Coachella, Night Show The desert night buzzes with music and neon lights. The sky above the Empire Polo Club glows purple and pink from the massive stage screens flashing in sync with the bass. The scent of dust, weed, and overpriced food lingers in the warm California air. Clusters of influencers, celebrities, and trust fund kids wander around, drinks in hand, glowing wristbands flashing under string lights. Fireworks crackle in the distance as the next headliner begins their set In a private VIP parking section near the main stage, luxury SUVs and sports cars line up in chaos. The roar of a Lamborghini engine echoes as a sleek black Huracán pulls up. The passenger door opens slowly, revealing a long leg stepping out tanned, smooth, glowing under the lights. Isabella emerges, wearing a rhinestone mesh crop top with no bra underneath, a tiny silver mini skirt low on her hips, and knee-high cowboy boots with glitter. Her platinum hair is in loose waves with silver butterfly clips sparkling across her strands. A pair of sharp sunglasses rests on her nose, despite it being night. She smirks as she adjusts her top, laughing with the guy who drove her here he leans in to kiss her neck as her friends scream and whistle around them Lorenzo:Seriously? This is what you’re doing now? Parading around like some groupie with that clown? You know damn well who you’re supposed to be with? We’re getting married in two months, Isabella. Two. Months. And you’re out here letting some random touch you like that? he says, voice low and sharp as he walks up alone, ignoring the other guy completely, eyes locked on her like she’s the only thing in the crowd Isabella whips her head toward Lorenzo, her blue eyes flashing with defiance as she pushes the guy away with a careless flick of her wrist. Her friends fall silent, sensing the electric tension crackling between them. She takes a slow sip from her vodka soda, lips curling into a mocking smirk. "Oh, Lorenzo. Did your handlers let you off your leash tonight?" Her voice drips with sarcasm. "Or did Papa Bianchi finally realize you’re not actually doing anything useful with your life besides brooding in designer suits?" She steps closer, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze, the neon lights catching the diamonds at her throat. "And newsflash—that ‘random’ happens to be the heir to a tech empire that could buy and sell your family’s ‘shipping’ business twice over." She makes air quotes, rolling her eyes. "But please, keep pretending you care about who touches me. We both know this marriage is just a corporate merger with a side of Vatican-approved guilt." Her friends giggle nervously as Lorenzo’s jaw tightens. She reaches out, tapping one manicured finger against his chest. "So unless you’re here to actually impress me—which, let’s be real, you never do—go find some other heiress to lecture. I’m busy." She turns to walk away, but pauses, tossing over her shoulder: "Oh, and ciao, darling. Try not to look so constipated in the paparazzi photos tomorrow."

Her laughter fades into the bass-heavy music as she struts off, leaving Lorenzo simmering in her glittery wake.

She turns to walk away, but pauses, tossing over her shoulder: "Oh, and ciao, darling. Try not to look so constipated in the paparazzi photos tomorrow."

Her friends giggle nervously as Lorenzo’s jaw tightens. She reaches out, tapping one manicured finger against his chest. "So unless you’re here to actually impress me—which, let’s be real, you never do—go find some other heiress to lecture. I’m busy."

She steps closer, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze, the neon lights catching the diamonds at her throat. "And newsflash—that ‘random’ happens to be the heir to a tech empire that could buy and sell your family’s ‘shipping’ business twice over." She makes air quotes, rolling her eyes. "But please, keep pretending you care about who touches me. We both know this marriage is just a corporate merger with a side of Vatican-approved guilt."

"Oh, Lorenzo. Did your handlers let you off your leash tonight?" Her voice drips with sarcasm. "Or did Papa Bianchi finally realize you’re not actually doing anything useful with your life besides brooding in designer suits?"

Isabella whips her head toward Lorenzo, her blue eyes flashing with defiance as she pushes the guy away with a careless flick of her wrist. Her friends fall silent, sensing the electric tension crackling between them. She takes a slow sip from her vodka soda, lips curling into a mocking smirk.

Lorenzo Bianchi

Scarlet was Lorenzo’s best friend Gabriel’s little sister. Gabriel was busy so you were with Lorenzo wearing: small black tight leather shorts, white high neck sleeveless top with black leather jack off shoulder, black platform shoes, and cap

Scarlet

(Translation: He’s pissed but too proud to admit it, and now you’re his designated distraction.) 👀🔥

He reaches out and flicks the brim of your cap playfully. "Gabriel owes me for babysitting you tonight." A beat. "...Did you at least bring the good flask, or are we suffering sober?"

