Szechuan Palace's chaos enveloped them—clattering woks, chili-laced steam, and fluorescent lights glinting off red vinyl booths. Yueling Shan perched rigidly at the circular table, dwarfed by Dylan's enthusiasm as he gestured toward the kitchen.
"Volcano Chicken's their nuclear option," Dylan boasted, sweat beading on his forehead. "Three-alarm spicy, numbs your tongue, then resurrects it with—" He halted, scratching his neck. "Uh... you do spice, right?"
Yueling's knuckles whitened around her napkin. "I'm adaptable."
Silence descended. Zane scrolled through soccer scores, Bryce Sterling's jaw worked a spearmint gum like it owed him money, while Vivian Vaughn pressed against the window, tracking Adrian Stone's progress across Elm Street. Golden hour gilded Adrian's broad shoulders as he walked flanked by Simon Kent and Finn Shaw—Eldenwood's trifecta of perfection.
"Check it," Dylan nudged Yueling, oblivious to the tension. "That's Eldenwood's Apollo. Stone averages 99% while breathing pure nitrogen."
Bryce's lighter clattered onto formica. "Got diarrhea of the mouth, Rhodes?"
Dylan blinked. "You hangry or something?"
"Starving." Bryce's gaze never left Vivian, her breath fogging the glass.
When he abruptly shoved back his chair, Dylan mouthed WTF? to Zane, who replied with a fingertip circling his temple.
Dylan: "Sterling's got a bug up his—"
Zane: (Deadpan) "Try 'unrequited lust.' More accurate."
Yueling: (Eyes wide) "Should I leave?"
Vivian: (Distracted) "Hmm?"
Bryce returned, slamming a frosty tumbler before Vivian. Condensation dripped onto chili-oil stains. "Fresh-squeezed. Extra pulp."
Vivian's dimple flashed. "Savior." She stabbed the straw through the lid, gaze drifting back to Adrian's retreating figure.
Dylan: (Jealous) "Where's my juice?"
Bryce: "Thirsty? Lick the window."
The Volcano Chicken arrived—a crimson inferno swimming with peppers. Bryce methodically plucked cilantro sprigs from the dish, piling them on a saucer.
Yueling: (Hesitant) "You hate cilantro too?"
Dylan: (Snickering) "Vixen thinks it tastes like soap. Princess palate."
Vivian: "Says the guy who eats gas station sushi!"
Dylan: "It was fresh! Ish."
Bryce slid the de-cilantroed platter center-table. "Eat. Before I lose patience."
Yueling observed the dynamics with anthropological fascination. Bryce's fingers moved with surgical precision—a contrast to his reputation for shattering locker doors. Vivian accepted his ministrations like royalty, chopsticks darting toward plump chicken chunks while trading insults with Dylan.
"Zane! Back me up!" Dylan protested after Vivian stole his best piece. "She's a food terrorist!"
Zane polished his glasses. "Play stupid games..."
"Win stupid prizes!" Vivian crowed, mouth burning from Sichuan peppercorns.
Bryce watched her chug orange juice to douse the fire, a smile ghosting his lips. When Dylan retaliated by flicking a peanut at Vivian's forehead, Bryce's chair screeched backward.
"Enough." The word cut through laughter. "Want a rematch? Parking lot. Now."
Dylan froze mid-taunt. Bryce's eyes held winter.
Yueling shrank as Zane murmured, "He's not bluffing." The Sterling family's legacy included boxing championships and boardroom brawls—Bryce sparred with Olympians at his father's country club.
Dylan deflated. "Just joking, man."
Silence reclaimed the table. Bryce pushed his untouched rice toward Vivian. "Eat. Stop wasting food."
"Playing favorites, Sterling!" Dylan muttered.
Bryce didn't deny it. Vivian beamed, accepting the offering like tribute.
Vivian: "Truce?" She offered Bryce a chili-glazed carrot.
Bryce: (Ignoring it) "You're paying for Yueling's meal."
Vivian: "What?! Why?"
Bryce: "Distraction tax." He nodded toward the window where Adrian had stood. "Stone's got you brain-dead."
Dylan: "She's been like that since the Chronicle photo! Moonwalks into walls now!"
Vivian: (Throwing a napkin at him) "Liar!"
Yueling: (Softly) "I... I can pay."
Zane: "Let the princess pay, Shan. Her trust fund needs exercise."
Bryce flagged the waiter. "Separate check. Vaughn covers Shan's Volcano Chicken."
As Vivian spluttered, Yueling whispered, "Why?"
Bryce dropped cash on the table. "Welcome to the chaos, prodigy. Consider it initiation."
Outside, dusk painted Eldenwood's gates indigo. Bryce lit a clove cigarette, watching Vivian lecture Dylan about "respecting financial boundaries." Yueling lingered near Zane, hugging herself against the chill.
"You don't owe them," Zane said quietly.
Yueling startled. "What?"
"The favor. Sterling manipulates through generosity. Vaughn..." He nodded toward Vivian, now attempting to vault a parking meter. "She's chaos incarnate. But loyal."
Vivian stumbled, cursed, then dissolved into laughter when Bryce caught her elbow. His hand lingered—a possessive anchor in the twilight.
"See?" Zane adjusted his blazer. "Just don't get between them."
Yueling followed his gaze. Bryce was murmuring something that made Vivian swat his arm, her anger evaporating like morning frost. For a heartbeat, his thumb brushed her wrist.
Yueling understood then: Dylan's overtures were clumsy fireworks. Bryce's quiet gestures were landmines.