX YEARS AGO, LAVENDER CAFÉ

Cole was pissing into a urinal in the men’s room when the door swung open and a petite figure with wild red hair stumbled inside, singing—no, belting—the chorus of Pat Benatar’s ‘Shadows of the Night’ - badly, but adorable.

Swaggering up to the urinal beside him, Trevor fumbled with the buttons on his jeans as he swayed.

“Tequila tastes like shit!” he snarled, turning his head a little too fast. The movement sent him teetering, and he caught himself against the tiled wall.

“Whoa.” He giggled.

“It does,” Cole nodded, amused by the sheer chaos standing next to him.

“But damn is it fun!” Trevor declared, his voice a little too loud for a public bathroom.

Cole chuckled, shaking his head as he pushed the last few drops into the urinal.

“Yeah… yeah, it is. Just don’t drink too much. You’ll feel it in the morning.”

Trevor scoffed, still swaying on his feet. “Just call me angel of the morning!” he half-sang, half-shouted, throwing his arms out dramatically as the pale stream that arced out of him veered past the porcelain, splattering onto the floor.

“Oops.” He hiccuped a laugh, pointing himself back on target.

Giving himself one final shake before zipping up, Cole walked to the sink. He cast a sidelong glance at the redhead in the mirror as he started to wash his hands.

“Good song.”

“Which song?” Trevor turned too fast again, his glassy eyes catching the tall, toned, and handsome stranger watching his reflection.

“Angel of the Morning.”

“Hell yeah it is!” He gushed.“I fucking love Juice Newton!”

Smirking, Cole held him in his eyes.

“Just call me angel… of the morning… baby!” Trevor sang again, nodding as he situated himself and buttoned up his pants.

As he turned toward the sink, his foot squelched into the puddle he had just made. Before he could react, he slipped—hard.

Cole dashed, catching him mid-fall.

One second, Trevor was tumbling; the next, he was cradled in strong, steady arms, pressed against a broad chest that smelled faintly of applewood and cigarettes.

Their eyes locked, Trevor’s breath catching in surprise.

“You alright?” Cole asked, his voice low and steady but undeniably amused.

Trevor’s mouth opened, his drunken brain struggling to keep up with the rapid sequence of events that had just taken place.

“I’m… uh… yeah…” He blinked. “… You’re… um…. You’re…pretty.”

Cole’s smirk deepened. “Thanks.”

Trevor suddenly remembered where he was—and what had just happened. His nose wrinkled as his eyes darted to the floor. “I… just slipped in pee…”— he groaned—“Didn’t I…?”

“You did,” Cole confirmed, trying—but failing—to hold back a laugh.

“Gross.”

“Yeah.” He helped him upright, his hands lingering on the small of his back for a moment before he finally let go.

Trevor shook his head. His hair fell into his eyes. “Thanks for catching me,” he said, flashing a sheepish, slightly lopsided grin.

“No problem.”

He stuck out his hand. “I’m Trevor.”

“Cole.” He greeted. His grip was firm, but his touch was warm, again lingering just a little longer than necessary.

Trevor squinted at their joined hands, then he glanced back at the urinals.

“Sorry.” He turned his attention back to their hands.

“For what?”

“I, uh…” Trevor snorted, barely holding back his own laughter. “I haven’t washed my hands yet.”

Cole blinked. “Good thing there’s a sink then.”

Trevor nodded. “And soap!”

“And soap,” Cole repeated.

With another nod, they both moved to wash their hands, sneaking glances at each other in the mirror.

While they stood under the dryer, the warm air humming around them, Trevor leaned lazily against the counter, his damp hands outstretched, letting the heat seep into his skin. He sighed contentedly as if this were the coziest place in the world—which, for him, at this moment, it was.

Cole took a slow, nervous breath.

“Listen, I’m going to be honest with you,” he started, lifting his cap to run a hand through his shaggy black hair. “I’m on the worst blind date in the history of blind dates and I could really use your help.”

“Oh?”

“Any interest in helping me get out of it?” A hint of mischief flickered in his eyes. “You know, since I helped you?”

