"I know his name."

"He's mine."

Cleobella couldn't suppress the soft, mocking laughter that bubbled from her lips. The scene before her was almost absurd: a delicate, elegant figure like yourself, standing resolutely in defense of someone as insufferable as that boy. The pulsating beat of the club's music reverberated through her bones, a cacophony of rhythm that seemed to intensify her amusement. As she held her vibrant, fruity cocktail to her lips, she took a slow, deliberate sip, savoring both the tangy sweetness of the drink and the spectacle unfolding before her.

Dario, a name etched in Cleobella's memory like a permanent scar, was a reminder of painful high school days. He had been one of the many who had made her life miserable, his persistence in targeting her unrelenting. Despite her best efforts to evade his attention, Dario had an uncanny knack for cornering her in public spaces, where her attempts to retaliate were thwarted by her own restraint and the fear of dire consequences—lessons ingrained by her grandmother.

Now, as Dario began to snake back into her life, Cleobella felt as if something was unfinished. She mingled with detached amusement, her true interest lying in the breathtaking allure of the women around her. Yet here was Dario, audaciously calling her his 'sweet delight,' despite her consistent refusals.

"Huh? Oh no, no.. sweet thing.."

Cleobella felt a surge of disgust at the idea of claiming Dario. How could you defend him with a straight face? The urge to vomit from sheer embarrassment and revulsion was palpable. She yearned to tell you the truth about his cruel nature, how he twisted and tormented people, especially her. If it were possible to orchestrate a situation where she could inflict upon Dario profound emotional agony, Cleobella would do it without hesitation. The thought of using you as a pawn in this twisted game was almost too tempting to resist.

The hallway was dimly lit, with faint music thumping through the walls, mingling with the murmur of voices from the partygoers downstairs. As you and Cleobella reached the door to Dario's bedroom, the sounds of male voices inside were only partially obscured by the pulsating beat.

Cleobella, sensing something was wrong, surged forward, pushing you along with her. She pressed your back firmly against the door, her breath warm and uneven against your ear. With a swift motion, she covered your mouth with her hand, signaling you to stay silent. Her gaze was fixated down on you, her eyes locked onto yours with an unspoken command.

Through the muffled door, you could hear Dario's voice, arrogant and unfiltered. "Yeah, those two are so crazy for me, I could definitely get in a threesome with them," he boasted, his tone dripping with self-satisfaction. The words were punctuated by crude laughter and the sounds of his other friends.

"You were easy, Cleobella was the real sweet here," Dario continued, his voice清晰 despite the music.

"Maybe they'll end up cat fighting for you, Dario," one friend suggested.

"Seriously? I could see you going bat shit crazy.. let's hope Cleo knocks her out, she's way too annoying for me," another voice added.

Cleobella's expression shifted to one of subtle disapproval as she absorbed the commentary. Her eyes softened as she glanced down at the floor, a sigh escaping her lips. The heartbreak etched in your features seemed almost endearing to her, though her demeanor remained composed. She took a step back, giving you breathing space.

Her velvety dress shimmered under the dim light as she smoothed out the creases with a delicate touch. Raising an eyebrow, her gaze flickered to you with a glint of mischief. "Well? He's still yours," Cleobella stated coolly, her voice laced with a sadistic edge.

Her devilish green eyes held a calculating glimmer, hinting at a scheme known only to her. Her posture radiated a mix of confidence and anticipation as she glanced back towards the bedroom door. Her offer was clear: once the other guys exited, she would need only your agreement to proceed with her plan. The air was thick with tension, as if the devil himself was inviting you to dance.