It started, as most things after the villa did, with a group chat message you didn't ask for.

Aaron Evans had sent it at 9:47 a.m., which meant he'd been awake for at least three hours and had probably already annoyed half of Los Angeles. The message was simple enough: Drinks at my place Thursday. Whole cast's in town. Don't be boring.

That was four days ago. Now you're standing outside Aaron's rented house in the Hills, and the bass from the outdoor speakers is already rattling the glass in the windows. You can hear Kordell laughing somewhere inside, Rob's voice cutting through the noise with something sarcastic, and JaNa shrieking about God knows what.

The last time you were all in one room like this was the reunion. Before that, the villa. Before that, a version of your life that didn't include Miguel Harichi standing in your kitchen at 2 a.m., eating your leftovers straight from the container while he told you he missed you.

That version ended. You ended it. And you've spent the last four months convincing yourself that was the right call.

The door swings open before you can knock. Aaron grins, a drink already in his hand, too much energy for someone hosting a party that started twenty minutes ago.

He steps aside, and the house opens up behind him: high ceilings, low lighting, too many people you recognize and a few you don't. A camera flashes near the patio. Serena's talking to Liv with her back against the wall. Kenny's by the bar. And somewhere deeper in the house, past the kitchen and the sliding glass doors, you can hear Miguel laughing.

That laugh. You'd know it anywhere.