“Sure,” he shrugged. ”How?”

“Honestly?” Cole crossed his arms. “Don’t care.”

Trevor laughed. “Well, that’s not very helpful but… I was in a few plays in high school,” he tilted his chin up smugly. “Got spectacular reviews, so…. I know my way around a scene.” He placed a hand over his chest, eyes fluttering with mock humility. “Some even called me transformative—like Bettina Brite in everything she’s ever done.”

Cole was confused. “Is that a good thing?”

“Do you not know who Bettina Brite is?!?” Trevor gasped dramatically.

“No.”

“OhMiGod!” He squinted at him through an exaggerated pout. “She is only the greatest actress of our time! No - wait - Of ALL time!”

Cole shrugged. “I’m sorry. I’ve never heard of her.”

Trevor was shocked. “How is that even possible?”

Cole shrugged. “I don’t watch a lot of television or movies.”

“Oh, we’re going to have to fix that, Dearheart.”

Cole smirked. “So you’ll help?”

“I’l help.”

“Really?” Cole couldn’t hide his joy.

“Of course.” Trevor bit his lip as he started to blush.

“Sweet,” Cole patted his shoulder. “See you soon.”

Turning toward the door, Cole paused—catching Trevor watching him as he walked away.

Something stirred and he spun impulsively, closing the space between them in the blink of an eye.

“I’m sorry,” he said before he leaned in, capturing Trevor’s lips in a kiss.

Heat.

Electricity.

Magic.

Something indescribable sparked between them. Lights flickered, shadows danced across the walls, swirling around them, and for a moment, the entire café sizzled with energy.

When the kiss ended, Trevor blinked at him, his lips still slightly parted. “…You kissed me.”

“I did,” Cole admitted, trying to read his expression.

Trevor’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t ask my permission.”

Cole’s stomach dropped. His heart lurched. “I—I… oh, shit— I didn’t.” I didn’t mean to. I umm..” His voice trailed off. His eyes grew even wider. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean too. I just thought that… Well, I thought that you’d be into it…” He was starting to panic. “Fuck! I’m sorry man. I’m so sorry! I totally read the situation wrong!”

Trevor giggled, leaning in until their noses almost touched.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing, did I?”

Cole exhaled a sharp breath, something between a laugh and a groan of relief. “You really shouldn’t scare a guy like that.”

“Why not?” Trevor beamed. It’s fun.”

“For you, maybe!” He snorted.

Reaching up, he grabbed Cole’s collar and yanked him back in for another kiss.

It was drunk and a little sloppy, but eager - and dripping with passion.

They’d been kissing each other every night since.

NOW, THE CINDERBLOCK DOCKS

Artificial light spilled across the rows of shipping containers that filled the dockyard, causing long shadows to dance with the rhythm of the swaying cranes.

A pink and white Rolls Royce glided to a halt at the edge of the pier. A moment later, the door opened, and the Grand Duchess, Giselle de Barbarac emerged. A regal woman in her mid-fifties, she was the picture of Mid-Atlantic aristocracy mixed with soft Southern decadence.

Dressed in a floor-length silk coat, the color of crushed coral—its collar drowning in plush, oversized white fur—she sashayed toward the dock with a theatrical flourish. Her platinum-blonde hair was piled high in an elaborate updo, adding to her petite 4′ 11″ frame. Its height kept in place by sparkling combs shaped like butterflies, their jeweled wings catching the starlight with dazzling excess. A pair of oversized sunglasses perched on her perfectly sculpted nose, as if even the gentle moon was too offensive for her delicate baby blues.

Her gloved fingers clutched a long cigarette holder.

Bringing it to her mouth, she inhaled deeply. The anticipation of the heat of the smoke and what it did for her, was almost as delectable as the minty taste itself.

“Your Highness!” A voice shouted from the darkness.

Rolling her eyes, the Grand Duchess groaned.

Behind and to her right, a petite young woman stepped up. Dressed in the uniform of a school girl, with stark spiked white hair, she was pretty, but unassuming. Fabulous but forgettable. She was her attendant.

