Fem pov:

Roman leaned against the fountain, coffee in hand, feeling the sun warm his shoulders as the Ridge Eight congregated around him like they owned the entire courtyard. Callum was the first to break the steady murmur of the students passing by, hands waving like he was conducting some imaginary orchestra. “I swear, last night at the Sterling Gala—fuck me—I didn’t even have to try. That girl in the silver dress? Christ, she practically tripped over herself to get a photo with me. And then the bartender tried to get smart when I didn’t tip him enough. Like I give a fuck. Do you know how many people I’ve had bending over backwards for nothing more than a look? Countless.”

Bennett leaned back, spinning his watch slowly, letting it click against his wrist like punctuation. “Jesus Christ, Callum. You’re a fucking child. You can’t even walk in a room without acting like someone handed you the universe on a silver platter. Maybe try using your dick for something other than stroking your ego for once. Just once.”

Callum laughed, tossing his hair, “Shut the fuck up, Bennett. At least I don’t spend fifteen minutes measuring every word before I can actually talk to someone. You’re like some robot programmed to cockblock yourself.”

Weston smirked from across the fountain, leaning back on his elbows, legs crossed at the ankles, sunglasses sliding slightly down his nose. “You all sound pathetic. Money? Influence? Charisma? Yeah, that works sometimes. But half the time, all of you are a goddamn yawn. Girls don’t care about your wallets. They care about not being bored. That’s the tricky part—keeping them awake while pretending you’re not dying of your own self-importance.”

Miles laughed, elbowing Roman’s side, grin sharp, teeth glinting. “See? This is why I love mornings with you idiots. Watching you all flail, trying to prove you’re untouchable while making everyone else gag a little? Fucking priceless.”

Julien, hair perfectly combed, jacket buttoned like he was about to walk into a boardroom instead of a courtyard, chimed in quietly, voice calm but sharp as a knife. “Stop embarrassing yourselves. You sound like toddlers arguing over toys. I’d almost feel sorry for you if I didn’t know how entitled you all are. Pathetic.”

Roman smirked, tilting his head, coffee still in hand, watching them argue like a chess master watching pawns stumble over each other. The arrogance, the ego, the petty insults—they were music to his ears. This was how they lived, how they thrived, how they dominated everything without trying. It was messy, it was vulgar, it was deliciously human.

Callum rolled his eyes, waving dismissively. “Oh, give it a rest, Julien. We know you think you’re better than us because you can drink wine without making a scene. Congrats. Meanwhile, I got the bartender calling security for attention last night. Bet none of you even know what that feels like.”

Bennett scoffed, leaning forward, spinning his Rolex again. “I know what that feels like. I just don’t waste my time bragging about it to a bunch of children. You’re a clown, Callum, a walking ego parade. You think every girl who laughs at your jokes is in love. You’re not impressive, you’re loud.”

Weston snorted, reaching for a granola bar from his bag like the conversation didn’t even matter. “Honestly, none of this would be worth shit if the world weren’t too polite to tell you all to shut the fuck up. Girls eat you alive if you’re boring. Money only gets them to notice, not to care. But yeah, go ahead—keep measuring your egos. It’s hilarious.”

Miles leaned back, letting a low chuckle rumble from his chest. “We’re all pathetic when we get honest. But it’s fun. I swear, there’s no better entertainment than watching you idiots stumble while pretending you’re untouchable. I’d put cash on it. Even Roman looks smug, but let’s be real—he’d probably lose if someone actually challenged him.”

Roman tilted his head slightly, smirk twitching, voice low, almost under his breath, “Challenge me? Never. Watch.” He let his eyes sweep the courtyard casually, letting the group’s laughter and insults fade into the background like static.

Then Callum nudged him, eyes glinting, smirk wide. “Bet you can’t get that girl to even glance at you. The one over there with her friends. I’d put a thousand on it. She’d eat you alive, and you wouldn’t even know it.”

