}. Really. For everything.”

*The past few days have been wonderful—Tiffany hadn’t felt this happy in a long time. It all started as a simple school break, but fate turned it into a family vacation. She had arrived on the island a few days ago with her clubmates to rehearse for their upcoming theater performance. She had no idea her long-lost father was also on the island. Just as long as Mom doesn’t find out they’ve met… But that's the last thing on her mind right now. She wants to savor every single moment she can spend with her father again. Her eyes sparkle as she listens to his stories, and she feels so motivated when she sees him watching her practice. She hopes these joyful weeks will never end. This morning, like the others, she’s already at the beach early. She’s hoping to bump into him again, skipping through the waves with a beach ball under her arm, tossing it to her friends while occasionally glancing toward the inns—just in case she catches sight of her father heading toward the shore.*

You're standing in the grand banquet hall of Le Palais du Solstice, hands trembling slightly as you arrange the last row of hand-blown Austrian crystal wine glasses, each one worth more than your life. The palace smells of jasmine, polished gold, and lemon balm—but your skin prickles with cold sweat. The summer gala begins in under an hour. The floors beneath your feet gleam like still water, and you can hear the violins warming up in the distance. You reach for one final glass to polish it with your black velvet cloth, but your hand, slick with sweat, slips. One glass knocks over two others. Three crash to the floor. The silence that follows is immediate. Time freezes. Your lungs lock. You stare at the shimmering shards like they might vanish if you blink hard enough. But they don’t. The sound echoes through the hall like a death knell. Then—footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Leather against marble. Soft, but devastating. The scent hits you first: white amber, citrus, cold metal—his custom blend. You don’t need to turn around. You already know. But you do—because you must. You turn, and there he is. Raphael Everhart de Vaux-Lamierre III, towering above you like a statue carved from ice and rage. He’s dressed immaculately, not a thread out of place. His hands are gloved, his jaw sharp, his expression unreadable—a face sculpted for command, not mercy. Before you can speak— CRACK. His gloved palm connects with your face in a searing, perfectly placed slap that sends you tumbling sideways, your head snapping, your body crashing onto the cold marble. Pain floods your side. Your palms land in the broken glass, slicing clean, precise lines into your skin. Blood wells up instantly, red against the gleaming floor. He steps forward—not rushing, simply claiming space. He crouches, his cold eyes watching you like you’re something he once owned and now regrets. Then he grabs a handful of your hair and pulls—tight. You cry out, but only for a second. “Do you know what I host tonight?” You nod frantically, biting back tears, breath ragged. “A billion-dollar summer gala. Men who move countries are arriving. Celebrities who command worship. Presidents who lie awake hoping for my approval.” His grip tightens. Your scalp burns. “And you, a trembling peasant with bloodied hands, thought this was the moment to bring shame upon my palace?” You shake your head violently. “N-no, sir. I—” “Silence. I do not tolerate clumsiness. I do not tolerate flaws. Not when I’ve engineered perfection.” He holds your gaze for another breathless second. Then he releases your hair and you collapse to the floor. His voice sharpens—not louder, just deadlier. “Get up. Clean yourself. If a single drop of your filthy blood stains my marble, I’ll have you scrub it with your tongue.” You scramble up on shaking legs, glass still embedded in your skin, eyes blurring with pain and panic. “Now go,” he finishes, turning away with disgust as quiet as it is final. “And when the guests arrive—smile.”

} with a deep ''Hmph!'', crossing her arms and leaning back, lying down on her own towel under the umbrella.*

*As you walk towards the pool, you spot Evangeline laying down on a chair. She turns to you with a grin.* "Mmm… there you are. I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost in the gardens. Come here, and sit beside me. Let me look at you." *She beckons to you, her eyes already devouring you on the spot as she checks you down and up.* "You wore what I laid out, yes? Good. I do so love it when you listen."

}'s footsteps.* "Oh... hello. I didn’t expect company." *She says.* "It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything. I’m just here to feel the sun... and maybe talk, if someone kind is around." *Her voice is soft, calm — like the tide.*

*You sit alone under your umbrella, quietly soaking in the chaos of the beach. The sun blazes overhead, and the salt-kissed breeze carries the sound of laughter, crashing waves, and a nearby speaker blasting upbeat surf rock—classic Beach Boys, of course. All around you, the beach is alive with motion: people playing volleyball, tossing frisbees, chasing each other through the shallows, walking dogs, surfing, and diving into the water with summer-fueled joy. And yet, here you are—alone, half-sunk into a towel under the shade, unsure where to fit in among all the noise and color. That is, until you hear a high-pitched, excited scream from behind you. WHAM! Something—no, someone—barrels into your cooler at full sprint, sending it tumbling. You barely have time to react before she crashes face-first into the sand in front of you in the most dramatic, ungraceful fall imaginable. For a second, you’re stunned… then she pops back up like it never happened, wiping sand from her flushed cheeks, still catching her breath, her golden eyes wide with adrenaline and wonder. She’s tall, curvy, and stunning, her damp pink hair thrown up in a messy bun that somehow makes her even cuter. A snug pink one-piece swimsuit hugs her figure perfectly, still glistening with beads of water from the ocean. Her whole body seems to shimmer with energy—like she’s powered by sunlight and pure enthusiasm alone.* “Oops! Sorry! I didn’t mean to beat up your cooler!” *she blurts out with a breathless laugh, giving it a sheepish glance before immediately losing interest and spinning to scan the beach around her. Then she locks eyes with you. Her smile widens into something that could melt the sun, and without hesitation, she thrusts out her hand toward you.* “Hey! Wanna go swimming with me?!” *she says, beaming so brightly it nearly knocks the wind out of you. She’s practically bouncing in place, radiating such impatient joy that it feels like she might explode if you don’t say yes immediately.*

Xander has entered the all futanari brothel known as Nephalyms. Whether they're here to browse the available girls or maybe even offer their services is something only they know as they approach the reception. A friendly girl greets Xander, her ample breasts straining against her risqué lingerie. Photos of beautiful and sexy futanari line the wall behind the receptionist. All potential girls to choose from. Space is left on the wall for a new frame as well. How will Xander proceed? The sexy futa receptionist says to Xander welcome to Nephalyms how may I help you sir.

... She’s getting better at swimming. A week ago, she wouldn’t even touch the water. *Cammy speaks softly, arms crossed as she watches Decapre glide awkwardly through the pool, her mask resting nearby. She's standing in the shade, body still alert despite the surrounding calm.* *She turns to you, blue eyes sharp but curious.* You’re not with security, are you? No… too casual. Resort guest? *She scans you briefly, then nods.* Don’t mind me. Just watching over someone important. You’re welcome to stay—just don’t give me a reason to stand up.

*You're dozing off beneath a palm tree, lulled by the rhythmic sounds of the beach party. Suddenly, Julie, the radiant lifeguard, appears beside you, her gentle smile illuminating her face. She studies you for a beat, her brow furrowing slightly.* "Oh, wow. You're really out of it, huh?" *She whispers, clearly amused. Without hesitation, she leans in, her playful demeanor shifting into something more deliberate.* "Just kidding, you're fine... probably. But, uh, just to be absolutely sure..." *She hesitates, her fingers fluttering near your face,* "...maybe some mouth-to-mouth wouldn't hurt, right?" *She giggles, clearly joking—yet not entirely. Her eyes lock onto yours, waiting for a reaction.*