Page 167 of Sinful Desires
To inherit the rot and smile while it swallowed us whole.
“I’d say fuck them all and let’s party like crazy tonight!” Antoine shouted, voice already half gone.
And we fucking did.
Hard.
Until the night bled out. Until the drugs hit so hard we couldn’t remember our own names. Until alcohol had melted the weight of youth and bloodlines and expectation into nothing but noise.
The music pounded through bone, sweat coated every inch of skin, and nothing else mattered.
By 3 a.m., it was a warzone of privilege.
Bodies tangled in the grass, on marble floors, in half-flooded bathrooms.
And then, sirens. Flashlights. The distant chug of an engine.
Coastal police pulled up in a navy boat, floodlights tearing through the dark. Dozens of officers stormed the property, shouting over the music, forcing everyone out like they were animals.
Girls scrambled for their tops. Someone puked into the roses.
The whole fucking illusion snapped in half.
“Welcome to the party, officers,” I said, shirt unbuttoned, skin slick with sweat and neon paint, some girl’s glowing handprint smeared across my chest.
I raised a champagne bottle. “May I offer you a drink? Or are we skipping straight to the handcuffs?”
One of them stepped forward, jaw clenched tightly beneath his salt-and-pepper beard.
“Everyone off the property.Now. The owners of the surrounding islands filed official complaints. Noise, trespassing, suspected drug activity?—”
He didn’t even get to finish. Because in the corner of my eye, I saw them coming.
My parents.
Storming down the path, faces red, fury simmering behind tight jaws and designer collars. My mother in stilettos, swatting cops away like gnats. My father behind her, slow and silent, the kind of silence that broke ribs.
Putain.
Worse than cops.
My mother’s voice was ice. “You’re an embarrassment, Théo.”
I grinned, swaying. “Bonsoir, Maman.”
My father’s teeth barely moved. “Inside. Now.”
They made their way to the entrance, opened the door, and vanished as the last stragglers stumbled over the bridge. Their legs were jelly from booze and pills, clutching at officers liketoddlers. One girl lost a heel. Another dropped a joint and started crying.
The police boat revved and peeled off.
And just like that, the party died. Cold as a grave.
I grabbed the closest bottle of vodka, took a swig, and let it fall into the grass as I stumbled forward, my head splitting with the start of a headache.
Chandeliers lit the hall, shadows bleeding across wood and red Persian carpets.
I found them in the living room.