She was the Grand Duchess’ most trusted confidant. Swift, silent, and deadly, she moved with quiet precision, her hands clasped before her like a porcelain doll awaiting her next command.

“It’s Your Grace,” The Grand Duchess corrected, her tone slow and exaggerated. “Honestly, how many times must I endure such rude and mentally mistakes?”

Stepping up to her, her attendant whispered into her ear. Correcting her.

“That’s what I said, love. Rude and mentally. You know… Basic.”

Her attendant nodded, stepping back into silence.

Her eyes flicked back toward a man whose very existence seemed designed to give her a splitting headache. Her Operations Manager, Zipper.

As he stumbled closer, she took in his haggard appearance; his oil-stained shoes, his ill-fitting suit - perpetually stained with something - rumpled beyond repair, complimented by a tie that had lost its will to live halfway down his off-white shirt.

He was awful.

“Your Highness!” he blurted again, his voice tight with panic.

“Are you actively trying to annoy me?” she tilted her head. “Because it’s working. I’m annoyed.”

Zipper’s beady eyes darted frantically. He swallowed hard, wringing his hands.

“Your Grace,” He corrected. “We-”

“Too late,” she cut him off with a dramatic wave. “The moment is ruined. Move on.”

“We ran into-”

“Please tell me you’re not about to make my evening even more exhausting,” she cut him off again, pressing the middle finger of her left hand to his chapped lips. “I mean, I’m already performing miracles just by standing here in this dismal….”— She looked around, taking in her surroundings—“place.”

She shivered.

Unsure how to respond, Zipper slowly opened his mouth.

“I mean, it really, really is just… awful.” She continued before he could speak. “Would it kill you to add some color?”

“I-”

So… I don’t think I could handle any bad news.” She gestured vaguely toward the dock with her cigarette holder. “Mmmmkay?”

“There was trouble with the ship,” Zipper’s voice seeped around her finger.

“Damn it!” She scowled, taking another puff. “What did I just fucking say! That sounds exactly like bad news!”

“It’s been fixed.” He added quickly.

“Oh..” She paused. “That’s simply marvelous!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands together joyously. “Then…” she pointed toward the open crate. “Why is that empty?”

Zipper hesitated again, a flicker of unease crossing his eyes as she took another drag.

He swallowed, nervously.

“Another problem,” he admitted, reaching into his pocket.

“More bad news!?!” She whined, stomping her foot. “Why does this always happen to me!?!”

She looked back at her attendant.

“Why is life always so unbelievably difficult for the rich?” She groaned again. “I’m so unlucky!”

Nodding silently, her attendant kept her eyes focused on Zipper.

She didn’t trust him.

“It’s always poor, poor pitiful me!” The Grand Duchess continued with a dramatic whine, soothing her hand over her hair. The silk of the glove snagged on the wing of one of the butterflies, pulling at the delicate thread. “See!” She cried. “So Unlucky!”

Reaching for her mistress’s hair, her attendant freed the tangled glove with ease.

Quiet and uncomfortable, Zipper remained silent.

“Alright,” she waved at him dismissively, once she was free. “Out with it. Suspense gives me wrinkles! What’s the other problem?”

He pulled a laminated identification card from his pocket.

“This,” he turned it toward her.

Disgust painted her face. “You don’t expect me to touch that, do you?” She groaned. “It’s filthy!”

Stepping forward, her attendant plucked the card from Zipper’s hand.

Zipper jumped in surprise.

Wiping it on her shirt, she held it toward the Grand Duchess.

Pulling her sunglasses down her nose, she studied the card and the photo of the vibrant redhead who was looking back at her.

“Trevor Prince,” she read. As memories flashed through her mind, she frowned. “Isn’t he that obnoxious little brat from The Dailey Wave who brought down my diamond smuggling operation at Alfredo’s fashion event last year?

Her attendant nodded.

“I knew it!” She clapped happily. “I’m a genius, aren’t I?!?”

Scratching his head, Zipper opened his mouth to speak.

