The Party
1524 Words
Travis adjusted the collar of his black leather jacket, the faint scent of whiskey and smoke clinging to him like a second skin. The mirror caught him in pieces: tousled hair, dark eyes, a lazy grin that hid too much. The kind of man mothers warned their daughters about, but daughters never listened.
Just the low hum of danger wrapped in black jeans, boots, and a shirt that fit too well. Still, the air around him screamed money and dominance.
He should’ve been excited for the party, but he wasn’t. Not really. His mind kept circling back to her.
Isla.
The way she looked when she glared at him, the way she trembled when he kissed her.
Damn it, he could still taste her.
He exhaled sharply and grabbed his keys, slipping on his Rolex out of habit. Maybe Darren was right, maybe he needed the distraction. Maybe another woman or women, another night, would finally wipe her out of his head.
He smirked at his reflection. “Let’s see what kind of trouble tonight brings.”
That was when Darren burst into the room, grinning like the devil himself.
“Bro, what’s taking so long?” Darren, his cousin and the life of every scandal, leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “The girls are already there. Like models. LA’s finest.”
Travis grabbed his jacket. “Maybe I need a distraction.”
“Finally,” Darren said with a grin. “That’s the spirit. Tonight, forget family business, forget your lawyer fantasy, and just live.”
Travis snorted. Forget Isla Simmons.
Yeah. Easier said than done.
—
Across town, the night pulsed with music and flashing lights. Fiona Simmons stood outside the Rossi mansion, clutching her phone and praying no one asked her for an invitation.
The place was insane, luxury cars lined the driveway, paparazzi lights flashed, and laughter spilled from the pool area.
Rusty, the shaggy-haired guy she’d met outside the parking lot, leaned against the wall, eyeing her.
“You said you’d hang out with me if I helped you sneak past the guards,” he said, grin crooked. “So… you owe me, right?”
Fiona rolled her eyes, forcing a flirty smile. “Yeah, yeah. Maybe later. I just need to find someone first.”
He smirked. “Travis Rossi, right?”
“None of your business.”
“Hmmm, half of the ladies are here for him.”
Her heart skipped. “They are not me.”
Inside, the air was thick with perfume and bad decisions. Fiona’s eyes darted everywhere, searching for him. The man from the magazine covers, the one with the perfect jaw and the impossible eyes.
And there he was.
At the bar. Laughing. Talking to the other handsome Rossi, Darren.
Her heart nearly stopped.
She took a deep breath, smoothing her dress. This was it. She’d meet him, talk to him, maybe even get a picture. Just something to prove she existed in his world for a second.
—
Back home, Isla’s patience snapped.
She stood in Fiona’s empty room, staring at the decoy pillows under the blanket, heart hammering.
“Fiona,” she whispered, voice trembling. “No, no, no…”
She called. Straight to voicemail. Again. And again.
The fourth time, she called Maya.
“Maya! Where’s Fiona?!”
Maya hesitated.
“Don’t lie to me!” Isla’s voice broke. “Where is she?”
A pause. Then a quiet, nervous reply.
“She’s at a party… in Beverly Hills. Darren Rossi’s party.”
Isla’s stomach dropped. “What did you just say?”
“She just wanted to see someone! Don’t freak out!”
But Isla was already moving, grabbing her keys, shoving on her coat.
The house blurred as she stormed out.
By the time she slid into the Lamborghini, her hands were shaking.
Headlights flared across her face, and the engine’s growl filled the night.
“God, Fiona,” she muttered, pressing down the accelerator. “What the hell are you doing?”
The city lights whipped past, every beat of her heart louder than the engine.
She didn’t care about traffic, or rules, or anything else.
All she could think of was her sister’s promise.
“Take care of her, Isla. Please.”
And now that promise might be slipping through her fingers.
—
The bass rattled the glass walls. The mansion was alive, neon lights, champagne sprays, bodies grinding to music that shook the floor.
Travis adjusted his leather jacket, his jaw tight. He loved parties like this, but he really isn’t interested in this one. He just wants to be wrapped around a certain hot-headed, gorgeous woman, but Darren’s voice boomed behind him…
“Come on, man! You need to loosen up. You’ve been acting like a monk lately.”
