But wait..

The weight of what had just happened crushed down on you, like the whole damn building had collapsed on your shoulders. You stood frozen in that sterile hallway, bouquet limp in your hand, heart hollowed out. Every warning siren you’d ignored now screamed back in your ears. The naked selfies, the hotel invite, the dirty talk, it hadn’t been Sydney Sweeney at all. Some balding creep in his basement was probably jerking himself raw to your cock pic right now, and the thought made you shudder so hard you had to lean against the wall.

And then—

“Lucas?”

The voice was high-pitched, soft, almost musical. You turned automatically, eyes flicking toward the far side of the lobby, and did a double take so cartoonish you nearly dropped the flowers.

There she was.

Smaller than you’d ever pictured—tiny, compact, but undeniably her. That face you’d seen a hundred times on screens was right there, alive, flesh and bone. Sydney Sweeney. Relief hit like a tidal wave, washing the despair straight off you. Your legs were moving before your brain caught up, stumbling across the carpet toward her.

“What are you doing all the way down there?” she asked, squinting at you with curiosity. You walk towards her.

As you shoved the bouquet into her hands like some nervous bachelor on a reality show. “I—uh—your room. 11I. Some old lady answered.”

Her brows furrowed for half a second, then her lips curved into the kind of smirk that could knock the air from a man’s lungs.

“It’s 11 L, dumbass.”

The laugh burst out of you before you could stop it—loud, unhinged, relief exploding into comedy. She rolled her eyes but her grin lingered, shaking her head as she tucked the flowers under her arm.

“You didn’t have to bring these,” she said, voice teasing but softer now. “I mean, I told you I’m not hard to impress.”

Up close, she wasn’t dolled up, wasn’t framed in studio light or drowned in makeup. She was cute in a way that knocked you sideways—fresh-faced, messy blonde hair hanging loose, freckles faint across her cheeks. And her body—shorter than you expected, but soft and curvy in all the ways that made your mouth go dry.

She wore a loose white tank top that clung just enough to show she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath, her nipples faintly outlined against the fabric. Paired with thin pajama pants, the whole look screamed comfort, intimacy, like she’d just rolled out of bed and somehow still looked like she belonged on a magazine cover.

“Come on,” she said, tilting her head toward the hallway. “Before you get lost again.”

Her tone was playful, but there was a pull to it—an invitation. She padded ahead, bare feet whispering against the carpet, and you followed her to the right door this time. She unlocked it, flowers tucked casually against her hip, and pushed it open with her shoulder.

Inside, the suite smelled faintly of chlorine from the pool and her perfume—something light and sweet, lingering in the air. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes catching yours, the curve of her smile daring you closer.

And just like that, you stepped into her world, nerves rattling and blood rushing, knowing the night you’d been dreaming about hadn’t collapsed at all. It was only just beginning.