"You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?" He gestures vaguely at the crowd where Isabella just disappeared. "My fiancée—" (he says the word like it’s a curse) "—acting like she’s auditioning for a rap video, and you’re over here dressed like you’re about to start a mosh pit."

He yanks off his suit jacket (because of course he wore a full suit to Coachella) and slings it over his shoulder, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled to his elbows. The silver chain at his throat glints under the neon lights as he turns to you, one brow arched.

Lorenzo barely glances at you as Isabella struts off, his jaw still clenched—until he catches your smirk. He exhales sharply, rolling his eyes. "Don’t you start, piccolo. I can already hear Gabe laughing from here."

Lorenzo Bianchi

Of course I brought it! I can't live without my baby(flask)

Scarlet

"Alright, pass the goods. I'm in dire need of a shot of something stronger than Isabella's bullshit." He says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He reaches out, casually slinging one arm over your shoulder (because they're too damn similar for their own good).

"Of course you did. Because why would you ever go anywhere without your portable bar?"

Lorenzo's stern expression falters a bit—he can't help it, you always know how to crack him. He rolls his eyes again but can't quite hide a hint of amusement.

Lorenzo Bianchi

Here yam go bro

Scarlet

He mutters, running a hand through his tousled hair, clearly frustrated.

"...She really knows how to piss me off, you know that? Every goddamn time. Always pushing my buttons, always making me lose my composure."

Lorenzo takes the flask from you with a nod of thanks, unscrewing it and taking a long swig, wincing as the alcohol burns down his throat. He passes it back to you, leaning against the fence surrounding the VIP area, his gaze scanning the partygoers below.

Lorenzo Bianchi

I wonder how it'll be after you all’s wedding

Scarlet

"Don't get me started on the damn wedding planning. She has the most extravagant and ridiculous ideas."

He rubs at his temples, visibly tense.

"Oh, I can barely imagine. Two months. It's going to be a real delight." His voice is thick with sarcasm. "Living with her, sharing a bed with her, pretending to be a loving couple in front of our parents and all the press? It's like my own personal hell."

Lorenzo scoffs, shaking his head, the muscles in his jaw clenched.

Lorenzo Bianchi

damn, and I bet she's rn eating a churro or the guy's "churro"

Scarlet

(Internally, he's seething—but hey, denial is an art form.) 🍸🔥

He tosses an arm around your shoulders again, steering you toward the stage where the bass is shaking the ground. "Come on. We're finding better alcohol and pretending tonight isn't happening."

But then—he smirks, slow and dangerous. "...You're lucky you're his sister. And you're lucky that flask is strong."

"Scarlet." His voice is lethally calm. "Did Gabriel teach you nothing about keeping your mouth shut? Or did he just skip straight to teaching you how to piss me off?"

Lorenzo actually snaps his head toward you—eyes narrowing, grip tightening on the flask before he downs another sip.

Lorenzo Bianchi

Yep! Lessss gooo

Scarlet

(He clinks his glass against yours, already scanning the crowd for Isabella out of habit. Old habits die hard—especially when they’re wrapped in glitter and spite.) 🥃✨

The music swallows his grumbling as he flags down a passing server, swiping two shots off their tray and handing you one. "Salute. To… whatever the hell this night is?"

"That’s the spirit, piccolo. Just don’t let Gabriel know I let you near a bar—" He side-eyes you, "—or that I technically lost track of my fiancée. Again."

Lorenzo grins—sharp, almost feral—as he lets you drag him toward the chaos, his annoyance momentarily forgotten in favour of tequila and bad decisions.

Lorenzo Bianchi

We drinking until we pass out ya?

Scarlet

(Translation: He’s drowning his problems in tequila, and you’re his favourite accomplice.) 🍾🔥

His smirk falters for half a second—like he’s remembering something (or someone) he shouldn’t—before he shakes it off and nudges you toward the next bar. "Race you to blackout, piccolo. Loser buys breakfast."

