The Paradise Princesses.
That's what they called themselves—the daughters of Paradise's elite, the crè de la crè of generational wealth and inherited power. A private group chat that had existed since the founding mbers were fourteen, passed down through social generations like a crown dipped in venom and wrapped in trust funds.
mbership wasn't bought. It was bestowed. You didn't apply to be a Paradise Princess—you were born into it, or you were nothing. A genetic lottery win, complete with the consolation prize of crippling expectations and daddy issues you could ski down.
The rules were simple: no screenshots, no leaks, no boys, no exceptions. What happened in the chat stayed in the chat, protected by the kind of mutually assured destruction that only worked when everyone had equally devastating secrets to hide—like nuclear warheads pointed at each other's McMansions.
Currently, the roster read like a who's who of Arican aristocracy—the kind that made Forbes look like a participation trophy:
Sierra Montgory — The Hell Bitch Queen herself. Daughter of the Montgory legal empire—lawyers so ruthless they billed by the soul. Seventeen, senior year, and until recently the undisputed apex predator of Ashford Elite. Ice in her veins, fire in her glare, and a reputation for making girls cry in bathrooms just by existing.
Elena Ashford — The Virgin Succubus. Her family literally owned the school—Ashford Elite Academy, Ashford Plaza, Ashford dical Center. Old money so old it probably funded the Mayflower and then sued the passengers for emotional distress.
Eighteen, a collector of n and broken hearts, and the only person Sierra had ever considered a genuine threat. Beautiful enough to start wars, shaless enough to finish them in bed.
Maddie Whitmore — Oil empire. Her family's rigs dotted every ocean like acne on a teenager's face, and her trust fund had trust funds that had offshore accounts. Seventeen, perpetually horny in the chat, and the kind of girl who said things that made everyone else choke on their organic, fair-trade, gluten-free coffee.
Amber Castellano — The hot rude neighbor's daughter. Brett's sister—Castellano Shipping & Global Logistics. If it crossed an ocean, her family probably moved it—and charged extra for the emotional baggage. Seventeen, an when she wanted to be, aner when she didn't try.
Jade Park — Korean automotive dynasty. Her grandfather had built cars for dictators; her father built them for celebrities who wanted bulletproof egos. Seventeen, Sierra's closest ally after Maddie, and the one most likely to have a body in her trunk if the situation called for it—discreetly disposed of, of course.
Victoria Maxton — Eldest of the Maxton children. Nineteen, currently away at college, and technically Phei's cousin. The kind of beautiful that made professors forget their lectures and the kind of cruel that made underclassn cry in bathrooms—family tradition.
Sienna Maxton — The quiet Maxton. Seventeen, sa age and grade as Phei, and desperately trying to pretend the current situation wasn't happening to her family—like an ostrich with better hair.
Delilah Maxton — Danton's twin. Eighteen, graduating this year, and currently in the middle of what could only be described as a slow-motion breakdown about her step-cousin's apparent transformation into walking sex and vengeance.
Natasha Sinclair — Her mother was Chief of Staff. Her father was Ambassador to the UN and sat on three defense committees. Always the voice of "reason" in the chat—which usually ant she was the first to crack under pressure and suggest sothing illegal but classy.
Gianna Romano — The mafia princess, and it wasn't being taphorical. Her family ran "legitimate businesses" up and down the Eastern seaboard, the kind that ca with security details and occasional FBI surveillance.
Seventeen, fearless, and absolutely unhinged when the mood struck—like a hurricane with perfect nails.
Nastya Romano — Gianna's older sister. Nineteen, sa year as Victoria, at college too, and the only person who could occasionally control Gianna's more chaotic impulses. The "responsible" Romano, which was like being the driest fish in the ocean.
Clara Moreau — Old money French fashion, the kind that traced back to actual aristocracy before various revolutions made that awkward. Eighteen, perpetually acting morally superior while doing the exact sa things as everyone else—just with better accents.
Yuki Tanaka — Tanaka Technologies. Her family's company made the chips in half the world's phones and most of its military equipnt. Seventeen, and the one most likely to approach any problem like a science experint—complete with control groups and ethical violations.
Priya Kapoor — Indian pharmaceutical royalty—Kapoor Pharmaceuticals. Her family held patents on drugs half the world needed to survive. Seventeen, quiet power with a smile that could negotiate hostage situations.
Juliette Howard — Banking aristocracy. Her family had been financing empires since the Gilded Age. Seventeen, the only girl among two older brothers, which ant she'd learned to fight dirty before she could walk. Sweet face, killer instinct.
Zara Preston — Preston dia Empire. If it was on a screen, her family probably owned the network. Zack's sister. Seventeen, beautiful and aware of it, with a talent for making scandals disappear—or creating them.
Sixteen girls. Sixteen fortunes. Sixteen sets of secrets sharp enough to slit throats.
And right now, every single one of them was losing their collective shit over one boy.
One fucking boy.
