playboy with wings

The music throbbed like a heartbeat in the walls of Ruin, the Castell brothers' private club perched above the city like a throne. The lights were low, the champagne poured like water, and Riven Castell had already lost track of the names of the women laughing around him. He didn't care. They were all the same-beautiful, expensive, temporary.

"Still not tired of being the headline every other day?" his twin brother, Rowan, asked dryly from across the leather booth. He wore a suit like he'd been born in it-sharp, spotless, and cold. Unlike Riven, who had his dress shirt half-unbuttoned, gold chain loose on his collarbone, eyes flickering over every body that passed.

"I'm giving the people what they want," Riven said, tipping his drink toward the ceiling like a toast to God. "They want scandal, heat, bad decisions. I'm doing a public service."

Rowan arched a brow. "Right. Because flashing your abs in Cannes and kissing a pop star on a yacht is a noble act of charity."

"It's inspirational," Riven smirked.

A woman beside him,long-legged, fake-laugh and ran a hand up his chest. "You're really not married?" she asked, pouty like it was a personal offense.

He leaned into her with a grin that had broken hearts across five continents. "Marriage is for people who want to live the same day on loop for fifty years."

"You don't believe in love?" she asked, teasing.

Riven's eyes darkened just slightly. "Love is a great way to lose yourself in someone who forgets your name when they're bored."

Rowan made a quiet sound. "Wow. Who hurt you?"

"No one," Riven said flatly. "I just figured out the trick to staying happy."

"Let me guess," Rowan said. "Don't feel anything?"

"Exactly."

Rowan stared at him. For a second, the music seemed to fade.

"You know," he said, "we're all waiting."

"For what?"

Rowan sipped his drink. "For the day you fall. Head over heels. Can't breathe. Can't think. We're betting it'll wreck you."

Riven laughed, loud and unbothered. "Not gonna happen. Love's a trap. And I don't do cages."

"You will," Rowan said, calm and sure. "One day."

There was something about the way he said it that left a taste in Riven's mouth he didn't like-like fate had already made plans for him and was just waiting for the right hour to strike.

Riven brushed it off. "Anyway. You're the one who gets off on spreadsheets and... feelings. I'll stick to jet engines and beautiful disasters."

Rowan stood. "Speaking of jet engines-your pilot called. Storm's moving fast. You're wheels up at seven."

Riven raised his glass. "Perfect. Nothing like a private flight to a private island to get away from the consequences of being too damn desirable."

Rowan didn't laugh. Just looked at him one more time and said

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