“Not tonight,” Travis muttered, already irritated.
But Darren only smirked, tugging his sleeve. “Relax. The hottest girls in L.A. are here. Maybe one or five of them will make you forget whoever’s got you this uptight.”
Travis’s eyes darkened. If only it were that simple.
No matter how many drinks, how many parties, her face still burned behind his eyelids.
Isla Simmons.
He exhaled sharply, heading to the bar. “Fine. One drink.”
—
Across the mansion, Fiona stumbled through the doors with Rusty’s arm slung around her shoulders.
Her heart was pounding from excitement and fear; she’d actually made it in.
“Holy crap,” Jenna whispered beside her. “You did it. We’re actually here.”
“Yeah,” Fiona breathed, her eyes darting around. “Now I just need to find him.”
And then she saw him.
Travis Rossi.
In an all black jacket and jeans fit, glass in hand, every inch of him is sin and sophistication. The kind of man you didn’t just look at, you felt.
Fiona froze. He was even more breathtaking in real life.
Rusty leaned in, smirking. “That's him? The guy you’re obsessed with?”
“Shut up,” she hissed, already walking away.
Her hands were shaking as she approached. “H-Hi… Travis Rossi?”
Travis looked up, momentarily surprised. “Do I know you?”
“No, I…uh…I’m Fiona. Fiona Simmons.”
His expression flickered, but he didn’t place the name. “Right. Hi, Fiona.”
He smiled politely, already glancing over her shoulder at Darren calling him.
That tiny dismissal hit harder than she expected.
She’d imagined this moment for years, him looking at her, smiling like in those magazine covers.
Not… this.
Her heart sank. “I’m a big fan. Like… huge. You’re honestly my…”
“Appreciate it,” he cut in smoothly, already stepping away.
And just like that, he was gone.
Fiona stood frozen, humiliated. Rusty appeared again with two red cups. “Forget him. He’s a prick. Drink.”
She did.
Then another.
And another.
—
Travis tried to enjoy himself, but he could swear he saw Isla everywhere
The woman is literally taking over his mind rapidly without caution.
He was mid-conversation when he caught sight of the girl talking to him so minutes ago, slumped on a couch, a scruffy guy’s hand sliding too far up her thigh. And she is obviously drunk and nearly passed out.
His blood boiled instantly.
“Hey!”
He was across the room in seconds, grabbing Rusty by the collar and yanking him up.
Rusty laughed drunkenly. “Chill, man, she’s fine…”
Travis’s fist cracked against his jaw.
The music faltered. Gasps echoed.
“Get. Him. Out.” Travis barked to security. Two men dragged Rusty away as he knelt beside Fiona, who was barely coherent.
“Hey. Errr…Fiona. Look at me.”
Her eyes fluttered. “You came back…”
He sighed, slipping an arm around her shoulders and lifting her. “You need water.”
Upstairs, the party noise faded as he sat her on the edge of a bed in one of the guest rooms.
Fiona’s head lolled, her eyes glassy. “You’re so much better in person…” she slurred.
“Alright, that’s enough.” He grabbed a bottle of water, uncapping it. “Drink this.”
Instead, she leaned closer. “You smell nice.”
“Fiona.” His tone sharpened. “You need to stop.”
She smiled lazily, her hand brushing his chest. “You don’t want me?”
He caught her wrist, firm but careful. “You’re drunk. Go to sleep.”
She leaned in again, whispering, “You want me. I can tell.”
And before he could react, she kissed him.
It was soft, clumsy, desperate. He froze, every muscle locked. He didn’t kiss her back, but he didn’t push her hard enough either.
Then…
“Fiona!”
The voice ripped through the air like a whip.
Travis pulled back instantly. Fiona blinked, dazed.
Isla stood in the doorway, wild-eyed, breathless, shaking with fury.
Her gaze darted from Fiona’s flushed face to Travis’s hands still holding her shoulders.
For a full second, no one moved.
Then Isla’s voice broke, low and deadly…
“What the hell… is going on here?”
- Writer
