The VVIP lounge wasn't just so exclusive rich people's retreat—it was Tessa's spot.
Her territory.
Before Parker ca into the picture, this was where she spent her ti when she wasn't at school, ho, or out with friends. If Tessa wasn't with soone, she was here. If she disappeared off the grid? She was here.
And it looked like it.
The massive space was a whole different world—dim golden lighting, plush velvet seating, expensive bottles displayed like trophies, and the kind of privacy that scread "you can commit a felony here and no one would know."
Atalanta sank into one of the ridiculously soft chairs, stretching her legs as she flipped through the VVIP edition of Torque & Tycoons—a magazine so exclusive that even billionaires couldn't get their hands on it unless they were directly in the industry.
And, wow.
The Wilders didn't just sell cars. They decided what rich people drove.
Each page was practically a flex—new hypercars, custom models, one-off commissions that made normal Ferraris look like rental Civics.
Yet…
That one car? The beast Tessa showed them? Not. Fucking. Here.
Atalanta frowned, flipping back and forth. She'd seen stupidly expensive cars, military-grade hypercars, even stuff that probably needed governnt clearance to own—but not that one.
Was it a secret?
She glanced up at Tessa and Parker, who were locked in so serious-ass conversation in hushed tones. No jokes. No flirting. Just straight business.
Atalanta wasn't about to ask.
She didn't want to know.
Instead, she tossed her phone on the table, exhaling. That's when it buzzed with a ssage.
Atlanta leaned back, one leg crossed over the other, lazily scrolling through her phone while a server quietly placed a fresh drink next to her. The VVIP treatnt was kinda addicting.
Across from her, Parker and Tessa were locked in conversation, Parker as composed as ever, Tessa flipping her hair with that spoiled billionaire daughter confidence, her voice dropping just low enough that Atlanta couldn't eavesdrop. Annoying.
Her phone buzzed.
Cassandra: Where are you?
Atlanta smirked, fingers tapping lazily.
Atlanta: With Parker.
Instant bubbles.
Cassandra: EXCUSE ?? WHERE.
Atlanta took a slow sip of her drink, barely holding back a laugh.
Atlanta: Damn, why you sound like I just said I'm with your man? Relax.
Parker shifted, leaning back against the couch, his movents stupidly smooth, like everything he did was on purpose. Next to him, Tessa picked up a tiny pastry from a gold-plated tray, barely glancing at it before taking a bite. Billionaire kids ate like the world was their buffet.
Cassandra: BITCH, I AM RELAXED. WHERE IS HE.
Another tray of snacks appeared, like magic. Atlanta grabbed one, humming in satisfaction.
Atlanta: Sowhere expensive. Too expensive for you. Like, the kinda place where even the air costs money.
Cassandra's aggressive typing bubbles popped up so fast.
Cassandra: FIRST OF ALL, FUCK YOU. SECOND OF ALL, I HAVE MONEY.
Atlanta snorted. Across the room, Tessa tucked her legs under her, still deep in conversation with Parker, her expression shifting between charming and dead serious. She had that billionaire negotiation face on. Interesting.
Atlanta: Sweetie, you're rich, but this is old money rich. You walk in here, and a butler would kindly tell you to use the back door.
Cassandra's next text ca in violent.
Cassandra: DROP. THE. LOCATION.
Atlanta licked pastry crumbs off her fingers, glancing at Parker. His elegance was just so unnecessary, the way he sat there like he owned the world, while Tessa spoke with the kind of ease that only ca from never hearing the word no in her life.
Atlanta: Why? So you can embarrass yourself in front of the 1%?
Cassandra: NO. SO I CAN SEE PARKER. UNSUPERVISED. WITH YOU. SUSPICIOUS.
Atlanta grinned.
Cassandra was obsessed with Parker in a way that was borderline unhinged. Not like she had a crush—no, this was seer obsession.
Like, she saw so weird prophetic shit and now Parker was her favorite docuntary series.