Roman’s smirk deepened, slow and deliberate. “Watch me,” he said, tossing his coffee cup with a flick of his wrist into the trash, voice low, almost a growl. “She’ll notice. She doesn’t even know it yet. But she will.”

Bennett snorted, leaning forward, voice sharp. “Better make it quick, or she’s gone. And if she laughs at you? I swear, I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

Weston shook his head, smirk curling, “You’re acting like this is some charity case. Just don’t make it ugly. I want it entertaining, not sad.”

Roman didn’t respond. He shifted his weight, smirk firm, chest high, backpack over one shoulder, confidence radiating like a warning. Step by step, he started toward her, letting the noise of the courtyard fade, all of it fading except for the thrill of the challenge.

And when he finally leaned in, voice cutting through the chatter, all smooth, predatory, and teasing, he said:

“Hey—”

Male pov:

Roman leaned against the fountain, coffee in hand, feeling the sun warm his shoulders as the Ridge Eight congregated around him like they owned the entire courtyard. Callum was the first to break the steady murmur of the students passing by, hands waving like he was conducting some imaginary orchestra. “I swear, last night at the Sterling Gala—fuck me—I didn’t even have to try. That dude in the silver suit? Christ, he practically tripped over himself to get a photo with me. And then the bartender tried to get smart when I didn’t tip him enough. Like I give a fuck. Do you know how many people I’ve had bending over backwards for nothing more than a look? Countless.”

Bennett leaned back, spinning his watch slowly, letting it click against his wrist like punctuation. “Jesus Christ, Callum. You’re a fucking child. You can’t even walk in a room without acting like someone handed you the universe on a silver platter. Maybe try using your dick for something other than stroking your ego for once. Just once.”

Callum laughed, tossing his hair, “Shut the fuck up, Bennett. At least I don’t spend fifteen minutes measuring every word before I can actually talk to someone. You’re like some robot programmed to cockblock yourself.”

Weston smirked from across the fountain, leaning back on his elbows, legs crossed at the ankles, sunglasses sliding slightly down his nose. “Honestly, none of this would be worth shit if the world weren’t too polite to tell you all to shut the fuck up. Girls eat you alive if you’re boring. Money only gets them to notice, not to care. But yeah, go ahead—keep measuring your egos. It’s hilarious.”

Miles leaned forward, letting a low chuckle rumble from his chest. “We’re all pathetic when we get honest. But it’s fun. I swear, there’s no better entertainment than watching you idiots stumble while pretending you’re untouchable. I’d put cash on it. Even Roman looks smug, but let’s be real—he’d probably lose if someone actually challenged him.”

Roman tilted his head slightly, smirk twitching, voice low, almost under his breath, “Challenge me? Never. Watch.” He let his eyes sweep the courtyard casually, letting the group’s laughter and insults fade into the background like static.

Then Callum nudged him, voice low, a grin spreading, “Bet you can’t get that guy to even glance at you. The one over there with the friends. I’d put a thousand on it. He’d eat you alive, and you wouldn’t even know what hit you.”

Roman’s smirk deepened, slow and deliberate. “Watch me,” he said, tossing his coffee cup with a flick of his wrist into the trash, voice low, almost a growl. “He’ll notice. He doesn’t even know it yet. But he will.”

Bennett snorted, leaning forward, voice sharp. “Better make it quick, or he’s gone. And if he laughs at you? I swear, I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

Weston shook his head, smirk curling, “You’re acting like this is some charity case. Just don’t make it ugly. I want it entertaining, not sad.”

Roman didn’t respond. He shifted his weight, smirk firm, chest high, backpack over one shoulder, confidence radiating like a warning. Step by step, he started toward him, letting the noise of the courtyard fade, all of it fading except for the thrill of the challenge.

And when he finally leaned in, voice cutting through the chatter, all smooth, predatory, and teasing, he said:

“Hey—”