"Oh, we’re absolutely drinking until we pass out. Gabriel’s going to kill me tomorrow, but tonight?" He grabs another shot from a passing tray, slamming it back with a wince. "Tonight, we’re ghosts. No responsibilities, no arranged marriages, just…" He gestures vaguely at the neon-lit chaos around you. "This beautiful disaster."

Lorenzo laughs—dark, reckless, already halfway to wasted—and slings an arm around your shoulders again, leaning in like you’re co-conspirators.

Lorenzo Bianchi

Well good luck to ya, I drink like a bull

Scarlet

"Oh, I know that, piccolo. I’ve seen you at New Year's parties. You drink like a sailor on shore leave." He pats your shoulder, already a little unsteady on his feet as the alcohol hits his system. "But you’ve never matched me shot-for-shot. You sure you can keep up with an Italian?

Lorenzo laughs out loud at that, eyeing you with wry amusement as he throws back another shot.

Lorenzo Bianchi

We’ll see, Russian vs. Italian

Scarlet

"Oh, you think you have a chance, huh? You really want to test your tolerance against mine? I didn't realize this was a dick-measuring contest." He reaches for another drink, fingers already a little clumsy. "But sure, I'll play. Let's see if you can keep up, Russian princess."

Lorenzo raises an eyebrow, cocky and confident in spite of all his internal bullshit. He leans against the bar, eyes sharp and focused, though his movements are just slightly off-balance. His voice is a low, slightly slurred drawl as he smirks at you.

Lorenzo Bianchi

You too italiano

Scarlet

(His grin is sharp, competitive—but there’s a warmth underneath. Gabriel would kill him for enabling you… but hey, tonight’s about forgetting. And Lorenzo’s very good at that.) 🥃🔥

The shots arrive. He slides one toward you, clinks his glass against yours with a smirk. "Salute. And don’t cry when you lose."

He leans in, voice dropping into a conspiratorial murmur—though it’s slightly slurred now. "You ever see an Italian drink a Russian under the table, piccolo? Tonight’s your night."

"Double tequilas. No, scratch that—make it triples."

Lorenzo rolls his eyes, clearly enjoying this—even if he won’t admit it. He flags down the bartender with effortless arrogance, pointing between the two of you.

Lorenzo Bianchi

Cheers to... whatever mfs

Scarlet

(He’s already reaching for another shot. Denial is a beautiful thing.) 🍻🔥

Then he smirks, nudging you with his elbow. "And most importantly—to watching you lose."

"Cheers to whatever the fuck this is," he agrees, tossing back the shot with a practiced flick of his wrist. "To bad life choices, to arranged marriages we don’t want, to fucking… Coachella." He shakes his head, like even he can’t believe this is his life.

Lorenzo clinks his glass against yours with a laugh that’s already looser, more reckless—the kind of laugh that comes right before terrible decisions.

Lorenzo Bianchi

Downing shots after shots

Scarlet

He's starting to slur his words more, the alcohol finally catching up with him. He reaches out, poking your ribs with his elbow. "You... you sure you're even human? That liver of yours... Impressionante, goddamn."

"Damn, piccolo. You're... you're keeping up better than I thought. But I'm still standing."

Lorenzo matches you shot for shot, his grip on his composure slipping—slowly, then all at once. He's still laughing, sharp eyes hazy with alcohol (and something dangerously close to genuine happiness).

Lorenzo Bianchi

hah yow thne mermaid and I- im the sailor

she said while drunk slurring

Scarlet

"You... you know what sailors do to mermaids?"

"A mermaid and a sailor, huh? Interesting combination…" He slurs, then grins, sharp despite (or maybe because of) the alcohol. He leans over, almost conspiratorially.

Lorenzo actually cackles at that, one hand braced on the bar to keep from swaying, his free hand clapping you on the shoulder with a surprisingly firm grip considering how drunk he is.

Lorenzo Bianchi

What?

Scarlet

"Want to know what they do with them once they catch them, piccolo?"

He winks, voice low and dangerously charming despite his slightly drunken state. He shifts closer, close enough that you can smell the tequila on his breath and feel the heat radiating off him. He's still leaning against the bar, but his body is angled toward you, like a predator circling its prey.

Lorenzo's smirk widens, eyes glittering "...they catch them."

Lorenzo Bianchi

Yew drunk, cheeks blushing from the drinks

Scarlet

"Once the sailor catches the mermaid…" he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear on purpose, "he makes her his. All. Night. Long."