“It was rhetorical.” She rolled her eyes. “Dumbass.”

Zipper nodded, looking down.

“Ugh,” she pulled the holder from her mouth. “He practically had me in tears! So much money! So many beautiful diamonds! GONE!”

She looked to Zipper. Sighing. “It’s a real trajesty you know?”

Leaning in, her attendant whispered in her ear. Correcting her. Again.

“That’s what I said, dear. A trajesty. You know, a false, absurd, or distorted representation of something.”

Turning her blue eyes back to Zipper, she pushed up her sunglasses.

“Where is he now?”

Zipper inclined toward the ship. Another container was being lowered to the stern. “I had him thrown in with the others when we moved them.”

The Grand Duchess took another dramatic puff from her cigarette. “Well, That puts us in a real pickle now, doesn’t it?”

Exhaling slowly, the smoke curled lazily toward Zipper’s face.

“A real condomdrum.”

Leaning in, her attendant whispered in her ear. Correcting her - for a third time.

“That’s what I said, dear,” The Grand Duchess heaved. “A condomdrum. Do you know what a condomdrum is?”

Nodding, her attendant stepped back, giving up.

“I’m sure one of your clients could find use for a slender piece of prissy white ass.” Zipper jeered.

“He’s a world-famous journalist, who was once on one of the most popular morning shows on the planet, you fucking homophobe!” She spat. “Even if you got him out of Prism City, someone somewhere would see him. Someone somewhere would recognize him. Someone somewhere could cause a problem…” Her voice raised. “For me!”

“What should I have done, Your Highness?”

Turning to her attendant, the Grand Duchess sighed with exhaustion. “Darling. Be a dear and handle this.”

Stepping forward, her attendant slid Trevor’s identification card over her wrist. Reaching behind her pleated skirt, she pulled a small handgun from a hidden holster at her back.

“This is what you should have done.”

Her voice was deep, monotone, and emotionless.

Eyes wide, Zipper had no time to think - let alone react - before a silent bullet pierced through his skull.

“Dumbass.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” The Grand Duchess cried, inspecting the rip in her glove as the lifeless body of her Operations Manager fell to the ground. “This is ruined. Absolutely ruined!” She held out her finger toward her attendant. “This night is a disaster!” She continued to whine. “Make a note to call Emperor Chow tomorrow. We’ll need to get another pair!”

Her attendant stiffened, shivering as the shadows around her began to vibrate.

A warning.

“A Spectral!” she stated, her voice tight.

Their eyes met.

“MoonShadow…”

The Grand Duchess nearly dropped the cigarette holder.

“Well, isn’t that just the cherry on top of this shit-dreadful evening?!?”

The shadows vibrated again.

“He’s…” she tried to wade through the emotion. “He’s worried.”

“Worried?”

She nodded.

“Yes.” She took another breath. “Very worried.”

The Grand Duchess’ eyes fell on the identification card dangling from her attendant’s wrist. “Keep that,” she pointed at it.

Her attendant nodded.

“Get rid of that.” She gestured toward Zipper, sneering.

Crouching down, her attendant grabbed him by the ankle. Lifting him with ease, she hurled him toward the water. Far enough, he’d never wash back.

Dusting off her hands with a heavy clap she nodded affirmatively.

“Bon fiet, asshat.”

“Now,” the Grand Duchess’s face brightened. “Let’s away, darling. I’ve earned a glass of Chardonnay after this horrible ordeal.”

With a dramatic whirl of her silk coat, she turned on her heel and strutted toward the Rolls Royce, brushing back her hair.”

Once again, her glove caught on one of the butterfly combs.

“God MOTHERFUCKING Damn it!” She cried. “I really am the most unlucky girl in all the universe.”

Patting her back, her attendant guided her into the car.

Next Week: Episode 02: ｢Outrageous!｣

A party at the Estate of the Grand Duchess puts Cole and Trevor face-to-face with the Grand Duchess, a pair of mysterious (and legendary) earrings, and a whole new level of dangerously fabulous - and by the end of the night, someone’s getting arrested!