Chapter 1The Roster Queen

The moment my roommate, Phoebe Davis, learned I had three guys waiting in the wings—a solid, well-curated roster of backups—she let out a laugh that was half-joke, half-condescending snicker.

“Honestly, I feel bad for your future husband,” Phoebe said, swiping through TikTok on her phone. “He’s going to drain his 401k just for the down payment on a wife who’s already been driven around the block a few times.”

I considered this for a moment. She wasn't wrong, but the delivery was pure Phoebe—snide and dripping with manufactured innocence.

“You know what?” I offered, shrugging. “I could always transfer one of them to you.”

Phoebe’s eyes, glued to the screen of her phone, widened instantly.

* * *

“I... I don’t know about that,” she stammered, her gaze darting everywhere but at me.

Then, the air around us shimmered with an imagined text overlay—a phenomenon I’d grown numb to, but one that Phoebe seemed utterly reliant on.

[OMG PHOEBE! Don't even hesitate! Skylar’s backups aren't just anyone!]

[A Wall Street CEO, a Biker Bad Boy, and a Boston Trust Fund Prince—all ripped, all rich, all prime quality. This is the stuff of fantasies!]

[Heh, the thought of Phoebe getting all the fish Skylar carefully baited is just so delicious.]

[I’m already craving the scene where Phoebe brings her whole harem to rub it in Skylar’s face, watching the look of wild regret on the villainess's face! Get it, girlie!]

Phoebe’s expression cycled through shock, disbelief, and finally, settled on a look of utter, greedy ecstasy.

“You have three guys on rotation, right?” she declared, her tone suddenly booming with the confidence of a shopper at a luxury outlet. “I want all of them.”

I let out a soft, appreciative chuckle.

“Three at once might give you indigestion,” I said, leaning back. “Let’s start with one. Once you’ve secured him completely, then we can talk about the other two.”

Phoebe hesitated, then nodded sharply.

“Fine. But don't you dare regret this later.”

“No regrets,” I promised. “One backup for ten thousand dollars. Cash only.”

Her jaw dropped.

“Wait, you’re charging me? Ten grand? Are you serious? Just go rob a bank!”

I remained cool, unbothered.

“Oh. In that case, let’s forget I offered.”

The imaginary comments immediately flared up in a panic:

[NO, PHOEBE! Don’t let this opportunity slip! This is a once-in-a-lifetime deal!]

[These men are worth billions, you idiot! Ten thousand dollars is nothing! You’ll be swimming in ten million once you reel them in!]

[Skylar is so shortsighted, it's sickening. A poor girl with no class. If she knew she was trading a multi-billionaire for ten grand, she’d be clawing at the walls with regret!]

Phoebe swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on the ceiling where the imaginary words hovered.

“Fine,” she conceded, her voice a strained whisper. “Ten thousand. Deal.”