The scream could have shattered crystal, fine china, and whatever remained of the Heavenchild family’s already fragile sanity.

Two voices, perfectly synchronized that had been synchronized since the womb — rose in pitch until they achieved a frequency that threatened structural damage to the east wing of the estate.

"WE’RE GOING?!"

Paige had Brielle’s hands. Brielle had Paige’s hands. They were jumping. Seventeen-year-old Immediate daughters of the most powerful family on Earth, reduced to a pair of squealing, blonde-haired disasters bouncing on Brielle’s four-poster bed like it was a trampoline at a discount carnival.

Their bare feet sank into Egyptian cotton sheets that cost more than most people’s monthly rent, blonde hair flying in wild halos, faces flushed with pure, unfiltered delirium. Their hot bodies moved with unrestrained energy — full, perky breasts bouncing heavily beneath thin silk camisoles that did almost nothing to contain them.

With every enthusiastic leap those generous, firm tits jumped and jiggled hypnotically, the soft, heavy flesh straining against the delicate fabric, nipples visibly stiff and pressing through the silk like they were begging for attention.

Narrow waists flared into wide, feminine hips and long, smooth legs that flexed and stretched, their smooth, flawless skin glowing under the bedroom lights as faint beads of excited sweat traced down the deep valley of their cleavage.

"We’re going, we’re going, we’re GOING—"

The bed groaned in protest that couldn’t convince them otherwise. The mattress — hand-stitched by a Swedish artisan who only took six commissions a year — had not been engineered for this kind of abuse.

Neither had the antique oak frame, which creaked with the resigned suffering of furniture that knew its owners could replace it seventeen times over without blinking an eye.

Brielle landed on her knees, yanking Paige down with her. Both of them were breathless, flushed, grinning so hard their faces ached like they’d run a marathon on pure dopamine.

Their camisoles had ridden up from all the bouncing, exposing smooth, flat stomachs and the tempting undersides of those full, firm breasts that rose and fell rapidly with every excited breath, the heavy globes swaying and bouncing with every small movement.

"Juliette texted me an hour ago she said she’s already packing," Brielle gasped, shaking her twin’s shoulders like the news was too explosive to deliver while sitting still. "And Priya’s family confirmed yesterday. Natasha’s father pulled strings with the Infinity Chaos hotel, and — Sierra’s going too with Phei. The Howards, the Sinclairs, the Kapoors — everyone’s heading to Hell’s Paradise Island!"

Paige’s eyes went wide — lips parting with her generous hot chest hitching, her whole face flushing pink from the collarbones up as joy hit her like a freight train. Her breasts heaved with every quick breath, the thin silk clinging to the soft, rounded swells and the stiff peaks of her nipples.

"Everyone?"

"EVERYONE."

More jumping. The bed frame wheezed like it was filing for workers’ compensation.

Behind them, standing in the doorway with her hands folded and her expression carefully neutral, the head maid watched the display with the patient tolerance of someone who had seen this exact scene play out many times before.

She was mid-height with a soft, full-figured body that filled her uniform beautifully — generous breasts heavy beneath crisp black fabric, wide hips and thick thighs giving her silhouette a warm, maternal glow.

Dark hair threaded with elegant silver at the temples framed a face designed to fade into the wallpaper.

Forgettable by design. Deadly by necessity.

"If I may," she said, her voice cutting through the squealing with surgical precision.

The twins froze mid-bounce, still clutching each other like excited puppies.

"Miss Sierra departed earlier today." The maid smiled at them — warm, indulgent — her full lips parting just enough to show a hint of teeth, heavy breasts rising with a quiet breath as the expression settled into something almost maternal.

"She traveled with Master Phei on his private jet. Her parents will be joining at a later date."

The silence lasted exactly one and a half seconds.

Then Brielle made a sound that wasn’t quite human.

"She’s already with him?!"

"Indeed, Miss Brielle." The maid’s smile deepened, something dark and knowing flickering behind her eyes. "And I’ve been informed that your accommodations have been arranged on the same floor as Master Phei’s party. Same hotel. Same wing, in fact. You’ll be in very... close proximity to him, Miss Montgomery, and Miss Whitmore for the entire stay."

Paige’s hand found Brielle’s.

Their eyes met — identical blue, identical hope, identical barely-contained delirium — and something passed between them that didn’t need words. The silent language of twins who had spent seventeen years finishing each other’s sentences and sharing each other’s heartbeats.

Him.

We’ll be near him.

The boy who had turned Paradise upside down. The charity case who had become a dragon. The only person in their entire sheltered, gilded, suffocating existence who they thought was the only one capable of making them feel something other than decorative.

Paige was the first to come back to earth. She always was — three minutes older and somehow decades more cautious, carrying the weight of being the twin who thought before she leaped.

Her smile dimmed, just a fraction.

"It doesn’t matter," she said quietly. "Sir, would never let us—"

"Actually."

The maid’s interruption was gentle. Almost tender.

"Master Elliot has given explicit permission. You may spend time with Master Phei freely during the trip." A pause, measured and deliberate. "His only stipulation is that you remember your duties as Heavenchilds. And that you don’t become... too attached."

The room went still.

Not the giddy stillness of before — this was something else entirely. Something fragile and disbelieving, like the moment between lightning and thunder when the world holds its breath.

Brielle turned to Paige.

Paige turned to Brielle.

"He said yes to us spending time with Phei?" Paige whispered.

"He said yes," the maid confirmed, voice soft as velvet over steel.

"We can actually—"

"As long as you remember who you are. Yes."

Brielle’s lower lip trembled. Her eyes went glassy, lashes wet, and she pressed both hands flat against her stomach like the feeling was too big to hold in her chest alone.

"This is actually happening," she breathed.

Paige stared at her twin. Searching. Waiting for the catch, the condition, the invisible strings that always came with Heavenchild generosity.

Found nothing.

"Yeah," Paige said, and her voice cracked on the word in a way that made both of them laugh — wet, shaky laughter that held more feeling than either would ever admit aloud.

"This is actually happening."

The jumping resumed, their hot, toned bodies bouncing with renewed frenzy with their perky breasts jiggling freely beneath the thin silk, the heavy, mouth-watering bounce making the fabric cling and shift with every movement, nipples soft yet clearly outlined, flushed skin glowing under the bedroom lights as their generous chests heaved and swayed in perfect, hypnotic unison unfortunately such goodies had no one to enjoy them live.

The maid closed the door softly behind her, leaving the Heavenchild twins to their joy.

Her smile died the moment the latch clicked.

The warmth bled from her face like heat escaping a room when the furnace cuts. What remained was something cold and precise and ancient — an expression that had no business on a servant’s face because it had never belonged to a servant at all.

Because she wasn’t, was she?