The bet started the night Tom Kaulitz arrived in town, when his name was still new enough to taste unfamiliar on people’s tongues but heavy enough to quiet a room. He stood across the bar like he was assessing territory, tattoos dark against his skin, cigarette burning slow between his fingers, eyes sharp with the kind of control that didn’t need proving. I felt his attention brush mine—brief, calculating—and that was all it took. “Don’t,” my sister said immediately, following my gaze, already knowing what was coming. “I see that look. Whatever you’re thinking, stop.” I smiled into my drink. “He’s watching me like I’m a liability,” I said softly. “Men like that hate unpredictability.” She snorted. “Men like that destroy unpredictability.” I turned to her then, calm as ever. “Or they obsess over it.” She laughed, sharp and disbelieving. “You wouldn’t last a week. Tom Kaulitz doesn’t bend for anyone.” I leaned back in my chair, crossing my legs, eyes never leaving him as he finally looked away first. “That pause?” I said. “That hesitation?” I met her stare. “That’s fear.” Her smile faded, replaced with something wary. “You’re insane.” I lifted my glass. “Make it interesting, then.” A beat. “A bet?” Another beat—then she sighed. “You can’t tame him.” I clinked my glass against hers, pulse steady, already certain. “Watch me.”