Atlanta: You sound like a jealous girlfriend.
Cassandra: I AM NOT JEALOUS. I AM CONCERNED.
Atlanta: Right. And my hair is naturally this perfect.
Tessa grabbed another snack without looking, Parker shifting just slightly, his gaze flicking over to Atlanta for half a second before going back to Tessa. Okay, nosy.
Cassandra: SHUT UP AND DROP THE LOCATION.
Atlanta: Say please.
Cassandra: FUCK YOU.
Atlanta: That's not "please."
A second passed, then—
Cassandra: Please, you whore.
Atlanta cackled, making a passing attendant glance her way.
Atlanta: Awww, see? That wasn't so hard. But no.
Cassandra: I WILL KILL YOU.
Atlanta: Babe, you can't afford my funeral.
A pause. Then—
Cassandra: I hate you.
Atlanta: No, you don't. Now go be creepy sowhere else.
Cassandra: This isn't over.
Atlanta grinned, locking her phone as a fresh round of drinks arrived. Across from her, Parker murmured sothing that made Tessa smirk, her nails tapping against her glass. Whatever they were plotting, Atlanta wasn't about to ask.
She was having way too much fun already.
*
Parker had dug deep into the Wilders the day Tessa showed up at school and then sohow ended up moving in with him. Like, obviously, he wasn't just gonna take that at face value—that was so mafia-tier shit if you thought about it. So he spent the night researching the fuck out of her family, figuring out exactly who they were, what they did, and why the hell they were so damn powerful.
And yeah—they were a big deal.
The Wilders didn't just sell luxury cars—they controlled the entire market of high-end, custom, "so-exclusive-even-billionaires-have-waitlists" type vehicles. If a man had a stupid amount of money and an ego to match, chances were, he bought from the Wilders.
Fast forward to now—post-awakening, post-insane shit going down—and before the girls disappeared into the Training Space, Parker had brought it up to Tessa. They were lying there, still tangled in the aftermath of round one, and Parker, because he was Parker, casually said—
"So, I'm thinking about buying so cars."
And just like that, Tessa lit up like fucking Christmas.
She'd been waiting for this. Apparently, she'd wanted to talk to him about it too, but things had been moving so fast, she never got the chance. But, of course, Parker had brought it up first.
Because he's him.
And Tessa? She was so happy that Parker, being the absolute nace that he was, had to fuck her again in the bathroom just to make the point.
Now, here's where shit got interesting. Apparently, Tessa hadn't just waltzed into Parker's life and decided to move in with him like so rebellious rich girl cliché. No, no—she had to negotiate that shit like a corporate rger. And why? Because—shocker—her dad was not having it.
Like, at all. Dude straight-up refused. Shut that shit down before it even left the driveway. Probably sat there in so ridiculous handmade Italian suit, sipping whiskey in a gold-trimd glass, and said sothing dramatic like, "Over my dead body." Typical overprotective billionaire dad energy.
But here's where it gets spicy—her grandfather stepped in. And the thing about the Wilders? When Grandfather Wilder speaks, shit happens.
So Tessa's dad—who probably thought he was the boss of the family—had to sit his ass down while the actual boss made the call. And yeah, sure, Grandpa Wilder gave the green light for her to move in with Parker. But, obviously, there was a catch. Because there's always a fucking catch.
The Condition!
Tessa had one month to do sothing. And not just anything—sothing that the Wilders themselves thought was "too much" for her. Which was crazy, because… she's a fucking Wilder. The sa Tessa Wilder who could probably drive a Bugatti before she could walk and hustle billionaires out of their money with a single smile.
Like, what the hell did they think was "too much" for her? Selling a car to the Pope? Driving blindfolded? Outsmarting her own family? Whatever it was, it had to be so top-tier, life-changing, blood-oath-level type of deal. And if she didn't pull it off? She had to go back ho. No discussions. No negotiations. No extensions.
And—most importantly—no Parker. Which, let's be real, was not fucking happening.
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