Ollie's grip on Camilla's shoulders loosens slightly as she raises her hand in mock solemnity. "And just so we're clear, if you come for my friends again just know, I'm not afraid to cut a bitch."

"Oh, we know, Rocky," Ollie chuckles, patting her shoulder with exaggerated care. "Trust me, we know."

"Please don't encourage her," Marcus adds with a long-suffering sigh, but I catch the pride flickering in his eyes.

The tent falls into charged silence, tension humming like a live wire. Every gaze flicks between us, waiting. Farrah stands frozen, her face a mask of barely contained fury, but the fight has drained from her. Her confidence crumbles, leaving nothing but a bruised ego and sharp humiliation. Her eyes dart around the room—taking in Camilla, Ollie, Marcus, the crowd—and realization dawns on her face. She's outmatched, out of moves, and rapidly losing what little ground she has left.

I step forward, my voice cutting through the silence. "Get a fucking life, Farrah," I say, each word heavy with finality. "Stop fucking everyone else's up."

Farrah's glare wavers for a heartbeat before she snatches up the remains of her phone. She storms out of the tent, muttering curses. Shay and Harlow trail in her wake like lost satellites. I watch her go, letting out a slow breath. The tension in my chest loosens slightly but doesn't disappear.

Camilla twists free of Ollie's grip, rolling her shoulders like she's just finished sparring.

"I'm good, I'm good," she mutters, though the satisfied smirk playing on her lips says otherwise.

"Jesus," Ollie runs a hand through his hair, exasperation warring with admiration. "What are you, an underground street fighter or something?"

Camilla's grin turns wicked, her eyes flashing. "I don’t like entitled bitches who think they can bully anyone they want."

"Noted," Ollie replies, hands raised in mock surrender.

Camilla turns to me, her expression softening just enough to remind me why she's one of the few people I trust completely. "Go," she says, jerking her head toward the tents. "Take our girl home."

I nod, pausing beside her. "Thank you. For calling me."

"She wanted me to," Camilla says simply, the words settling like a balm over my frayed nerves.

64. A Wrinkle In Time

CHAPTER 64

A WRINKLE IN TIME

NORA

The day that's turned into night feels both endless and too short, hours spent in Nate's Mustang watching streetlights blur past. He knew exactly what I needed after the disaster at the polo event—no words, just miles of road and a carefully curated playlist that spoke volumes about how well he knows me.