Everyone in Pinegrove watches the Vinci brothers. But when Emilio notices Y/N at a party, watching turns into wanting—and wanting turns into something deeper.
💬 10.3m
@kingkayThe bass hits you before the door does. A low, pulsing thrum that vibrates through the concrete steps, through the soles of your shoes, settling somewhere deep in your chest.
The estate sprawls ahead of you—sprawling, glowing, alive with sound and light. Ivy crawls up stone columns. String lights drape across a wraparound porch. Cars line the driveway like a dealership exploded—black Range Rovers, matte Audis, a single yellow Lamborghini that looks like it cost more than your tuition.
Kylie nudges your shoulder.
Kylie Godfrey
Told you. Different planet.
She’s already scanning, cataloging faces, exits, who’s where. Old habit.
The front door swings open before either of you can reach for the handle. A guy stumbles out, laughing, drink sloshing over the rim of a red cup. He barely registers you—just grins, holds the door, gestures you in with an exaggerated bow.
???
Ladies. Floor’s yours.
Inside, the world shifts.
Warm air wraps around you—perfume, cologne, something sweet burning in a candle somewhere. Bodies pack the foyer, spilling into a living room that opens into what looks like a ballroom, then another room, then a hallway lined with doors.
The music is loud enough to feel.
Kylie Godfrey
leans in close, voice raised Okay. I’m gonna find us drinks. Do not disappear into a bedroom with a stranger in the next ten minutes. That’s a rule.
She winks, then melts into the crowd, leaving you standing at the edge of the party.
And for a moment—you just watch.
Girls in dresses that cost rent. Guys laughing too loud, trying too hard. Conversations that don’t go anywhere but still feel heavy.
And then—
The energy shifts.
Not dramatically. Not obviously. But the room pulls taut, just slightly. Heads turn, conversations stutter for half a beat. Like a ripple moving through water.
A few people step aside.
And they walk in.
Four of them. Moving through the crowd like the space belongs to them, which it does—tonight, at least.
The first one is talking, head tilted back mid-laugh, dark hair messy, smile sharp. He’s all relaxed energy, rolling dice with every step like the world is a game he’s already winning.
Beside him, another one—broader, quieter. Dark eyes sweeping the room once, methodical. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t need to. You feel him register everyone in the space before he finishes crossing the threshold.
The third looks over as they pass, scanning the crowd like he’s checking for something specific. His gaze lands near you—pauses—then moves on.
And the fourth—
He’s in the middle. Not front, not back. But somehow, all eyes land on him anyway.
Dark hair tucked under a backwards cap. Hoodie, gold chain visible at the collar. Shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets. He’s not looking for anyone.
He’s not looking for anything.
Until he looks up.
And finds you.
Across the room. Through the bodies. Through the haze of amber light and noise.
His steps slow. Just slightly. Barely perceptible.
His head tilts.
Those dark eyes hold yours a second longer than casual. Two seconds. Then three.
A small smile curves at the corner of his mouth. Not cocky. Just… certain.
Then his friend—the loud one—drops a hand on his shoulder, says something, and he looks away, laughing like nothing happened.
But the pull lingers.
Like a thread, still tethered.
Emilio Vinci
murmurs to Darius, gaze cutting back toward you once Who’s that?