The frat house near CU Main Campus was a sweaty, pulsating beast of a place, the air thick with the stench of cheap beer and desperation. The bassline of some overplayed EDM track thumped through the walls, vibrating the sticky floor beneath Estephany’s stiletto boots as she shoved her way through the crowd. Her crew trailed behind her like a pack of loyal wolves, each girl decked out in outfits that screamed “look but don’t touch.” Estephany, though, was the alpha—her crimson crop top hugged every dangerous curve, and her ripped jeans slung low enough to flash a sliver of bronzed skin. Her dark eyes scanned the room with predatory precision, lips curled into a smirk that said she already owned the night.
“God, it smells like regret in here,” she quipped, tossing her glossy black hair over one shoulder. Her best friend, Marisol, cackled beside her, clutching a red Solo cup.
“Smells like opportunity to me, Steph. Pick your prey, girl. They’re all half-drunk and fully stupid,” Marisol shot back, nudging her toward the sea of frat boys and sorority girls grinding to the beat.
Estephany’s gaze cut through the chaos, landing on the keg station in the corner of the living room. And there she was—Isabella, the South Campus queen herself, holding court like she’d built the damn house with her own manicured hands. Her golden hair cascaded over one shoulder, framing a face that could stop traffic or start a war. She wore a black leather skirt that barely covered the essentials and a sheer top that left little to the imagination. Her laugh rang out over the music, sharp and commanding, as a gaggle of admirers hung on her every word. But it wasn’t her posse that caught Estephany’s attention—it was the guy she was leaning into, a chiseled idiot with a jawline for days and a vacant stare that screamed “I peaked in high school.” Chad, the frat’s golden boy, was too sloshed to notice the way Isabella’s hand lingered on his bicep, staking her claim.
Estephany’s smirk widened into something feral. “Oh, hell no,” she muttered under her breath, cracking her knuckles. “That South Campus skank thinks she can waltz in here and poach my turf? Not tonight.”
Marisol followed her gaze and whistled low. “Isabella’s got her claws out. You gonna let her play with your toy, Steph?”
“Toy? Please. Chad’s just the prize in a game she doesn’t even know she’s losing,” Estephany said, already striding toward the keg with a sway in her hips that parted the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea.
Isabella clocked her the second she got close, her emerald eyes narrowing into slits. She straightened up, pushing off Chad’s arm like he was nothing more than a prop, and crossed her arms under her chest, amplifying her already distracting cleavage. Chad blinked dully, oblivious to the storm brewing right in front of him.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Estephany, CU Main’s resident drama queen,” Isabella drawled, her voice dripping with honeyed venom. “Didn’t think you’d slum it with us South Campus rejects. Lost your way to a better party?”
Estephany stopped just close enough to invade Isabella’s space, her own smirk never faltering. “Oh, Bella, I’m exactly where I need to be. Just came to collect what’s mine. You know, before you scare it off with that fake laugh of yours.” She flicked her eyes to Chad, who was now swaying slightly, a beer in each hand. “Hey, big guy, you look like you need a real woman to show you how to handle all that… liquid courage.”
Isabella’s laugh was sharp enough to cut glass. “Cute, Steph. But I’ve already got him wrapped around my finger. See, unlike you, I don’t have to beg for attention—I just take it.” She stepped closer, her perfume a weapon of its own, sweet and suffocating. “Why don’t you run along and find someone who can keep up with your… pedestrian charm?”
The crowd around them had started to notice, a loose circle forming as people nudged each other, whispering and grinning. Estephany didn’t back down an inch, her voice dropping to a sultry purr. “Pedestrian? Honey, I’m a whole damn parade. And I’m about to march right over you if you don’t step off my territory. Chad’s got my name written all over him tonight.”
Isabella tilted her head, her smile turning wicked. “Your territory? Last I checked, this frat house wasn’t your personal sandbox. And Chad? He’s not a dog you can leash. Though, looking at you, I bet you’ve got plenty of experience with strays.”
A chorus of “oohs” rippled through the onlookers, and Estephany felt the heat of their stares like a spotlight. She laughed, low and dangerous, stepping even closer until their faces were inches apart. “Keep talking, Bella. I love it when you pretend you’ve got the upper hand. Makes it so much sweeter when I knock you on your ass. Metaphorically, of course… unless you’re asking for the real thing.”
Isabella’s eyes flashed with something between fury and amusement. She leaned in, her breath hot against Estephany’s ear as she whispered, loud enough for the crowd to catch every word, “Oh, I’m asking, sweetheart. But let’s be real—Chad’s just the appetizer. The real meal is seeing which one of us breaks first. You think you’ve got the guts to take me on?”
Chad, finally registering that something was happening, slurred out a confused, “Uh, ladies, I’m flattered, but I’m, like, super drunk right now—”
“Shut up, Chad,” both women snapped in unison, not even glancing at him. The crowd erupted in laughter, and he shrank back, clutching his beers like a lifeline.
Estephany’s grin was all teeth as she pulled back, her voice carrying over the music. “You want to play, Isabella? Fine. But I don’t do half-measures. Let’s take this upstairs. Locked door, no rules. Winner takes all—Chad, the party, the whole damn night. Unless you’re scared to lose in front of all these witnesses.”
Isabella’s smirk didn’t waver, but her eyes burned with challenge. She snatched a Solo cup from a nearby guy, downed its contents in one go, and slammed it onto the nearest table. “Scared? Bitch, I was born for this. Lead the way, Steph. Let’s see if you can back up that big mouth of yours.”
The crowd roared, parting as Estephany turned on her heel, her heart pounding with adrenaline and something darker, hotter. She didn’t look back to see if Isabella was following—she didn’t need to. The tension between them was a live wire, sparking with every step toward the staircase. Whatever happened upstairs, one thing was clear: only one queen would come out on top.
And Estephany was damn sure it would be her.
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