The charity case who'd sohow beco the most dangerous thing in Paradise.
Phei Ryujin Tiamat.
[PARADISE PRINCESSES - PRIVATE]
[Tuesday, 7:43 AM]
Maddie: who else woke up wet thinking about certain hands
Natasha: MADDIE ITS 7AM
Priya: her pussy runs on a different tizone apparently
Maddie: it runs on PHEI TI now
Jade: girl sa
Across Paradise, in the Montgory estate's east wing, Sierra was mid-bite into a croissant when her phone buzzed.
She glanced at the screen.
Choked.
Croissant flakes sprayed across her silk robe as she frantically typed back.
Sierra: Can you whores shut up for FIVE MINUTES
Elena: Soone's cranky. Long night, Sierra? Couldn't sleep? 😏
Gianna: she's DEFLECTING
Amber: the queen is STRESSED
Sierra: I'm not stressed I'm SURROUNDED BY IDIOTS
Zara: that's literally our group na
Clara: Perhaps if Sierra would simply admit—
Sierra: Clara I will tell everyone about Nice
Clara: WHAT HAPPENED IN NICE STAYS IN NICE
Maddie: LMAOOO THE SOMLIER
Natasha: wine boy nearly uncorked sothing in you huh clara
Clara: HE WAS A PROFESSIONAL
Gianna: professional dick giver maybe
Nastya: GIANNA
Gianna: WHAT I calls it like I sees it
Priya: the only thing he was about to somlier-ing was clara's—
Clara: FINISH THAT SENTENCE AND I'LL RUIN YOUR FAMILY'S FDA APPROVAL
Priya: ...
Priya: touché bitch
In her bedroom at the Maxton mansion, Delilah was supposed to be doing her hair.
Instead, she was sitting on the bathroom floor, phone in both hands, reading at the speed of light. Her half-curled hair hung limp on one side, curling iron abandoned and probably about to burn the counter.
She didn't care.
This was more important than hair.
This was about him.
Delilah: CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE ACTUAL ISSUE
Jade: which issue
Jade: the dick issue
Jade: the video issue
Jade: the "our friend is getting absolutely demolished daily" issue
Amber: all of the above honestly
Delilah: THE VIDEO ISSUE
Delilah: WHY IS IT STILL IN THIS CHAT
Yuki: because we keep watching it
Delilah: STOP WATCHING IT
Elena: You first, darling. Tracker says 28 views.
Delilah: THE TRACKER IS A HATE CRI
Delilah threw her phone onto the bathroom counter, then imdiately picked it back up.
She couldn't not look.
It was like a car crash. A really hot car crash. With hands. And a tongue. And—
Stop it. He's your cousin. COUSIN.
Her phone buzzed again.
She looked.
Of course she looked.
Maddie: 28 tis delilah
Maddie: that's almost once per hour since it dropped
Delilah: I WAS RESEARCHING
Priya: researching WHAT
Priya: tongue trajectory???
Juliette: orgasm velocity???
Gianna: Now handso cousin anatomy???
Delilah: I HATE YOU ALL
Zara: you love us
Delilah: I TOLERATE YOU AT BEST
Sienna: That's my line.
Three doors down from Delilah, Sienna sat on her bed with her phone facedown on the mattress.
She wasn't going to look.
She wasn't.
She'd been doing so well. Hadn't checked the chat in almost an hour. Had almost convinced herself that none of this was happening, that her cousin hadn't beco the most discussed dick in Paradise overnight, that her life was normal and fine and definitely not spiraling into chaos.
The phone buzzed.
She didn't look.
It buzzed again.
She didn't—
Goddammit.
Sienna: Can we please not do this today
Amber: SIENNA LIVES
Jade: the ice robot speaks
Maddie: girl what are you on
Sienna: Trying to pretend this chat doesn't exist.
Sienna: Failing, apparently.
Natasha: you can't hide from us sienna
Natasha: we're like herpes
Natasha: forever
Priya: natasha what the fuck
Natasha: SUPPORTIVE herpes
Clara: that's not better
Victoria: What is wrong with all of you
Maddie: VICTORIA
Jade: QUEEN OF DENIAL
Amber: how's college
Victoria: Full of people less annoying than you. What's happening with my family.
Elena: Your step-cousin has beco a sex god and your sisters are coping poorly.
Victoria: He's NOT a sex god he's PHEI
Yuki: tracker says you watched 31 tis victoria
Victoria: THE TRACKER IS BROKEN
Yuki: I built it
Yuki: it's not
Victoria: ...
Victoria: I was threat-assessing
Gianna: is that what the kids are calling it
Nastya: "threat-assessing" for 31 viewings
Zara: that's a lot of threats to assess
Juliette: very thorough threat assessnt
Priya: extrely detailed threat analysis
Victoria: I HATE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU
The chat erupted into chaos—frantic ssages, alliances forming and breaking, everyone trying to figure out the new social landscape that had erged in the span of forty-eight hours.
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