Hector Torino’s ‘Summer Heat’ parties were the event of the year, drawing an eclectic mix of the rich, famous, and shamelessly ambitious. His Mediterranean villa, perched at the end of a winding gravel road just outside the city, was a beacon of luxury. The estate was a masterpiece of architecture, its white stucco walls gleaming under the glow of countless lanterns lining the drive. The subtle scent of blooming jasmine from the villa's manicured gardens wafted through the warm night air, mingling with the faint hum of expensive engines and laughter that echoed across the grounds.

Guests arrived in droves, each more eager than the last to make a statement. Luxury cars purred and growled as they eased into the parking area, their sleek frames catching the light like jewels. Partygoers lingered near the entrance, sipping champagne from crystal flutes as they admired the parade of gluttonous vanity. It was a spectacle of wealth and indulgence, where the true currency wasn’t money but attention.

The murmured admiration turned into a collective gasp as the low, unmistakable growl of a supercharged engine broke through the night. Heads turned in unison toward the white Maserati prowling down the drive, its glossy surface reflecting the villa's ambient light. This wasn’t just a car—it was a statement, a rolling declaration of power and prestige.

Behind the wheel was none other than Conner Hamilton. As the adopted son of the well-known and deeply respected Lord John Hamilton, Conner’s presence at such events was practically a requirement. To the outside world, he was the epitome of composure, effortlessly navigating the shallow waters of high society. But beneath the polished surface, Conner longed for something more substantial—something real.

He would have given anything to trade the roar of an engine for the clash of swords, to exchange the shallow smiles of strangers for the thrill of honing his abilities. Having spent his childhood hidden away on Earth, a tiny planet far removed from his birthright, Conner was restless. His thoughts often drifted to Mythandria, a place he could barely remember yet felt irrevocably tied to. Lord Hamilton’s stories painted vivid pictures of Zeer and its strange, magical creatures, but they were no substitute for the memories he lacked.

As the Maserati came to a halt under the villa’s grand portico, the soft hiss of its doors lifting drew fresh murmurs from the crowd. From the passenger seat, Finn stepped out, all confidence and charm. Conner’s lifelong protector and best friend, Finn had a knack for turning heads wherever he went. With his sun-kissed brown hair brushing his shoulders and those uncanny golden eyes, he exuded an effortless magnetism.

Sliding his phone into his pocket, Finn rolled up his shirt sleeves, his casual swagger drawing appreciative glances. He caught sight of a pair of women walking arm-in-arm toward the villa and gave a low whistle under his breath. “Mm, mm. Aren’t you a couple of hot dishes…” he muttered with a grin, flashing them a wink that earned a chorus of giggles.

Meanwhile, a valet hurried to the driver’s side, practically tripping over himself in his eagerness. “Good evening, sir!” the young man exclaimed, his voice brimming with enthusiasm as his eyes lingered on the Maserati’s sleek lines.

Conner unfolded his tall frame from the car, his six-foot-six stature momentarily towering over the starstruck valet. “Hey,” he said, his tone polite but detached as he handed over a tip along with his half of the parking ticket. “Thanks.”

“I hope you enjoy your night, sir,” the valet replied, almost reverently.

Conner doubted it. Nights like this rarely held any enjoyment for him, but he always left room for surprises. Straightening his jacket, he took a moment to survey the scene. The grand double doors of the villa stood open, spilling warm light and the sounds of revelry into the night. Conversations blended with the thumping bass of club music and the metallic chime of gambling machines, creating a chaotic symphony.

As Conner walked toward the entrance, he slid seamlessly into the role expected of him—the charming, unflappable socialite. It was a mask he wore with practiced ease, a necessary facade in a world where power and influence often meant survival. Beneath the surface, however, Conner remained acutely aware of the people around him: “legitimate blood-sucking social climbers and egotistical hypocrites with money to burn,” as he so bluntly described them.

Unlike the crowd he mingled with, Conner wasn’t heartless or insensitive. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t exploit their shallow desires if it served a greater purpose. Tonight, he would play their game, smile their smiles, and wait patiently for his chance to step into the world that truly mattered—the one where his power was more than a parlor trick and his destiny more than a whispered bedtime story.

Unlike the crowd he mingled with, Conner wasn’t heartless or insensitive. Those hosting or attending these gatherings weren’t campaigning for charities or world peace. No, most of these parties were filled with hordes of people suffering from too much time on their hands and zero limits to what they would do for enjoyment. Most, but not all, would sell their own grandmother if the price was right. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t exploit their shallow desires if it served a greater purpose. Tonight, he would play their game, smile their smiles, and wait patiently for his chance to step into the world that truly mattered—the one where his power was more than a parlor trick and his destiny more than a whispered bedtime story.

It wasn’t their money or life of luxury that Conner objected to, but how certain individuals criminally gained and spent their money. So, why attend? Conner wasn’t there to make friends. He was there to expose and eradicate the very worst of them—and because Finn enjoyed it.

“Good evening, Sir Hamilton,” a familiar voice formally welcomed in a smooth Hispanic accent.

“Huh?” Conner asked with a quizzical brow. “What’s up with the formalities, Hector? I thought I was here to relax.”

The young host laughed. “Then you came to the right place,” the wealthy beatboxer replied with a rough hug. “Hey, Finn!” he greeted in a more relaxed and energetic tone as he initiated their personal handshake. Finn was the epitome of a good time and easily gained the trust of others.

“What’s up, man? How you doin’?” Finn asked.

“I’m cool,” he nodded in his cocky attitude. “Hey, I’m glad you’re here. I found a new DJ, and he’s performing tonight.”

“Yeah?”

“Actually, Nick Humphrey found ‘em and booked the guy for his party next week, but you know me!” he guffawed. “I stole his thunder.

Always gotta be the first to showcase the new and beautiful!” “You’re a savage,” Finn replied playfully.

“You know it!” Just then, a pair of legs caught the host’s gaze. “Dang! Is it just me, or are the girls getting hotter?”

“Either that or their plastic surgeons are just becoming more skilled,” Conner chuckled as he walked away.

Finn gave Hector a two-finger wave as he too moved on through the partiers. “Hey,” he said bumping Conner on the arm, “remember, it’s our night off. Don’t start anything.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He stopped Conner with a heavy hand on his shoulder. “I mean it, man. I need this!” Finn playfully pleaded with his big golden eyes.

His friend’s need for merriment was incorrigible and one of Conner’s favorite things about him. “I never start anything, Finn.”

“Yeah, yeah I know…crap just seems to find you,” he replied with a dampened smile. “Do me a favor then, find a hole and sit in it.”

A mischievous grin appeared as Conner replied, “Have fun while it lasts.”

“Conner. I mean it, man,” Finn called after him, but he quickly became distracted with passing feminine figures draped in tiny, glittered cocktail dresses. “Well hello, ladies,” he charmed with a glistening smile. As so many times before, his good looks and manners were irresistible, and within seconds he had an arm wrapped around each of their waists as he talked them into introducing him to more of their female friends.

The gambling was taking place inside the villa, but Conner had a clear view of the DJ and the outside courtyard from where he stood, facing a wall of windows and open French doors. The doors were thrown wide, allowing the warm night air to mingle with the thumping bass of the music. Beyond, the courtyard came alive with the energy of the party. The sleek marble floor reflected the flashing lights from the pool area, where guests gathered in animated conversation and flirtation. The DJ, elevated on a raised platform near the far edge of the courtyard, worked his magic, sending waves of music that pulsed with the very heartbeat of the villa.